Mo Li's breath rasped painfully as he staggered up the stone path, wooden buckets sloshing at his sides. The icy water cut deep bruises into his palms. Every step sent fresh knives of agony through his cracked ribs, courtesy of Senior Brother Liu and his cronies the night before.
At the top of the path, three young women in elegant ice-blue Azure Frost sect robes stood waiting. Their sleeves embroidered with silver frost lilies shimmered in the sun, delicate jade pins holding up sleek dark hair. Against them, he was a mud-streaked dog, every breath a struggle.
The plump one, Xu Mei, giggled behind a painted fan.
"Look at him. Like a mortal donkey hauling bricks. Can you even call that a cultivator?"
The taller one, Qin Rou, legs long and posture dripping with casual arrogance, sniffed disdainfully.
"I heard Mo Li once begged Elder Qin for inner sect sponsorship. Imagine the nerve—he can't even protect his own meridians."
Mo Li dipped his head low. His heart thundered, not with shame, but with barely leashed, poisonous laughter.
Lin Xinyao stood slightly apart, arms folded under her chest. Her long, midnight hair spilled down like a river of ink, face sculpted from pale frost. Her eyes held no amusement—only a tense, uncomfortable silence. Once, years ago, she'd defended him from harsher bullies. That hint of old guilt still clung to her like fragile perfume.
Xu Mei stepped forward, fanning herself lazily.
"Dog. My courtyard pond's clogged with fallen leaves again. Clean it before dusk or I'll complain to Elder Liu."
Qin Rou smirked.
"And mine needs fresh spring water. If you spill a drop, I'll have you whipped."
Mo Li gave them both a low, humble bow.
"Yes, Senior Sisters. At once."
As he passed, his head still down, his demonic sight unfurled—dark tendrils of spiritual perception sliding slick and invisible across their bodies. He tasted each girl's hidden yin essence.
Xu Mei: Soft, shallow, easily exhausted. Not worth the trouble.
Qin Rou: Sharper, more refined. Might provide a minor cultivation boost, but not enough to risk attention yet.
Lin Xinyao:
Ah… exquisite.
Her yin glowed like moonlight through flawless ice. So rich, so densely woven it nearly sang to him. Better yet, tiny hairline fractures spiderwebbed her emotional sea, old loneliness and buried desires she'd never dared to voice. The perfect foundation for corruption.
"You're the one, cold little flower…"
That night, Lin Xinyao knelt in her private courtyard chamber. Jade lanterns cast soft pale light over polished floors. Her frost qi cycled through her meridians in slow, disciplined arcs.
But something was wrong.
Every third breath hitched. A subtle heat pooled low in her belly, pulsing in slow, traitorous waves. Her thighs pressed together, trying to smother the ache, but it only made it worse. A sticky dampness gathered between her legs, and a soft, shameful gasp broke from her throat.
Images rose in her mind unbidden:A battered face turned up with a faint, knowing smile. Eyes flashing dark red, pinning her in place more surely than any frost arts ever could.
"No. He's worthless. Broken. Why would I—"
Her frost qi tried to clamp down on the invasive warmth. It only fanned it higher. Her breath broke, hips twitching, nipples hardening under thin silk.
By the time she realized she'd stood up, she was already halfway down the moonlit path, robe hastily thrown around her shoulders.
Peach blossoms drifted down from ancient trees overhead. The petals stuck to her hair, her skin. She didn't even brush them away. Her feet knew the way—straight to a battered old dorm at the sect's fringe.
Mo Li's.
She stopped at the door. Her heart thundered painfully. Shame tried to claw up her throat. What was she doing? How could she—
Her hand lifted on its own. Hovered.
Inside, a soft shuffle. Then a dark, velvet-smooth voice.
"Come in, Lin Xinyao."
She nearly collapsed. Her knees buckled under a fresh, helpless wave of need. The door slid open on old wooden runners, revealing him seated on his crude bunk. His eyes glowed faintly crimson in the shadows, a small, satisfied smile playing over his lips.
"How—how did you—"
He didn't answer. He only crooked a finger. Something inside her broke. She stepped forward, closed the door behind her, the latch clicking with finality.
Before she could gather her thoughts, his hand was on her waist, pulling her gently but irresistibly down to sit across his lap. The thin robe slid aside, baring one long, pale thigh. Heat radiated from where his body pressed against hers—impossibly hot, sending shivers racing up her spine.
"You've been very disciplined for many years, haven't you, Xinyao?"His voice was a lazy purr against her ear."So cold, so careful. Never once letting your heart stray."
She trembled, breath shattering, hands fisting against his chest.
"I—I don't—what are you—"
His hand slid lower, between her thighs. Fingers found the slick heat there and pressed. She choked on a moan so raw it made her eyes water.
"But your body betrays you, my little frost flower."
Dark runes flared beneath his skin, and her entire core spasmed—yin energy pouring out of her dantian in a sudden, humiliating rush, sucked into him. Her frost qi twisted, torn between fleeing and clinging to the demonic pull.
Her head fell forward onto his shoulder. The heat, the mortifying slick sounds from between her legs, the tingling electric glow of foreign power swirling inside her—it all blurred into a trembling haze.
His other hand stroked her hair, gentle and mocking all at once.
"This is just a whisper of what I'll take, Xinyao. The first petal fallen. Next time… I'll mark you so deeply not even the sect's ice scriptures will wash it away."
She could only shudder, lips parted, breaths coming in tiny desperate gasps. A single tear slid down her cheek—she didn't even know if it was from shame or unbearable pleasure.
"Why… why can't I fight it…"