( R-18 ) Above the clouds, Dragon dominate Phoenix.

He placed her to the ornate bed.

"Mmm..."

The bed beneath her was a sea of clouds woven from phoenix silk, soft enough to cradle immortals, yet now it bore the weight of mortal sin.

Her embarrassment clung to her like dew upon petals at dawn, damp with the shame of release and the scent of unspoken desire.

She dared not meet Zhao Fan's gaze, for his eyes saw through layers, of cloth, of pride, of soul, and stripped her bare with mere presence alone.

Zhao did not pounce like a beast, nor swoop like a fiend. No, he descended slowly, methodically, as if honoring the art of ruin.

His fingers brushed along the master's collarbone, that fragile bridge between mortal restraint and divine ecstasy, and his lips followed, warm and deliberate, planting kisses that felt more like seals of an eternal contract.

Mwaaaaah* Muwaaaaahhhhh*

"Eee..."

Her breath hitched with each touch, and yet she exhaled with relief, as if she'd been waiting her entire ascetic life for this precise undoing.

Her thighs parted without command, like twin lotuses blooming in moonlight, revealing the pool of nectar that shamed even the sacred dew of Kunlun's spring.

Zhao's palm rested upon her feminine jade mounds, not as a conqueror claiming territory, but as a sovereign returning to a long-lost homeland.

His fingers moved with grace, yet firmness, squeezing her mountain peak with reverence and hunger, as though memorizing a divine map forgotten by history.

"Mmm...."

The master whimpered, a soft, defeated sound, as her body betrayed every vow she had once upheld beneath the heavens.

Her cultivation base... Her current cultivation base is the first stage of the nascent soul realm, but, it was bound to happen, after all, she had burned her soul essence to help Ye Chen, beforehand.

And even with the rare heavenly treasure of Young Master Zhao, she barely started at the bottom of Nasecnt's soul.

...

Zhao Fan's breath was even, unhurried, as though savoring a banquet he had long foreseen.

With a single hand, he traced circles upon her navel, each loop a tightening spell upon her remaining composure.

His lips kissed a path lower, dipping between the rise of her jade pink mountain top, tongue swirling as though drawing talismans of lust upon her sacred terrain.

His fingers teased the tips, kneading her milk mountain in perfect rhythm, and she arched, her mouth forming silent prayers that never reached Heaven.

"Your body remembers the Dao you never walked," he whispered against her skin, each syllable vibrating down her ribcage like sacred chants recited in reverse.

"Not the Dao of sword or scripture… but the Dao of surrender... This Young Master is pleased, as such, I shall reward you,"

The Immortal master's eyes fluttered open briefly, catching a glimpse of the mirror suspended on the chamber's far wall.

What she saw was not herself, but a stranger. A woman splayed in wanton posture, her face flushed, her jade monoliths spread, her jade blossoms adorned with the gleam of saliva and shame, the hard pink bud having the bite marks.

That woman wasn't her, yet she could not look away.

How could she be tainted by mortal sin?

Zhao's tongue dipped into her navel, and her back tensed like a bow drawn to its limit.

"Ahhhh...."

Her moan was a stifled sob of pleasure, the kind one makes only when the soul itself is being seduced. Her hands grasped the silk sheets in tight fists, as though to anchor herself from drifting too far into the sea of sensation that now rose like tides in a storm.

"My cultivation..." she murmured between gasps, but even she did not know if it was a lament or a plea. "It's... too shallow... I can't—"

"You'll drown, then," Zhao interrupted, his voice rich with wicked serenity, "but that is the price of rebirth. A phoenix does not fly until it burns..."

"Ahhhhhh...."

When his tongue descended at last to the glistening petals of her womanhood, her entire body stiffened.

Her jade toes curled. Her fingers clawed the bed. Her thighs, once parted in the fearful offering, now gripped his shoulders with desperate need. Zhao's tongue was not hurried; it was patient, deliberate, tasting her as a vintner does divine age-old wine, each stroke of his tongue was slow, flat, and thorough, teasing the sensitive jewel that crowned her slit with unerring precision.

The Yin Pearl is highly sensitive.

"Ahhhhhh! Y-Young Master Zhao!!!" Her voice cracked, not in shame, but in crescendo.

A desperate opera performed by a woman who had never known how loud silence could be before this night.

He licked deeper, lips suckling, fingers spreading her apart with reverence, drawing circles on her inner walls, each movement evoking gasps that bordered on sacred chanting.

It was no longer seduction it was a demonic scripture, and her lustful cries the verses of it.

"I feel it... Uuuuu... I'm... I'm going to..."

Zhao did not reply with words. His answer was a final, unrelenting suck upon her divine pearl, and the master shattered.

"Hnnnnnghhhhhhhh!!!!!"

Her release came not as a ripple but a deluge. Her thighs convulsed. Her stomach spasmed.

Jade nectar gushed in pulses, soaking Zhao's chin and staining the immaculate silk beneath her.

Her eyes rolled back, her mouth hanging open in a silent scream that lasted longer than any divine mantra she had ever recited.

And in that moment, she saw no stars, Only Zhao.

The dustless face, peerless aura.

Her limbs lay slack, strewn across the bed like the remnants of a heavenly tapestry torn asunder by wind and desire.

Haah* Haah* Haah*

Her chest rose and fell in trembling waves, her breath shallow, her eyes dazed, yet there was no pain, only a fullness of sensation, of spirit, as though the very marrow of her soul had been stirred.

Zhao Fan wiped the lingering nectar from his lips with the back of his hand, then slowly stood, his gaze never leaving her form. With a single, unhurried motion, he undid the bindings of his robe.

It slid from his shoulders like clouds parting for a divine eclipse, revealing a body carved by lightning and shadow; every muscle tempered by battle, every vein humming with primordial qi.

But it was not his form that drew her breath back into her throat.

It was what hung between his legs.

A divine Yang rod, the dragon roots used to expand the family tree; longer than mortal, thicker than reason, and veined with glowing sigils of ancient lust-arts, carved not with ink but by fate itself.

It pulsed, not just with blood, but with something deeper, as if even Heaven itself had blessed it... or perhaps feared it.

Her mouth opened, not to speak, but in awe, perhaps even reverence.

Her body, already trembling from the storm he had summoned with his tongue, now trembled anew, this time from anticipation.

Zhao climbed onto the bed, his knees pressing into the silken sheets, and took position between her thighs as though returning to a throne carved from flesh and destiny.

"Any words?" He questioned, voice full of grace.

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(A/N: Fellow scholars, this lewd sinful scholar went to the east and gain some enlightenment from the ancient hermits, should I continue writing the erotica like this, with a refined tone and poetic nature, or as barbaric as my other work; The isekai milf harem using the vulgar words, unworthy of orthodoxy immortal faction like "D*CK" "P*SSY" )