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

Chapter 690: Chapter 690 - The Preparation for the Upper Realm?

The words — simple, genuine, the compliment of a senior to a junior — hit Liu Mei like a physical blow. Her beautiful face — composed, sharp, the mask of a three-thousand-year-old spirit — crumbled. Her amethyst eyes filled. Her enormous tits — barely contained by the purple fabric — heaved.

"Thank you," she whispered. Her voice cracked. "Thank you, Senior."

A soft pulse formed on her face — a blush. The first physical blush she had experienced in three millennia. The color — pink, delicate — spread across her sharp cheekbones, down her neck, to her chest.

Tianlong’s gold-crimson eyes returned to Jin Yuhan. The princess — pushed against the wall, her nose bleeding, her dark eyes rolling — was trembling. Her small hand — the one not bracing against the stone — had found his cock. Her fingers — pale, ash-covered — wrapped around the shaft. She stroked. Mechanically. The motion she had learned from Shen Wuji, applied to a different master.

He looked down at her. At her bleeding nose. At her rolling eyes. At her small hand on his cock.

’I don’t like that she loved another man. But the man is dead. The parasite is ash. And she is mine. The Fate Value is mine. The bloodline is mine. The attachment is mine.’

’And I can have her — the way I want.’

His cock — in her hand — throbbed. The divine qi pulsed. The shaft — pale, thick, the head crimson — stood rigid before her face.

He came.

The orgasm hit like a thunderbolt. The divine seed — thick, pressurized, molten — erupted from his cock. The first jet — powerful, white — shot across the gap and hit Jin Yuhan’s face. The semen — warm, thick — splashed across her cheek, her nose, her lips. The second jet — higher, wider — hit her forehead, the white fluid running into her hair. The third — lower — hit her chin, the semen dripping onto her chest, onto her bare breasts.

She opened her mouth. The instinct — not learned, not taught, but biological, the response of a body that had been bonded to his divine qi — drove her. Her lips parted. Her tongue extended. The next jet — thick, white — hit her tongue. She swallowed. The semen — warm, viscous, carrying divine qi — slid down her throat.

She sucked. Her lips — coral pink, swollen — closed around the head. Her cheeks hollowed. Her tongue worked. She drained him — the remaining jets, the residual semen, the divine seed — swallowing, gulping, her throat working.

He pulled out. His cock — softening, the shaft slick with saliva and semen — emerged. She fell. Her slender body — the Nascent Soul energy cycling, the divine qi in the semen seeping through her digestive system into her meridians — collapsed. Her knees hit the stone. Her hands — small, pale — pressed flat against the floor. Her face — covered in semen, ash, blood, tears — was lowered.

She trembled. Her dark eyes — wet, wide — stared at the floor. At the ashes. At the blood. At the semen dripping from her chin.

Tianlong looked down at her. His gold-crimson eyes — warm, satisfied, the gaze of a being who had claimed what was his — held no cruelty. No malice. The simple satisfaction of a man who had won.

"I hope you forget about Lin Feng," he said. His voice was low. Calm. "And know that I am your man."

The words — spoken to a woman covered in his semen, kneeling in the ashes of her dead friend — were not a comfort. They were a declaration. A statement of ownership. The words of a young master who had claimed his prize.

He turned. His formal immortal’s attire — the dark silk, the crimson rope — shimmered. His gold-crimson eyes found Liu Mei. The astral — no, physical — woman. The former ring spirit. The former parasite’s parasite. The three-thousand-year-old cultivator who was now, for the first time in millennia, standing on her own feet.

"Tell me about the realm you are from," he said.

Liu Mei talked.

She talked as they walked — through the ruined dungeon, through the cracked corridors, through the Azure Cloud Sect compound where disciples and elders were staring at the purple-gold signal still blazing in the sky above the mountain. She talked as they passed the training platforms, the meditation halls, the alchemy labs. She talked as Tianlong walked, his formal attire shimmering, his divine qi pressing against everything, his gold-crimson eyes forward.

She narrated.

"I am from the Realm of Celestial Tides," she said. Her husky voice — now fully physical, the sound carrying warmth and depth — was steady. The practiced narration of a cultivator who had told this story before. "It is a mid-tier realm in the upper worlds. Not the strongest — not the Realm of Divine Emperors, not the Realm of Primordial Chaos — but respected. Our realm produced three Great Vehicle Realm cultivators in the last ten thousand years. I was — I was one of them."

Tianlong’s gold-crimson eyes flickered. Great Vehicle Realm. The realm above Nascent Soul. The realm that, in the lower worlds, was considered legend.

"I cultivated at the Violet Cauldron Peak," Liu Mei continued. Her physical body — voluptuous, the enormous tits swaying as she walked, the thick hips shifting — moved with a grace that belied her centuries of confinement. Her amethyst hair — purple, long — fell down her back. "It was a peak dedicated to alchemy and soul cultivation. I was the Elder of Soul Arts. I studied — I studied the methods of transferring consciousness between bodies. Between realms. Between worlds."

Her voice dropped. The narration became — personal.

"I was betrayed. Three thousand years ago. My senior brother — a man I trusted — attacked me during my seclusion. My body was destroyed. My soul was fragmented. I — I managed to seal a portion of my consciousness into this ring." She touched the bronze band — now on Tianlong’s finger, taken from the ashes of Shen Wuji’s cell. "I waited. For centuries. For a vessel. For someone who could — who could host my soul art. Who could help me regenerate."

"Shen Wuji found me. In the lower realm. He was — he was a soul cultivator. A rogue. A man who had been expelled from his sect in the upper realm for practicing forbidden arts. He had descended to the lower world to escape pursuit. He found the ring. He found me."

"I thought — I thought he could help me. He knew soul art. He had the cultivation base. If I taught him, if I guided him, if I helped him accumulate Fate Value — he could provide the energy I needed to regenerate my physical form."

Her amethyst eyes — wet, the first tears she had shed in physical form — found Tianlong’s face.

"I was wrong. He was — he was a fool. Reckless. Immature. Possessive. He saw me as — as a resource. Not a partner. He wanted to use me. Just as he wanted to use the princess. Just as he wanted to use everything."

Her voice cracked. The tears fell — wet, warm, the first physical tears in three thousand years — down her sharp cheeks.

"I am sorry, Senior. I chose poorly. I — I attached myself to a monster. And the princess — the princess suffered for it."

Tianlong listened. His gold-crimson eyes — forward, his stride measured — absorbed the information. The Realm of Celestial Tides. A mid-tier upper realm. Three Great Vehicle Realm cultivators. Soul arts. Betrayal. A ring. Centuries of confinement.

’The Realm of Celestial Tides. Not the strongest upper realm. Not the weakest. A mid-tier world with soul cultivators and alchemists and the kind of political intrigue that produced betrayals and broken souls.’