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

Chapter 734: Chapter 734 - A Young Woman’s Rage

The elders ran. Through the doors, through the corridors, out of the hall, into the courtyard. Their faces, white, terrified, were turned upward.

The sky was torn.

The rift, the spatial tear, the crack in the fabric of the lower world’s barrier, opened. Not one rift. Four. The sky, the blue morning sky, was split by four massive tears. The edges, glowing with Upper World energy, golden and white, pulsed.

Through the rifts, the ships descended.

Four vessels. Enormous. The hulls, dark, carved from Upper World spirit-wood, the surfaces engraved with formation arrays that glowed with divine qi. The sails, black, bore no insignia. They needed none. The ships, the vessels, the fleet, were the property of the Long Dynasty. The imperial fleet.

The ships landed. The hulls, touching the mountain plateau, the same plateau that had held the sect fleet, cracked the stone. The weight, the spiritual pressure, the sheer mass of Upper World vessels, was immense.

The doors opened. The ramps extended. From the ships, the army descended.

Guards. Hundreds of them. Their armor, dark, the surface engraved with golden formation diagrams. Their weapons, sheathed. Their faces, hidden behind masks. Their cultivation, radiating, was uniform.

Divine Integration Realm.

Every single guard. Every single soldier. Hundreds of them. Each one, a powerhouse. Each one, capable of destroying a city. Each one, a being whose power transcended every cultivator in the lower world.

Behind the guards, the army. Thousands of them. Soul Formation cultivators. Nascent Soul cultivators. Golden Core cultivators. The military force of the Long Dynasty, deployed to the lower world to retrieve their emperor.

The guards, their masked faces, their dark armor, their Divine Integration cultivation, knelt. The motion, synchronized, the knee hitting the stone, was the acknowledgment of their emperor’s presence.

Behind them, two figures. Not guards. Not soldiers. Officers. Commanders. Their armor, more ornate, the golden formation diagrams more dense, their cultivation radiating at peak Divine Integration, approached.

They bowed. Deep. The bow of subjects before their sovereign.

"It is time for you to descend back, our Lord," the first commander said. His voice, deep, resonant, carried the weight of the Upper World. "The Emperor of the immortal world is at the edge of his life. We have come to return you to your rightful throne."

The words, the formal declaration, the imperial summons, fell into the courtyard. The elders, on their knees, their faces on the stone, trembled. The sect leaders, Jin Wuchen, Wang Deyu, Han Tianxiao, who had arrived at the commotion, stood. Their faces, white, gray, ashen, were the faces of men who had just witnessed the sky torn open and an army of gods descend.

Tianlong emerged from the hall.

His formal attire, the dark silk and crimson rope, was loose. The sash, untied, hung open. His chest, golden, muscular, was visible. His legs, bare, were beneath the robe. His hand, at his waist, was zipping. The motion, the casual, mundane act of adjusting his clothing, was jarring. The contrast, the imperial blood, the golden inscriptions, the army of Divine Integration guards, and the man zipping his robe, was surreal.

His gold-crimson eyes, on the commanders, on the guards, on the army, on the ships, held the calm recognition of a man who had expected this.

"It seems I need to give a visit to my brother," he said. His voice was calm. Conversational. The tone of a man mentioning a social call.

Behind him, the women followed. Jin Yuhan, her slender body, her formal robes, her dark eyes wet. Liu Mei, her voluptuous body, her purple robes, her amethyst eyes. Madam Fengyan, her thick body, her dark red and gold robes, her beautiful face. Three Soul Formation cultivators, their power peaking, their spiritual cores pure and condensed, their cultivation bases solid and strong.

And Madam Yueying.

The headmistress, her thick body, the furry bra, the bare pussy, the leaking seed, the collar, the tail, stood. Her dark eyes, wet, were on the ships. On the army. On the sky. The rift, the tear, the Upper World, was visible. The world beyond, the immortal world, the world her son had been taken to, was there. Through the rift. Through the tear.

’My son. He’s up there. In that world. With those beings. And I’m... I’m going too. The Lord Immortal is taking me.’

In the crowd, the gathering of sect members, soldiers, townspeople who had come to see the commotion, she stood. Her thick body, the furry bra, the bare lower body, the collar, the tail, was visible. The people, the mortals, the cultivators, the townspeople of Qinghe, stared. Their eyes, wide, their mouths open, their faces shocked, took in the sight. The headmistress. The composed authority. The proud woman. Standing in a furry bra and a collar, her pussy leaking divine cum, her body marked with teeth and handprints.

Tianlong looked at her. His gold-crimson eyes, on the thick woman, held the gesture. His hand, large and pale, extended. The motion, the qi telekinesis, the divine power that moved objects and people through spiritual force, activated.

Her body was pulled. The thick frame, the enormous tits, the bare pussy, was yanked through the air. The distance, the twenty feet between them, closed in an instant. Her body, flying, hit his chest. The impact, the enormous tits against his golden pectorals, was soft. The flesh, the heavy mounds, deformed against his hard muscles. Her face, beautiful and mature, was at his chest. Her dark eyes, wide, wet, looked up.

His hand, on her hips, gripped. His fingers, pale, large, dug into the thick flesh of her ass. The cheeks, round and full, were cupped. He held her. In front of everyone. The emperor, holding the headmistress by her ass, her body pressed against his, her furry bra and collar on display.

The crowd, the sect members, the soldiers, the townspeople, were shocked. The elders, the sect leaders, who had known about the headmistress’s degradation, who had seen her on the leash, who had witnessed her corruption, were not surprised. But the others, the disciples, the soldiers, the townspeople, the people who had known Madam Yueying as the composed, authoritative, respectable headmistress of the Crimson Peak Academy, were stunned.

Their eyes, wide, their mouths open, their faces masks of disbelief, took in the sight. The headmistress, the woman who had disciplined their children, who had led their academy, who had been a figure of authority and respect, was standing in a furry bra and a collar, her ass in the hands of the emperor, her pussy leaking his cum.

They talked. Among themselves. In whispers. In murmurs. The scandal, the absolute, world-shattering scandal, was beyond anything they could have imagined.

A voice. Young. Female. Furious.

"Leave her alone! Don’t take her!"

Tianlong turned. His gold-crimson eyes found the source.

Bai Lian. The young woman. The childhood friend. The girl whose virginity he had taken in the inheritance chamber. The girl who had offered herself to save the headmistress.

She stood in the crowd, her green eyes red, her black hair loose, her academy uniform torn.

Her pretty face, contorted with fury, with desperation, with the rage of a young woman who had been fucked, who had been used, who had been discarded, and who was now watching the woman she had tried to save being taken away.

"Leave her alone!" she yelled. Her musical voice, the voice that had clicked tongues and called brats, cracked. "Don’t take her! She’s not yours! She’s not a... a pet! She’s..."