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

Chapter 730: Chapter 730- Boy Got Taken Away

The name, the private reference, the lesson learned from a previous encounter, was filed away. His cock, still inside the headmistress, twitched. The movement, the involuntary flex of divine flesh inside her puffy cunt, made Madam Yueying tremble. Her dark eyes, wet, wide, felt the twitch. The sensation, the hot, thick flesh moving inside her, sent a jolt through her overstimulated body.

’When a man is having a sex session, he is the most vulnerable,’ Tianlong thought. ’Sabrina taught me that. She nearly killed me while I was mid-thrust. Lesson learned. Never again.’

His hand, holding the spear, folded. His fingers, pale, the divine qi flowing through his grip, compressed the weapon. The shaft, the condensed qi, the golden inscriptions, crumpled. Like paper. The spear, folded, compressed, deformed, was crushed into a ball. The spiritual energy, dissipated, was absorbed.

He threw it.

The ball, the crushed remains of the spear, was hurled toward the direction it had come from. The ceiling. The spatial disturbance. The portal. The projectile, launched with divine strength, crossed the distance in a fraction of a heartbeat. The sound, the sonic boom of an object moving faster than sound, cracked the air.

The ceiling, the stone, the rock above the chamber, exploded. The ball, the crushed weapon, passed through. Through the stone. Through the citadel. Through the mountain. Toward the portal above.

A sound. From above. A crash. An impact. The sound of a ball of compressed spiritual energy hitting something. Someone.

"What a fellow," Tianlong said. His voice carried mild amusement. The observation of a man who had just thrown a weapon back at its sender and had heard the impact.

The fog settled. Not literal fog. The dust, the debris, the shattered stone, the orange fluid, the residual energy, all of it, hung in the air. The chamber, the once-sealed space, was open. The ceiling, destroyed, revealed the sky above. The portal, the spatial tear, was visible. A crack in the fabric of the world, the edges glowing with Upper World energy.

Through the dust, through the debris, a figure descended.

The man landed in the chamber. His boots, dark leather, touched the stone. His robes, dark blue and silver, the attire of the Upper World, were immaculate. His hair, silver-white, was tied in a topknot. His face, young, handsome, the kind of face that spoke of noble blood and centuries of cultivation, held an expression of controlled fury.

In his arms, the boy.

Lau.

The thin frame, the plain face, the brown hair, now longer, the body developed, the proportions shifted, was cradled. The boy’s eyes, half-open, the purple-black glow dimmed, were unfocused. His body, the developing frame, was limp. His breathing, shallow, was present.

The man, the Upper World cultivator, looked at his hand. At his finger. The index finger, the one that had caught the crushed spear, was disintegrated. The digit, from the knuckle up, was gone. The stump, the wound, was cauterized by divine qi. The flesh, the bone, the meridian, all of it, vaporized.

His silver-white eyebrows rose. His handsome face, the controlled fury, shifted. The expression became one of assessment. Of recalculation.

He looked at Tianlong. At the man. At the golden body, the dark hair, the gold-crimson eyes. At the divine qi, radiating, the field that had rejected the blast, that had caught the spear, that had crushed it and thrown it back.

"Who are you?" the man said. His voice was steady. Cultured. The voice of an Upper World aristocrat. "And how is an individual like you in this realm?"

The question, the genuine inquiry, was not hostile. Not yet. The man, despite his severed finger, despite his failed sneak attack, was assessing. Measuring. Determining whether the being before him was an enemy or an anomaly.

Tianlong’s gold-crimson eyes, looking at the man, at the silver-white hair, at the dark blue and silver robes, at the boy in his arms, held the cold recognition.

’I should be asking that,’ he thought. His internal voice was flat. Cold. The recognition of a power level that should not exist in the lower realm.

’Great Vehicle Realm. This man is at the Great Vehicle Realm. The same realm I was at before I transcended. The same realm that, in the upper world, is considered the peak of mortal cultivation. A realm that can shatter continents, that can rewrite the laws of physics, that can challenge the heavens themselves.’

’In the lower realm, where the strongest cultivators are peak Golden Core, where Soul Formation is myth, a Great Vehicle cultivator is a god. An absolute, unchallenged, invincible god.’

’But not to me.’

His gold-crimson eyes went cold. The warmth, the amusement, the casual demeanor, vanished. What remained was the assessment of a being who had transcended the Great Vehicle Realm. Who had entered the Divine Transcendent Realm. Who was, in the hierarchy of power, above this man.

The man, the Upper World cultivator, felt the shift. The temperature, the divine qi, the pressure, changed. The cold, the absolute zero of a being who had recognized an inferior and was deciding whether to acknowledge or dismiss, pressed against his spiritual sense.

His silver-white eyebrows tightened. His handsome face paled. A fraction. The recognition, the dawning realization, that the man before him, the man in the lower realm, the man whose cock was still inside a woman, was not at the Great Vehicle Realm.

He was above it.

’Great Vehicle,’ Tianlong’s eyes said.

"You came to save the boy," Tianlong said. His voice was not a question. It was a statement. The observation of a being who had already deduced the entire situation.

The man, the Upper World cultivator, holding Lau in his arms, stood. His silver-white hair, his dark blue and silver robes, his severed finger, his controlled fury, all of it, was still. The assessment, the recalculation, was complete.

The boy in his arms. Lau. The vessel. The reincarnation of the time variant. The fragment of Shen Wuji. The being that the Upper World, the heavenly fate, the cosmic narrative, had invested in. The protagonist seed. The hero. The chosen one.

And the man before him, the golden man with the gold-crimson eyes, was the villain. The being who had come to destroy the protagonist before he could mature. The being who had already killed one version of the parasite. The being who had broken Shen Wuji in the prison cell, who had fucked the women who surrounded the protagonist, who had claimed the protagonist’s mother and childhood friend.

The heavenly fate was strong with this boy. Strong enough that the Upper World had sent a Great Vehicle cultivator to retrieve him. To protect him. To ensure his growth.

The man turned. His robes, dark blue and silver, shifted. His body, the boy in his arms, moved toward the portal. Toward the spatial tear. Toward the Upper World.

"It is nothing for you, junior," the man said. His voice, the word, the address, was deliberate. Junior. The term for a cultivator of lower generation. Lower status. Lower standing. The word, the implication, was a dismissal. "You better enjoy your women and leave. You are just an insect."

The words, the insult, the dismissal, hung in the chamber. The man, the Great Vehicle cultivator, the being sent from the Upper World to retrieve the protagonist seed, had called the Divine Transcendent being an insect.

Tianlong’s gold-crimson eyes, on the man’s back, held no reaction. No anger. No offense. The neutral assessment of a being who had been called worse by greater beings.

The man entered the portal. The spatial tear, the crack in the fabric of the world, closed. The edges, glowing with Upper World energy, sealed. The sky above, visible through the destroyed ceiling, was blue. Clear. The portal was gone.

The boy was gone.