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

Chapter 712: Chapter 712 - Taking the Headmistress for Some Work

Mayor Chen Hu stared at the purple mark. His round face was blank. Genuinely blank. He had no idea. The mark had appeared three nights ago. He had been told. He had investigated. He had found nothing. He had reported nothing because there was nothing to report.

"No, sir," he said. His voice was thin. "I do not. We found it three days ago. We do not know its origin."

Tianlong looked at him. The gold-crimson eyes, the brief contact, made the mayor’s bowels loosen. The gaze was not hostile. It was simply... complete. The gaze of a being who saw everything, who missed nothing, who could read the truth in a man’s sweat and heartbeat and breathing.

The mayor lowered his head. His eyes went to the ground. He knew, with the certainty of a man who had spent decades reading people, that the question had not been for him.

Tianlong’s gold-crimson eyes moved. To Madam Yueying.

She was looking down. Her dark eyes, wet, were fixed on the stone at her feet. Her thick body, the formal robes pulling across her breasts, was trembling. Not the fine tremor of nervousness. The deep, full-body shaking of a woman whose foundation, whose composure, whose entire sense of self was being dismantled.

The divine qi radiating from Tianlong, from the burn mark, from the residual energy in the stone, pressed against her. The spiritual pressure, the weight of a being from the upper realm, was absolute. Her peak Golden Core qi, the pride of thirty years of cultivation, was nothing. A flicker. A candle before a sun.

She couldn’t tell. She couldn’t lie. Not to this. Not to these eyes.

She shook her head. The motion was small. Barely perceptible. The denial of a woman who knew the truth but could not speak it.

Her lips, full and coral pink, were bitten. The lower lip, caught between her teeth, was white from the pressure. Her face, the beautiful mature face, was a mask of poorly concealed panic.

Even the guild leaders, the town elders, standing at a distance, could see that she was lying. Elder Mo, the alchemist guild leader, an old man with sharp eyes, exchanged a glance with Elder Fang. The blacksmith guild leader, a woman with arms like tree trunks, raised an eyebrow. They could see the headmistress was hiding something. But they said nothing. They were too afraid to speak.

Tianlong smiled. The smile was warm. Almost gentle. The expression of a man who found a cornered animal’s futile attempts at deception to be charming.

"Do you want to tell me something, Madam?" he said. He used her name. The formal address. The polite, courteous tone of a nobleman addressing a lady.

Madam Yueying’s composure shattered.

She rubbed her forehead. Her hand, pale and trembling, pressed against her temple. The sweat, the heat, the fear, the overwhelming pressure of the divine qi, all converged. Her vision blurred. Her knees weakened. Her peak Golden Core qi, already destabilized, flickered.

"I..." she started. Her rich voice was a whisper. "I..."

Her eyes rolled back. Her thick body, the formal robes, the silver-pinned hair, went limp. She fell. Not gracefully. Not dramatically. The simple, physical collapse of a woman whose body had surrendered before her mind could.

Tianlong caught her.

His arm, moving with a speed that no one on the plateau could track, scooped her falling body from the air. His hand, large and golden-skinned, caught her beneath the shoulders. His other arm, sliding beneath her knees, lifted. The princess carry. The posture of a man lifting a woman with ease.

Her thick body was heavy in his arms. Her formal robes, the dark blue fabric, hung loose. Her breasts, large and full, pressed against his chest through the silk. The buttons, already strained, groaned under the pressure. Her hips, wide and thick, rested on his forearm. The fabric of her robes, pulled by the position, rode up. Her thighs, pale and toned, were exposed to mid-thigh. The white silk of her undergarment, the panty, was visible at the junction of her thighs.

His hand, beneath her knees, was on her bare skin. His other hand, on her back, was positioned low. His fingers, pale and large, rested on the curve of her ass. Through the silk of her robes, the flesh of her thick cheek was warm. His fingers, adjusting his grip, dug into the firm flesh. The silk pulled taut. The curve of her ass, the full round shape, was cupped in his palm.

He held her. In front of everyone. In front of the mayor, the elders, the academy heads, the soldiers, the sect leaders, the Soul Formation women.

He looked down at her face. The beautiful, mature features, slack with unconsciousness. The dark hair, loosened, falling across his arm. The coral lips, parted. The sweat on her temples.

He looked at the mayor.

"Does she have a son?" he said.

Mayor Chen Hu, his round face a mask of confusion and terror, nodded rapidly. "Indeed, she has a son. Lau. He studies at the Crimson Peak Academy. I would contact him instantly, Lord Immortal. I’ll send someone to..."

"No need," Tianlong said. His voice was calm. "Don’t worry him. He must be studying in the academy if I am correct."

The mayor nodded. "Indeed, indeed. He’s a very bright child. Quiet. Keeps to himself. A good boy."

The lie, the mayor’s automatic assessment of a boy he had never paid attention to, was transparent. But Tianlong didn’t correct it. He didn’t need to.

"Find the academy," Tianlong said. His gold-crimson eyes, looking down at the unconscious woman in his arms, at the thick body, at the exposed thigh, at the curve of the ass beneath his hand, held thought. "You don’t need to worry. Just don’t tell him anything. I will send the lady after she is healed."

He turned. He walked. Toward the ship. The unconscious headmistress in his arms, her thick body pressed against his chest, her ass in his hand, her thighs exposed.

The procession followed. The Soul Formation women. The sect leaders. The Core Formation guards.

The mayor, left standing at the burn mark, stared after them. His round face was blank. His hands, at his sides, hung loose.

The ship’s ramp extended. Tianlong climbed. The unconscious woman in his arms. The doors opened. The interior, dark and cool, received them.

The doors closed.

Outside, the soldiers reformed. The perimeter guards returned to their positions. The barrier, the formation array, reactivated. The plateau was once again sealed.

A Core Formation soldier, standing at the edge of the ramp, turned to the mayor. The man’s face was blank.

"The Immortal thanks you for your cooperation," the soldier said. The words were formal. Scripted. "You may return to your town."

The mayor, his round face gray, bowed. He turned. He walked. Back toward Qinghe. Back toward the town. Away from the mountain, the ships, the army, the immortal who had taken the headmistress of the Crimson Peak Academy into his ship and had not said when, or if, she would return.

The town elders followed. The academy heads followed. Their faces, pale and tight, held the expressions of people who had just witnessed something they did not understand and were powerless to question.