2) Above the clouds, dragon dominates the Phoenix.

The Immortal Master could no longer look away.

Her face flushed, fair jade cheeks dyed the color of dusk, red with shame, oink with heat. She turned her head to the side, biting the corner of her lip, yet even that trembling act betrayed her desire.

She was corrupted...

"You… You must not," she whispered, her voice almost inaudible, but even now, her legs refused to close.

Zhao Fan raised an eyebrow.

"Must not?" His tone was amused, but his eyes were serious, sharp enough to pierce karmic bindings. "Say that again while your Yin Garden cries like spring rain, seeking fertilization,"

"Ah...!" She gasped, her thighs twitching at his words.

Her eyes flickered up at him, moist, wide, lost in confusion between shame and yearning.

"I've already… I've already fallen once," she whispered, voice tremulous, "I cannot afford another… My Dao heart is already fractured."

Zhao leaned closer, brushing her stray hair behind her ear with reverent ease.

"You mistake me," he said softly, his lips grazing the shell of her ear.

"I am not here to fracture you. I am here to refine you. Your shattered Dao heart will become flawless, once it learns the Dao of pleasure... The cultural Dao regions supreme,"

He gripped her thighs, lifting them gently as her legs wrapped instinctively around his waist. His sacred rod, pulsing with primeval warmth, now brushed against her slick soft rosy petals.

"W-Wait… it's too!" she stammered, blushing furiously as her hips jerked back, though she lacked the strength to escape.

Her body shivered at the mere contact, Zhao hadn't even entered the territory of her scared Yin garden, and yet her breath had already hitched like a guzheng string pulled too tight.

Zhao chuckled, and that sound alone made her inner walls flutter with fearsome anticipation.

"You say 'too,' but don't finish," he teased. "Too big? Too much? Too pleasurable?"

"I-it's just...! Ahn~" she whimpered again as he traced the tip of his Yang rod along her glistening entrance, teasing the rim, coating it with her nectar, pressing just enough to threaten penetration but never granting it.

"You'll split me apart…" she muttered, eyes glazed, one hand covering her mouth to stifle another moan.

Her other hand clutched his wrist; not to stop him, but to hold onto something, anything, as the world tilted into a haze of lust.

Zhao exhaled slowly, voice low and tender, "Then let me split you. Let your old self die, and from your Sacred Yin Garden, let the Phoenix of Pleasure rise anew..."

She opened her mouth to protest again, but no words came. Only a soft, broken moan. Her breath trembled. Her body opened.

Zhao pressed forward.

Squelch!!!

The tip breached her, slow and precise, like a divine relic sliding into a temple's hidden chamber for the first time in millennia.

"Ah… nnnn, uuuu.... ahhh!" Her head rolled back, voice cracking into helpless song as her walls spread to accept him, twitching violently around the invading heat of masculine rod, the rod that brings connection from earth to heaven.

Her eyes fluttered open for a moment, only to lock with his.

"You… You beast…" she whispered, her voice hoarse with need, "You're bigger than when I saw it… Y-you're still growing inside me...!"

Zhao smirked, leaning closer, his breath brushing her lips.

"I am not growing, Immortal Master. You are shrinking, tightening, and accepting me with your shameful sin-worshipping body,"

Paaa!

He thrust slightly deeper, and her breath caught.

"You were made for this. Every inch of you carved by Heaven to receive me..."

She covered her face with both hands now, her ears burning red, her toes curling again from the fullness.

How shameless, yet poetically vulgar.

"Nnnghh… I hate you," she said weakly, face buried beneath her palms.

Zhao leaned in to whisper:

"Say that again when your legs aren't trembling..."

He began to move, slow, circular thrusts like tidal waves shaping a virgin shore, awakening nerve endings her cultivation had dulled long ago... Flow of red vitality escaped her Yin garden.

Each movement drew soft gasps and murmurs from her lips.

"Ah… hnn… no more... I'll... lose myself…" She said feeling her consciousness blurred with the fog of lust.

One must learn to embrace the Dao of Culture, lest, they be the shameful gayish creation of the devil, who has eyes yet failed to see the grace of Mount. Tai

...

"You already have," he said gently, "So let go completely. Let this Yang fill what Heaven has left empty..."

"Ahh... Zhao Fan..." she whimpered, voice delicate and trembling like the string of a qin caught in stormwind.

"No... It's Young Master Zhao," Zhao corrected her, tone low, firm, and absolute, as a master should have.

He continued... Pulling and pushing his Celestial Dao rod, stretching her scared garden of Yin to his shape and size.

"Say it properly.... "

Her flushed lips trembled, her breath came in shivering wisps.

"…Young Master Zhao…" she whispered, face aflame.

His eyes glowed with quiet satisfaction, and he rewarded her obedience with a slow, deliberate thrust; deep, deep into her sacred Yin garden, until her womb trembled beneath his touch.

"Ahhhhhh!!!! Uuuu... So deep, you are hitting my wombbbb... Nnnghhhhh!!!!" Her moan escaped without resistance now, her back arching in sweet betrayal of her pride.

"You were once called an immortal master," Zhao murmured, his voice a velvet whip, "but now, look at you…"

He mocked, witnessing how even the immortal master is but an incest, in front of pleasure and the path of cultural dao.

He pressed deeper, hips grinding, forcing her to feel every ancient rune engraved along his Yang rod as they slid into her sacred canal.

"You tremble beneath me, your petals wide, your nectar soaking the sheets. Is this how a master should behave?...."

"I… I…" she tried to answer, her voice lost in moans, her dignity unraveling thread by thread.

Zhao leaned close, licking the tears that had begun to bead at the corner of her eyes; not the tears of pain, but of helpless surrender.

"You are no one's master now," he said coldly, yet there was warmth behind his words, the warmth of dominance, of claim, of fate rewritten.

"You belong to me."

"Yes… Young Master Zhao… This disgrace belongs to youuuuuu!!!! Mmmm mmm, euckkk...." she exhaled, barely more than a breath.

"Louder!!!" He thrust sharply, hitting the sweet honey spot of her garden.

"Uuuu...."

She gasped, then cried out, her voice echoing in the silken chamber.

"Yes! I belong to Young Master Zhao!"

"Good..." Zhao smiled, and without mercy, began to move in earnest.

His pace was slow but unrelenting, like a divine punishment drawn out to eternity. Her walls clung to him, her juices overflowed, and her cries grew louder, less like protests and more like chants of worship.

"Ah, ah, ah, ah, ahhhhhh.... Nnn... So big... Ahhh,"

"Your sacred Yin garden is tight," he murmured, biting softly along her ear, "but it's adjusting to my Yang. Like a slave, it was always meant to be... "

Her body, once untouched, now writhed beneath him, her limbs weak, her breath broken.

"I served the Foundation jade peak…" she gasped, half-sobbing from pleasure.

( her sect )

"…and yet… I've never felt…"

"Ahhhhhhhh!!!! Hnnnghhhh.... Ah, ah, ahhhh...."

She couldn't even finish. Zhao's hips drove forward again, pressing into her very core, and her words became moans, moans became cries, cries became sacred music, the rhythm of primordial culture.

"From today onward," Zhao whispered, his hands pinning hers above her head.

"You are no longer the master of Ye Chen. You are my cultivation furnace, my sacred Yin slave. Understood?"

Blushing so hard her ears turned crimson, she bit her lip and nodded shakily.

"Y-Yes… Young Master Zhao… this slave… understands…"

He kissed her, not soft, but claiming her like a possession, sealing her words into a vow no heavenly contract could annul.

...

Meanwhile,

Inside the jade palanquin, Ye Chen crouched like a dog.

Not a proud celestial hound guarding the Dao, but a mutt tail tucked, body trembling, chin wet with silent drool he didn't remember letting slip.

From outside, moans echoed through the enchanted crystal, pure and wet and sacred.

"Ahhh... Y-Young Master Zhao! This slave... is melting... inside!"

The voice didn't belong to a cheap whore or a mortal courtesan.

It was hers, his master...

Ye Chen sobbed, not out of grief, but need. A need he couldn't satisfy.

His yang meridians had been shattered. His rod lay limp, useless, as if the heavens themselves had sealed it shut.

But the ache remained. Not below, but deeper, inside, his heart.

His hands shook.

One gripped the floor. The other... Well, his fist continued to slide again up his back passage, clenching as if trying to fill the void where pride once lived.

"F-Forgive me, Master…" he whispered, tears spilling freely now.

Another moan came, this one louder, and sloppier.

Sacred nectar splashed against sheets on the other side of the crystal.

Ye Chen pressed his forehead against the palanquin wall, smearing blood, sweat, and tears against the jade.

"Forgive me… for not being Zhao… uuuu..." he wept while pooping at the same time all over his fist.

Pathetic... Truly pathetic.

[Ding! Ye Chen has learned the difference between heaven and earth, he has admitted defeat, and his Halo has been permanently destroyed...]

+---+

( Donate power stones and golden tickets, fellow scholars and orthodoxy cultural Young Masters)