Dual Cultivation: Gathering SSS-Rank Wives in the Cultivation World

Chapter 675: Chapter 675- Tea on the Tits

The impact was — nothing. Lin Feng’s Core Formation punch, the killing move, the technique that could shatter stone and split iron — stopped. Against one finger. The qi blade dissolved on contact with Tianlong’s divine qi. The energy dispersed. The force vanished.

Lin Feng’s dark eyes widened. His fist — pressed against the ancestor’s finger — trembled. His golden core was spinning at maximum, every meridian blazing, every ounce of his cultivation pouring into the strike.

Nothing. Not even a nudge.

Tianlong flicked his finger.

The impact sent Lin Feng flying. His body shot backward — across the hall, through the air, his blue robe whipping. He hit the far wall. The stone cracked. His body bounced. He hit the floor. He coughed — blood, thick and red, spraying from his mouth.

The hall was silent.

Elder Tianqing’s voice — barely a whisper — broke the silence. "He — he reached peak Core Formation. Lin Feng’s cultivation — it’s peak Core Formation. When did he —"

"The breakthrough," Elder Biyu breathed. "He must have broken through during the — the emotional turmoil. His cultivation advanced from mid-stage to peak in a single —"

"Impossible," Elder Hanlin said. "Breakthroughs don’t happen like —"

"Unless," Elder Suwen whispered, "the emotional intensity triggered a resonance with his spiritual constitution. It’s rare, but documented. Extreme emotional states can —"

They stopped. Because Tianlong was moving.

He hadn’t risen from his chair. He hadn’t stood. He had simply — reached. His hand extended, his pale fingers finding the tea cup on the small table beside his chair. He lifted it.

The tea cup was empty.

He looked at it. Then he looked at Jin Yuhan.

She stood beside his chair. Her porcelain face was composed. Her dark eyes were downcast. Her hands were folded. Her slender body was rigid.

"Fill it," Tianlong said.

Two words. Spoken to the princess. In front of the entire hall. In front of the elders. In front of the disciples. In front of Lin Feng — who was on the floor, blood on his chin, his dark eyes wide with fury and despair.

Jin Yuhan’s composure cracked. Her dark eyes widened. Her coral lips parted. Her slender body trembled.

"I —" she started.

"YOU BASTARD!" Lin Feng’s voice — ragged, blood-choked — tore through the hall. He scrambled to his feet, his blue robe stained with blood, his handsome face contorted. "You are treating her as a SERVANT! She is the Princess of the Azure Cloud Sect! She is —"

Tianlong’s gold-crimson eyes found Lin Feng. The gaze was flat. Cold. The amusement gone. Replaced by something else — something ancient and patient and utterly without mercy.

"She is my woman," Tianlong said.

The words fell like a guillotine.

The hall — every person, every elder, every disciple — went still. The statement was not a proposal. Not a request. Not a negotiation. It was a declaration. An announcement. The kind of statement made by a being who considered the matter settled and did not require input.

"My woman," Tianlong repeated. "Not a servant. Mine. And I am thirsty."

The tea cup — the empty porcelain cup in his hand — shattered. The pieces fell. The sound — sharp, brittle — echoed in the silent hall.

Jin Yuhan moved. Her slender body — trembling, her hands shaking — reached for the tea pot on the table. Her fingers closed around the handle. She lifted it. The tea — warm, green, spirit-infused — poured into a new cup. The liquid was steady. Her hands were not.

She reached toward Tianlong. The cup extended. Her dark eyes — wet, desperate — met his gold-crimson ones.

He didn’t take the cup.

His hand shot out. His pale fingers — large, golden-skinned — gripped her wrist. The same wrist that Lin Feng had held in her chamber. The same slender, pale wrist. But this grip was different. Not gentle. Not concerned. Possessive. Absolute.

He pulled.

Jin Yuhan’s slender body left the ground. Her silk slippers left the jade floor. Her layered robes billowed. Her obsidian hair flew. She fell — forward, down — onto Tianlong’s lap.

Her thick — no, her slender body landed across his thighs. Her layered robes bunched at her waist. Her porcelain face was inches from his — her dark eyes enormous, her coral lips parted, her cheeks flushing crimson. Her legs dangled over the arm of the chair, her silk slippers falling off, her bare feet — pale, small, the nails jade-lacquered — exposed.

"Immortal —" she gasped. Her refined voice cracked. "Please — everyone is watching —"

"You are my woman," Tianlong said. His gold-crimson eyes looked down at her. "And I am thirsty."

"YOU BASTARD — LEAVE HER —" Lin Feng rushed. His Core Formation qi blazed — the golden core spinning, the energy erupting. His body shot forward, his fist extended, his killing intent manifest.

Tianlong didn’t look at him. He didn’t raise his hand. He didn’t move.

His divine qi — suppressed, controlled, a fraction of its true intensity — pulsed.

The pulse was invisible. Silent. But the effect was devastating. Lin Feng’s body — mid-flight, mid-attack, his fist inches from Tianlong’s face — hit a wall of spiritual pressure. Not a wall — an ocean. An ocean of divine qi, condensed, pressurized, absolute. Lin Feng’s Core Formation cultivation — peak stage, the highest among the younger generation — shattered against it. His golden core flickered. His meridians contracted. His body was thrown — not by a blow, but by the sheer weight of divine qi — backward, across the hall, through the air. He hit the great doors at the entrance. The doors — massive, spirit-wood, reinforced with formation diagrams — shattered. Lin Feng’s body crashed through them. The splinters flew. He hit the corridor beyond, his body crumpling, blood spraying from his mouth.

"COUGH —" He coughed. The blood — thick, dark — pooled on the stone floor. His dark eyes — wide, shocked, the predator’s calculation shattered by the raw, overwhelming disparity in power — stared at the hall. At Tianlong. At the princess on the ancestor’s lap.

’His power — it’s — I can’t — I can’t even approach him — my Core Formation — my peak Core Formation — it’s nothing — it’s less than nothing — he didn’t even move — he didn’t even look at me —’

’This — this is an ancestor? This is a being from the upper realm? This is — this is what I have to become? This is what the Fairy Daisy bloodline will give me?’

’No — no — I need more time — I need the Fate Value — I need Yuhan — I can’t let him —’

In the hall, Tianlong’s attention returned to the woman on his lap. Jin Yuhan — her slender body across his thighs, her porcelain face flushed, her dark eyes wet — was trembling. Her hands were pressed against his chest — pushing, weakly, the resistance of a woman who knew it was futile.

"Please —" she whispered. Her refined voice was barely audible. "Immortal — please — the elders — the disciples — they are watching —"

"Let them watch," Tianlong said.

His hand — the one not holding her wrist — moved. It picked up the tea cup — the one she had filled. The warm, green, spirit-infused tea. He lifted it.

And poured it on her chest.

The warm liquid hit her layered robes. The silk — thin, fine, designed for aesthetics rather than protection — went transparent. The tea ran down her chest, soaking the fabric, the green liquid spreading across her breasts. The shape of her mounds was revealed — round, firm, moderate, the porcelain skin visible through the wet silk. Her nipples — small, pale, pink — hardened from the warmth, the stiff points visible through the transparent fabric.

"AAH~!" Jin Yuhan’s back arched. Her coral lips parted. The warmth — not scalding, but warm enough to redden her cultivated skin — tingled. Her body reacted — her nipples stiffening, her skin flushing, the sensation somewhere between discomfort and stimulation. Her tears fell. "Please — it’s — it’s warm — my —"