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

Chapter 681: Chapter 681- The Master is inside the Ring

She trembled. Her hand — still stroking, still moving — tightened. Not from arousal. From the words. From the name.

"Please," she whispered. Her dark eyes lifted to his face. "Not — not his name. Please don’t —"

"Immortal," she corrected herself. Her refined voice was barely a whisper. "I — I will please you. For my sect. For my —"

Tianlong’s hand found the back of her head. His pale fingers threaded through her obsidian hair — the silken strands slipping between his fingers. He didn’t pull. He didn’t push. He rested. The weight of his hand — warm, heavy, possessive — on the back of her skull.

"What’s wrong?" he said. His voice was low. Quiet. The tone of a man asking a genuine question.

Her dark eyes — wet, desperate — met his gold-crimson ones. "I — I wanted to ask — I wanted to say —" She swallowed. Her coral lips trembled. "I love Lin Feng. Please — can you — can you leave me —"

The words died. The gold-crimson eyes — looking into hers, seeing through her — held no anger. No jealousy. No offense. They held — knowledge. The knowing gaze of a being who saw something she didn’t.

"So," Tianlong said. His voice was calm. Conversational. "How long have you known Lin Feng?"

She blinked. The question — simple, ordinary, jarring in its normalcy — cut through the surreal horror of the moment. "We — we are childhood friends. We grew up together in the sect. He was — he was always there. Always kind. Always —"

"Childhood friends," Tianlong repeated. His gold-crimson eyes held hers. "But your childhood friend — doesn’t he have the soul of an upper realm demon?"

She flinched. Her hand — still on his cock — stopped. Her dark eyes widened.

"What?" she whispered. "Upper — what?"

"You don’t know?" Tianlong said.

She stared at him. Her porcelain face was blank — confusion, disbelief, the desperate rejection of information that threatened to destroy everything she believed. "What — what are you talking about? Lin Feng is — he’s Lin Feng — he’s my —"

"The Lin Feng you knew," Tianlong said, his voice still calm, still conversational, "is dead. Has been dead for twelve years. The body you know — the body you love — is a vessel. Occupied by a soul from the upper realm. A parasitic entity that killed the original Lin Feng and took his place."

She trembled. Her dark eyes — wet, wide, the pupils dilated — searched his face. Looking for the lie. Looking for the cruelty. Looking for the reason.

"You’re lying," she whispered. Her voice cracked. "You’re — you’re lying to make me — to make me accept — you don’t have to — I will please you — for my sect — for my —"

Tianlong’s hand — the one on the back of her head — tightened. Not painfully. Not aggressively. But firmly. He pulled her face away from his cock. He held her at arm’s length. His gold-crimson eyes — serious, the amusement gone, the teasing gone — locked onto hers.

"You truly don’t know," he said. Not a question. A realization. "He is possessed. The real Lin Feng is dead. The entity wearing his face has been cultivating your love for twelve years, planning to harvest your bloodline’s Fate Value to ascend to the upper realm. You are not his love. You are his — what do they call it — his cauldron. A vessel. A tool."

She stared at him. Her dark eyes — wet, wide — were blank. Empty. The information — too large, too devastating, too fundamentally destructive to everything she had known — couldn’t be processed. Her mind rejected it. Her body rejected it. Her slender frame went rigid, the muscles locking, the Core Formation qi stuttering.

"No," she whispered. "No. I don’t — how — I would know — I would —"

Tianlong sighed. The sound was genuine. The sigh of a being who found human ignorance — not frustrating, but sad.

"You are a stupid girl, aren’t you?" he said.

He pulled her into a hug. Not the possessive, groping hug from the hall. A different hug. His arms wrapped around her slender body. His large hands rested on her back. His cock — twelve inches, hard, jutting from his pelvis — was sandwiched between their bodies. The thick shaft pressed against her stomach, the head reaching past her navel. Her bare breasts — both of them, the pink nipples stiff — mashed against his chest. The divine qi in his skin seeped through the contact.

She trembled. Her hands — small, pale — gripped his arms. Not pushing away. Not pulling closer. Holding. The desperate, blind holding of a woman whose world was dissolving.

Her pussy — virgin, untouched — was leaking. The arousal — the Horny God Physique’s pheromones, the divine qi, the overwhelming biological response — soaked through her silk undergarment. The fluid ran down her inner thigh. She felt it — the warmth, the wetness, the betrayal of her body responding to a man she didn’t love while her heart was breaking.

"Let me show you the real side of your so-called boyfriend," Tianlong said. His voice was quiet. Close. His breath warm on her ear.

Her heart thumped. She could feel it — the rapid, desperate beating against her ribs. Against his chest.

’It’s not possible. Lin Feng — Lin Feng is — he’s my childhood friend. He’s — he loves me. He —’

’But the ancestor — his power — he broke a Nascent Soul with a finger — he has no reason to lie — why would he lie — what would he gain —’

’No. No. It’s a trick. It has to be a trick. He wants me to — he wants me to accept him — so he’s —’

’But what if — what if it’s true —’

Her internal turmoil — the war between belief and doubt, between love and fear, between what she knew and what she was being told — consumed her. She didn’t notice Tianlong’s hand moving. Didn’t notice his fingers finding the waistband of her remaining robes. Didn’t notice the fabric being pulled down.

On the other side of the sect, in the dungeon, Lin Feng’s body healed.

The cell was dark — a stone chamber deep beneath the sect compound, the walls reinforced with formation diagrams that suppressed spiritual energy. The only light came from a small oil lamp, the flame flickering in the draft. The air was damp, cold, carrying the scent of mildew and old stone.

Lin Feng lay on the floor. His body — broken, bleeding, the Core Formation qi barely cycling — was healing. The wounds — the internal damage from Tianlong’s finger snap — were closing. The meridians, severed by the divine qi, were reconnecting. The blood — from his mouth, his nose, his ears — had stopped flowing.

The ring — the bronze ring on his left finger — glowed.

"Master," Lin Feng whispered. His voice was raw. Hoarse. The sound of a man speaking through a damaged throat. "Master — are you —"

The light from the ring intensified. The purple glow — familiar, carrying the energy signature of the ring’s spirit — expanded. Condensed. Took shape.

She materialized above him — hovering in the air, her body translucent, the astral form visible but not physical. She was a woman — tall, voluptuous, her body carrying the exaggerated curves of a cultivator from the upper realms.

Her breasts were enormous — heavy, round, the mounds visible through the purple astral fabric that barely covered them. The bikini-like garment — purple, shimmering, the material more decorative than functional — left little to the imagination.

Her nipples — large, dark — were visible through the sheer fabric. Her waist was narrow, her hips wide, her legs long. Her hair was purple — deep, rich, the color of amethyst — falling to her waist. Her face was beautiful — mature, sharp-featured, the eyes carrying the weight of three thousand years.

"How are you, my disciple?" she said. Her voice was — husky. Female. The voice of a woman who had once been powerful and was now diminished. The astral form wavered — translucent, the dungeon’s wall visible through her body.