The Crimson Cauldron Peak did not just feel hot; it felt like walking into the mouth of a living beast. The air was a tangible, oppressive force, heavy with the cloying sweetness of aphrodisiac incense, the acrid bite of sulfur, and the metallic tang of molten gold.
Feng Wuya walked the corridors of the Main Pavilion. The heat here was enough to blister the skin of a mortal, but to a cultivator, it merely boiled the blood, heightening aggression and libido. The walls were lined with pulsing red veins of Fire Crystal, casting the hallway in a dim, brothel-like crimson glow.
He reached the heavy double doors of the Peak Lord's private sanctum. Two armored guards crossed their spears, sweat dripping from their chins.
"Halt! Elder Mu is in deep seclu—"
Feng Wuya didn't slow his stride. He channeled his Qi into his voice, lacing it with the killing intent of a man who had already slaughtered his conscience. "Get lost."
The pressure slammed into the guards like a physical hammer. Their knees buckled, armor clattering against the stone floor. They gasped for air, terrified, as Feng Wuya kicked the doors open.
BANG.
The doors swung inward, revealing a chamber of decadent luxury.
The room was vast, dominated by a massive alchemy furnace in the center shaped like a rearing tiger. But the furnace was cold. The heat in the room came from the woman on the divan.
Elder Mu Lan.
She lay sprawled across a chaise lounge carved from red sandalwood, obscured only by a curtain of shimmering crystal beads. The room smelled of wet orchids and female musk—a scent so thick it tasted like honey on the tongue.
Feng Wuya swept the beads aside, the crystals clattering like falling rain.
"You have a lot of nerve, barging into a woman's bedroom," a voice purred. It was low, husky, and vibrated in the chest—the voice of a woman who knew the power of her own throat.
Mu Lan sat up slowly, the movement languid and deliberate.
She was the definition of a "Mature Beauty." Unlike the tight, perky youthfulness of the maids or the icy, slender elegance of Su Qingyue, Mu Lan was built for sin. She was fleshy, soft, and overwhelmingly voluptuous.
She wore a robe of translucent crimson silk that hung loosely off her frame, damp with perspiration. It clung to her damp skin, outlining the heavy sag of massive breasts that rested on her upper stomach. Her waist was thick but curved deeply, leading to hips that spread wide like a cradle of life.
Her face was flushed a deep, unnatural red—the sign of Fire Poison. Her eyes, rimmed with dark kohl, looked at him with a mix of feverish exhaustion and predatory hunger.
"Young Master Feng," she murmured, fanning herself with a silk fan, drawing his eye to the deep, sweaty valley of her cleavage. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Unless you're here to offer me your... yang essence to cool me down?"
She meant it as a joke, a tease to fluster a junior.
Feng Wuya didn't flush. He didn't look away. He stared directly at her chest, his eyes stripping away the silk.
"That's exactly why I'm here," he said, his voice flat and commanding.
He walked to the divan and sat down right next to her. The mattress dipped under his weight. He was close enough to smell her—the sour-sweet scent of a woman in heat, masking the scent of burning charcoal.
"You are dying, Mu Lan," he stated. "The Fire Poison has calcified in your womb. Every time you circulate your Qi, it feels like someone is shoving a hot iron rod into your gut. You can't break through to the Nascent Soul. You're just a rotting oven."
Mu Lan's playful smile vanished. Her eyes hardened. "Watch your tongue, boy. I can incinerate you with a thought."
"No, you can't. If you use your Qi now, your meridians will snap."
Feng Wuya raised his hand. A wooden box appeared on his palm. He flipped the latch.
Whoosh.
A golden aura exploded outward, instantly suppressing the crimson heat of the room. The scent of pure, unadulterated solar energy filled the air.
Inside the box lay the Nine-Yang Spirit Grass.
Mu Lan gasped. The sound was wet and desperate. Her pupils dilated until her eyes were almost entirely black. Her body, starved for Yang energy to balance her raging Yin fire, reacted instinctively. Her nipples hardened instantly, poking sharply against the thin red silk. Her breath hitched.
"The Nine-Yang..." she whispered, licking her red lips. "Where... where did you get that?"
She reached out, her manicured fingers trembling.
CLACK.
Feng Wuya snapped the box shut.
"Ah!" Mu Lan flinched, her chest heaving. She looked at him, her eyes pleading. "Give it to me. Name your price. I have spirit stones, artifacts, slaves..."
"I don't want your trash," Feng Wuya said darkly. He placed the box on the floor and leaned over her, trapping her against the back of the divan.
He reached out and grabbed the lapel of her robe. His fingers brushed the hot, velvet skin of her collarbone.
"I want the furnace."
Mu Lan froze. She looked at his hand, then at his face. She saw no hesitation, only a cold, tyrannical desire. She was an Elder, a woman who commanded thousands. But in the face of her impending death—and the overwhelming masculine aura Feng Wuya was projecting—her status dissolved.
She let out a shaky breath, her thighs unconsciously squeezing together. The friction of the silk against her damp nether regions sent a jolt through her.
"You are a wicked little devil," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You want to refine this Elder?"
"I'm going to use you," Feng Wuya corrected. "I'm going to pump you full of Yang until you overflow. But first... show me the goods."
He yanked the sash of her robe.
The silk fell open, sliding off her shoulders and pooling at her waist.
She wore a dudou (an apron-like undergarment) of embroidered red lace, but it was fighting a losing battle. Her breasts were enormous—heavy, pale mounds of soft flesh that spilled out the sides. They were veined with faint blue lines, swollen with heat. The nipples were visible through the lace, dark brown and as large as cherries, straining for release.
"Take it off," Feng Wuya ordered.
Mu Lan bit her lip, her pride warring with her lust. Slowly, she reached behind her neck and untied the string.
The dudou fell away.
Her breasts swung free, heavy and majestic. They bounced with a mesmerizing weight before settling. They were soft, meant to be kneaded, meant to be suffocated in.
Feng Wuya didn't wait. He reached out and grabbed one massive breast, his fingers sinking deep into the pliable flesh. It was hot to the touch. He squeezed hard.
"Mmmph!" Mu Lan moaned, her head falling back. "Rough... you're so rough..."
"Stand up," he commanded.
She obeyed, rising on shaky legs. The robe fell to the floor, leaving her naked save for a pair of sheer, crotchless panties.
Her body was a landscape of indulgence. Her stomach had a soft, womanly pouch that quivered when she moved. Her hips were incredibly wide, scarred with faint silver stretch marks that only added to the rawness of her nudity. Her thighs were thick, rubbing together, guarding a pussy that was already soaking wet.
Feng Wuya stood and stripped off his robes. The Marrow Cleansing Yang Pill and his cultivation made his body a weapon of steel. When he revealed his erection, Mu Lan's eyes went wide.
It was a monstrosity. Thick, angry, and throbbing with a heartbeat of its own. The head was purple and flared, dripping pre-cum. It was far too big for a normal woman, but Mu Lan was a cultivator; her body could take it.
"By the Heavens..." she whispered, staring at it. Her hand reached out, ghosting over the veins. "So much Yang energy..."
"Eat it," Feng Wuya said. "Prepare yourself for the medicine."
Mu Lan dropped to her knees. The plush carpet cushioned her legs. She didn't hesitate. She was starving.
She took the head into her mouth.
"Oh fuck..." Feng Wuya hissed as the heat of her mouth enveloped him.
She was incredible. Her tongue was soft and skilled, swirling around the sensitive ridge of the glans. She sucked with a vacuum-seal pressure, hollowing her cheeks. Schlop. Schlop. Gawk. The wet, sloppy sounds of her service filled the silent room.
She used her hands to cup his balls, fondling them heavily, while she bobbed her head. Her massive tits bounced with every motion, slapping against each other. She looked up at him, her eyes glazed, drool leaking from the corners of her mouth as she took him deeper, gagging slightly but pushing through it.
"That's it," Feng Wuya growled, looking down at the top of her head. "Suck it, you greedy bitch. Drain it out."
After minutes of intense oral stimulation, Feng Wuya couldn't wait. He needed to be inside her.
He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her off. A string of saliva connected his cock to her lips.
"Get on the divan. On all fours."
Mu Lan scrambled onto the furniture. She presented herself to him.
From behind, the view was spectacular. Her ass was tremendous—two massive globes of pale, jiggly flesh that spread wide. The crotchless panties framed her pussy perfectly. It was a fat, puffy mound, pink and glistening with thick, clear nectar that dripped down her inner thighs. The lips were slightly parted, pulsing, waiting.
Feng Wuya spit into his hand and rubbed it over her entrance. She shivered.
"I'm going to break you, Mu Lan," he warned.
"Do it!" she screamed, looking back, her face twisted in desperate lust. "Fill me! Put the medicine inside me!"
He lined up his cock with her dripping slit. He grabbed her wide hips, his fingers digging into the fat.
With one brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt.
SPLORTCH.
"AAAAHHHNG!" Mu Lan shrieked, her back arching violently.
It was tight. Unbelievably tight, yet hot and slippery. Her internal walls were like velvet-lined vices, clamping down on his intruder. The heat inside her was intense, burning his cock in the most pleasurable way possible.
Feng Wuya began to piston.
THWACK. THWACK. THWACK.
The sound of his pelvis slamming against her massive buttocks echoed like gunshots. With every thrust, shockwaves rippled through her soft body. Her tits swung wildly beneath her, slapping against the mattress.
"Oh god, oh god, oh god!" Mu Lan babbled, her face buried in the pillows. "It's too deep! You're hitting the womb! Master! Master!"
"Take it!" Feng Wuya roared, slapping her ass. SMACK. The flesh rippled, turning a bright pink.
He activated the Sovereign Yin-Yang Joyous Union Scripture.
He felt it immediately—a river of fiery, toxic Yin energy rushing from her core into his cock. It was spicy, wild, and chaotic. His system chewed it up, refining it, turning it into pure cultivation base.
In return, he began to channel the energy of the Nine-Yang Spirit Grass he had consumed. He transmuted it into his semen, building up a charge of concentrated golden Yang.
"Harder! Fuck the poison out of me!" Mu Lan begged, pushing her ass back against him, meeting his thrusts. She was a woman possessed. The pain in her meridians was fading, replaced by a blinding, white-hot pleasure that short-circuited her brain.
Feng Wuya increased the pace. He was practically brutalizing her, treating her like a piece of meat. He grabbed her hair, pulling her head back so she choked on her own screams.
"You like being used like this? An Elder of the Sect, getting bred like a sow?"
"Yes! I'm a sow! I'm your cauldron! Please!"
The pressure in his balls reached critical mass.
"Here it comes," he gritted out.
He slammed into her one last time, bottoming out completely, grinding his pubic bone against her clitoris.
"RRAAAH!"
He unleashed.
It wasn't a normal ejaculation. It was a torrent. Ropes of thick, glowing golden semen shot into her womb with the force of a fire hose. The sheer volume distended her belly slightly.
"NNNGGGGHHHH!"
Mu Lan's eyes rolled back into her head. Her body went rigid, every muscle locking up.
The golden energy exploded inside her uterus. It rushed through her meridians, hunting down the Fire Poison and incinerating it. Her aura flared, turning from a sickly red to a brilliant, pure gold.
[Ding! Dual Cultivation Critical Success.] [Target: Mu Lan. Status: Broken/Reformed.] [Yin Harvested: 5000 Units.] [User Cultivation: Breaking through...] [CONGRATULATIONS! You have reached the GOLDEN CORE REALM (Early Stage)!]
Feng Wuya stayed inside her, panting, feeling her internal walls spasming around him, milking the last drops of his essence.
Mu Lan collapsed, her face pressed into the drool-soaked pillow. Her tongue lolled out, her expression one of mindless bliss—the "ahegao" of a soul that had been completely overwhelmed.
Thick white fluids leaked from her overstretched entrance, mixing with the sweat on her thighs.
Feng Wuya pulled out with a wet pop. He stood up, feeling the new power surging in his dantian. A Golden Core, the size of a pigeon egg, now spun within him, radiating infinite power.
He looked down at the mess he had made. The respected Alchemist Elder was now a twitching, broken plaything.
Slowly, Mu Lan regained consciousness. She didn't cover herself. She didn't cry. She crawled off the divan, ignoring the fluids running down her legs, and prostrated herself at his feet. She kissed his toes.
"Master..." she croaked, her voice wrecked from screaming. "The poison... it's gone. I can feel the Nascent Soul barrier loosening."
She looked up, her eyes filled with a terrifying devotion.
"I am yours. My body, my alchemy, my life. Everything belongs to you."
Feng Wuya smirked, buttoning his robes. He reached down and patted her cheek.
"Clean yourself up, Mu Lan. And get back to work. I need pills. Lots of them."
"Yes, Master. Immediately, Master."
Feng Wuya turned and walked out of the room, leaving the scent of sex and triumph behind him. The System pinged.
[Next Objective: The Grand Auction.] [New Item Detected in Auction List: The Nine-Tailed Fox Slave.] [Note: This slave is the key to a Hidden Realm. The Protagonist needs her.]
Feng Wuya's grin widened.
"Not if I buy her first."