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

Chapter 724: Chapter 724- The Lau’s Inheritance

Bai Lian’s green eyes widened. "What?"

"They did nothing," Madam Yueying said. Her coral lips, swollen, curved into a smile. The smile was wrong. The warmth was there but the foundation, the person behind it, was altered. "I had to bear the punishment of what my son did. So I am doing it."

Bai Lian’s hands, on the headmistress’s face, trembled. "What? What are you talking about? Punishment? What punishment? Your son? Lau? What does Lau have to do with..."

"The forbidden technique," Madam Yueying said. Her dark eyes, wet, were steady. The corrupted logic, the broken reasoning, the mental framework that justified her degradation, flowed from her lips. "My son used a forbidden technique. The Immortal found out. The Immortal punished me. I am bearing the punishment. To save my son. My body for his life. It is a fair trade. A mother’s duty."

Bai Lian’s green eyes, wide, streamed. Her hands, on the headmistress’s face, shook. Her body, the slender frame, trembled.

"No," Bai Lian whispered. "No. You don’t deserve this. This isn’t... this isn’t punishment. This is... this is..."

She turned. Her green eyes, red, wet, found Tianlong. At the man. At the being. At the god who had done this.

"Take me instead of her!" she yelled. Her voice, clear, musical, the voice of a girl who had grown up around powerful people and had learned to make herself heard, cracked with fury. "If you want to punish someone, take me! Leave her alone!"

Tianlong’s gold-crimson eyes found her. At the young woman. At the green eyes. At the tears. At the fury.

"What is your age?" he said.

The question, the simple, administrative question, hit Bai Lian like a slap. Her fury stuttered. Her green eyes, wide, blinked.

"I..." she started. "I’m about to turn nineteen."

Tianlong’s mouth curved. The smile, small, knowing, was the expression of a man who had just received confirmation.

Madam Yueying’s body went rigid. Her dark eyes, wide, found his face. The corrupted calm, the rebuilt composure, shattered.

"Please don’t," she whispered. Her raw voice was desperate. She moved. Her thick body, the overflowing bra, the bare pussy, the tail, the collar, moved. She reached Bai Lian. Her arms, pale, wrapped around the young woman. She hugged. Her enormous tits, in the furry bra, pressed against Bai Lian’s slender body. "Please don’t. She’s just a girl. She has nothing to do with this. Please."

Bai Lian’s green eyes, wet, looked at the headmistress. At the woman holding her. At the thick body. At the tears. At the desperation.

"Don’t treat her like that," Bai Lian said. Her voice, the fury, was gone. Replaced by the pleading. The begging. "Please."

Tianlong looked at them. At the two women. At the headmistress, corrupted, devoted, begging. At the young woman, furious, desperate, willing.

"Fine then," he said. His voice was casual. The tone of a man making a minor concession. "Hold it."

He held the leash out. The chain, silver, dangled. He offered it to Bai Lian.

Bai Lian’s green eyes, wide, looked at the leash. At the chain. At the collar on the headmistress’s neck. At the implication.

"What?" she whispered.

Her hand, trembling, took the leash. The chain, cold, heavy, was in her grip. She held it. The weight, the significance, the surrender of accepting the leash of a woman she was trying to save, settled into her palm.

Madam Yueying, with the support of Liu Mei’s shoulder, stood. Her thick body, gasping, the enormous tits heaving, was upright. Her dark eyes, on Bai Lian, held gratitude. The corrupted, broken gratitude of a woman who had been saved from watching another suffer her fate.

The young woman held the leash. Her hand, trembling, the chain rattling softly.

Tianlong turned. He walked. Toward the citadel. Toward the jade doors. Toward the inheritance.

"Follow," he said.

Bai Lian, the leash in her hand, followed. Madam Yueying, on the leash, followed. The three Soul Formation women followed.

They entered the citadel.

The interior was beautiful.

The jade doors opened onto a garden. A path of white stone, lined with spirit-flowers, wound through a grove of silver-leafed trees. The air was warm. Fragrant. The scent of plum blossoms and night jasmine filled the space. A stream, crystal clear, ran beside the path. The water, sparkling, murmured. Birds, their feathers iridescent, sang from the branches.

The ceiling, far above, was open. Not a ceiling. Sky. A blue, cloudless sky that should not exist inside a mountain. Sunlight, warm and golden, fell through the opening. The light, the air, the scent, the sound, was paradise.

The other three Soul Formation women, their eyes scanning, were cautious. Madam Fengyan’s beautiful face was tight. Liu Mei’s amethyst eyes were narrow. Jin Yuhan’s dark eyes were alert.

Bai Lian, the leash in her hand, stared. Her green eyes, wet, were wide. The beauty, the serenity, the impossible peace of the space, was overwhelming.

Tianlong’s gold-crimson eyes swept the garden. His divine qi, radiating outward, pressed against the space. The spiritual energy, the natural qi of the garden, responded. The flowers, the trees, the stream, the birds, shimmered.

"Don’t fall for the illusion," he said.

He snapped his fingers.

The sound was small. The effect was total. The garden shattered. Not violently. The flowers, the trees, the stream, the birds, the sky, the sunlight, dissolved. Like paint in water. Like mist in wind. The beautiful scene, the paradise, was gone.

What remained was stone.

The garden was a cavern. The walls, rough, dark, were stone. The floor, not white path but rough rock, was uneven. The stream was a crack in the floor, a fissure from which dark liquid, not water, seeped. The ceiling, not sky but rock, was low. The light, not sunlight but phosphorescent moss, was green. Sickly. The air, not fragrant but stale, carried the scent of decay.

And below. Through the fissure in the floor. A pool. Not the crystal stream. A pool of dark liquid. The surface, viscous, churned. The energy, the spiritual energy of the disciples, the life force that was being devoured, flowed into the pool. The liquid, the condensed energy, was the collection point.

A bridge. Thin. Rope. Spanning the fissure. The ropes, frayed, looked ready to snap. The planks, rotting, were spaced too far apart. The bridge, the only visible path across, was a trap.

Madam Fengyan’s dark eyes found the bridge. She looked down. At the pool. At the dark liquid. At the energy, flowing, churning.

"Lord Immortal," she said. Her husky voice was careful. "It seems the bridge breaks the moment one walks on it. Leading them to fall down. I can feel the signatures of my disciples down there. In the pool."

Tianlong’s gold-crimson eyes, looking at the bridge, at the pool, at the cavern, saw differently. His divine qi, his spiritual sense, his upper realm perception, cut through the illusions and the traps. He saw the energy. The flow. The pattern. And beneath the pattern, the source.

The source was deeper. Past the pool. Past the traps. Past the illusions. At the core of the citadel. At the heart of the inheritance.

And at the source, a signature. Familiar. The void energy. The purple-black qi. The power that had manifested in the forest, that had killed four Core Formation cultivators, that had healed Xu Ran. The power of the boy. Of Lau.

’He’s healing. The boy. He’s at the core. Hiding. The inheritance is his but he doesn’t control it. The mechanism is autonomous. It’s consuming the cultivators, feeding on their energy, and channeling it to the core.’

’But the system is not just an inheritance. It’s a cocoon. A chrysalis. The boy is inside. Being fed. Being grown. Being prepared.’

’And the thing that prepared him... the fragment...’