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

Chapter 678: Chapter 678- A Fairy who can’t fly but Bounce

Lin Feng’s body dropped. He fell from the air — three meters, his body limp, his arms at his sides. He hit the stone floor. The impact was wet — blood, from his mouth, from his nose, from his ears, spraying across the jade.

His body convulsed. His dark eyes — brown again, the golden glow gone — were wide. Vacant. The pupils were dilated to the maximum, the irises shrunk to thin rings. His mouth opened. Blood poured — thick, dark, the blood of a man whose meridians had been forcibly severed.

"COUGH — COUGH — COUGH —"

The Nascent Soul breakthrough — the power that had surpassed the sect leader, that had stunned the elders, that Lin Feng had believed would be enough to kill a god — was gone. Instantly. Completely. Without effort. Without ceremony. A snap of a finger, and the most powerful cultivator in the Azure Cloud Sect’s history was reduced to a bleeding, convulsing body on the floor.

The hall was silent.

Elder Tianqing’s legs gave out. He sat on the floor. His handsome face was blank.

Elder Biyu’s sharp eyes were wide. Her mouth was open. No sound came out.

Elder Hanlin’s white beard was still. The old man was not breathing.

Elder Suwen — the kind-faced woman — had her hands over her mouth. Tears were running down her cheeks.

Jin Wuchen — the sect leader — sat in his chair. His dark eyes were on Lin Feng’s body. On the blood. On the empty, vacant face. His hands — on the armrests — were shaking. The jade beneath his fingers was cracked, the surface crumbling.

’A finger snap. One finger snap. He broke a Nascent Soul cultivator with a finger snap. The power that took — that would take me — that I have never achieved in forty years of cultivation — he broke it like — like a man swatting a fly.’

’What — what is he? What kind of being —’

Jin Yuhan — on Tianlong’s lap — saw it. She saw Lin Feng fall. She saw the blood. She saw the vacant eyes.

"LIN FENG!" she screamed. Her slender body convulsed on Tianlong’s thighs. Her hands — the one covering her breast, the one gripping the chair — released. She tried to rise. To run. To reach him.

Tianlong’s hand — large, pale, resting on her hip — didn’t tighten. He didn’t restrain her. He let her try.

She couldn’t. Her legs — draped over the arm of the chair, her silk slippers gone — wouldn’t support her. Her Core Formation qi was cycling erratically, the emotional trauma disrupting her cultivation base. Her body was trembling too violently to coordinate movement. She slid from his lap — her knees hitting the jade floor, her torn robes bunching around her waist, her bare breast swinging free.

She crawled. One knee, then the other, her hands on the cold jade. Her obsidian hair — loose, the jade pin lost — trailed behind her. Her tears fell on the floor.

An elder — Elder Suwen — intercepted her. The kind-faced woman knelt beside the princess. Her hands — gentle, warm — gripped Jin Yuhan’s shoulders.

"Princess," Elder Suwen whispered. Her voice was urgent. Careful. The voice of a woman choosing her words as though each one was a blade. "You saw. You saw how strong the mortal — how strong the ancestor is. Lin Feng’s Nascent Soul breakthrough — a power that surpasses even your father — was broken with a finger. A finger. Do you understand what that means?"

Jin Yuhan’s dark eyes — wet, desperate — found the elder’s face. "He — Lin Feng — he’s —"

"He is alive," Elder Suwen said. "But he is broken. And the fate of this sect — the fate of every disciple, every elder, every person in this mountain — rests on your shoulders, Princess. The ancestor has accepted the engagement. If you resist — if you defy him —"

The words hung. The implication was clear.

Jin Yuhan’s face crumpled. The tears came harder. Her slender body shook. Her coral lips — the color of pink coral — trembled.

"No," she whispered. "No. Please. I —"

She looked at Lin Feng. At his bleeding body. At his vacant eyes. At the blood pooling beneath his head.

She looked at her father. At Jin Wuchen — the enormous, powerful sect leader — sitting in his chair, his head bowed, his hands cracked on the armrests, his dark eyes on the floor.

He didn’t look at her.

"Father," she whispered. Her voice cracked. "Father, please —"

Jin Wuchen’s jaw tightened. His dark eyes stayed on the floor. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move.

’He won’t help me. My father — the sect leader — the most powerful man I have ever known — he won’t help me.’

’Because he can’t. Because the ancestor broke a Nascent Soul with a finger. Because we are nothing. Because I am — I am an offering. A trade. A piece on a board.’

Her tears fell on the jade.

Tianlong — still seated, his gold-crimson eyes observing — raised his hand. A casual gesture. A thread of divine qi extended — invisible, precise — and wrapped around Lin Feng’s bleeding body. The thread lifted him. His body rose from the floor — limp, his arms dangling, his head lolling, his blood dripping.

"Throw him in the dungeon," Tianlong said. His voice was flat. Bored. The tone of a man ordering a servant to take out the trash.

Two Core Formation guards — their faces white, their bodies trembling — stepped forward. They took Lin Feng’s body from the divine qi thread, each man gripping an arm. They dragged him — his bare feet sliding on the jade, his blood smearing — toward the hall’s side entrance. Toward the stairs that led down. Toward the dungeon.

Lin Feng’s body disappeared through the doorway. The guards followed. The sound of dragging — the wet, heavy sound of a body being pulled across stone — echoed through the hall, then faded.

The hall was silent.

Then — the praise began.

"Lord Ancestor’s power is truly without boundary —"

"The ancestor’s divine might — to break a Nascent Soul with a gesture —"

"This humble one is honored to witness such — such transcendent power —"

"Lord Ancestor — please — the Azure Cloud Sect is yours to command —"

The elders — Biyu, Hanlin, Suwen, Tianqing — kowtowed. Their foreheads touched the jade. Their voices were steady, careful, the words chosen with the precision of courtiers addressing an emperor. The aristocratic register — refined, formal, each syllable weighted with tradition — filled the hall.

Jin Wuchen — the sect leader — rose from his chair. His enormous frame straightened. He bowed — deeply, formally, the bow of a sect leader submitting to a superior power.

"Lord Ancestor," he said. His deep voice was controlled. Steady. The voice of a man who had accepted the inevitable. "The Azure Cloud Sect is at your service. All that we have — all that we are — is yours."

Tianlong waved his hand. The gesture was dismissive. The kowtowing elders rose. The formal atmosphere — shattered moments ago by Lin Feng’s outburst and the princess’s screams — reassembled itself. The court resumed its function. The aristocratic order reasserted itself.

And Jin Yuhan — kneeling on the jade floor, her torn robes hanging from her shoulders, her bare breast exposed, her tears falling — watched.

’They’re praising him. Lin Feng is bleeding in a dungeon, and they’re praising the man who put him there. Father is bowing. The elders are kowtowing. The disciples are cheering. And I —’

’I am kneeling. On the floor. With my breast exposed. Like a — like a concubine. Like a thing.’

Her dark eyes — wet, empty — stared at the jade beneath her hands.

A system window appeared in Tianlong’s vision.