Villain: Manipulating the Heroines into hating the Protagonist

Chapter 965: Breaking Hua Yimei Entirely (1)

The sun hung high in the azure sky above the Isle of Whispering Petals, casting beams of prismatic light through the translucent rose-quartz walls of the Sect’s Grand Hall. The hall was a masterpiece of architectural grace, a sanctuary of silence and authority where the ancestors of the Fragrance Melody Sect had presided for generations. The air was usually filled with the scent of burning spirit-incense and the soft, respectful murmurs of elders discussing sect affairs.

Today, however, the hall felt like a cage.

Sect Leader Hua Yimei sat upon the high throne carved from a single block of pink spirit-jade. She wore her most formal ceremonial robes—layers of heavy, deep purple silk embroidered with golden phoenixes, the high collar stiff against her neck, the wide sleeves cascading down the armrests. A heavy jade crown pinned her hair in an elaborate, severe style. She looked every inch the regal, untouchable matriarch of a rising power.

But beneath the heavy silk, her body was trembling.

She held a jade slip in her hand, staring at the logistical reports of the sect’s recovery, but the characters blurred before her eyes. She couldn’t focus. Her mind kept drifting back to the cave. To the sensation of rough hands on her skin. To the feeling of being filled, stretched, and broken.

’Focus, Yimei,’ she chided herself, biting the inside of her cheek until she tasted iron. ’You are the Sect Leader. You are a Middle Stage Core Formation expert. You cannot let him break your mind.’

But her body betrayed her. The Stellar Yang Qi that Wang Jian had forcibly infused into her marrow hummed in her veins, a constant, low-level vibration that reminded her of her servitude. It was a shackle made of energy, binding her cultivation to his will. Every time she circulated her Qi to calm herself, she felt him.

”Sect Leader,” a young female deacon said, stepping forward from the base of the dais. She held a tray of tea. ”You have been staring at that report for an hour. Please, rest a moment. The sect is safe now, thanks to the Hero Wang.”

Hua Yimei flinched at the name. The deacon’s eyes shone with adoration when she spoke of Wang Jian. To the disciples, he was the saint who had saved their Young Mistress and defended their treasury. They had no idea he was a monster who had raped their leader into submission.

”I am fine,” Hua Yimei said, her voice brittle. ”Leave the tea.”

CREAK.

The massive double doors of the Grand Hall, reinforced with spirit-iron, groaned as they were pushed open.

Hua Yimei’s head snapped up. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. She knew who it was before he even stepped across the threshold. She could feel his aura—that dark, suffocating gravity that made her knees weak.

Wang Jian strode into the hall.

He was dressed in the indigo robes of the Head Guest Elder, the silver constellations on the fabric shimmering with his movement. He walked with a relaxed, predatory swagger, his hands clasped behind his back. The sunlight streaming in from the open doors seemed to bend around him, crowning him in a halo of false divinity.

The female disciples and deacons in the hall immediately stopped their work. They turned to him, their faces lighting up with reverence.

”Elder Wang!”

”The Hero is here!”

They bowed deeply, flushing as his gaze swept over them.

Wang Jian smiled—a benevolent, charming smile that didn’t reach his cold, dark eyes. He walked straight down the center aisle, ignoring the protocol that demanded guests wait to be announced. He looked up at the dais, locking eyes with Hua Yimei.

’He is here,’ Yimei thought, gripping the armrests of her throne so hard the stone groaned. ’In the Grand Hall... in broad daylight... surely he wouldn’t dare...’

Wang Jian stopped at the base of the steps. He bowed slightly, a mockery of respect.

”Sect Leader Hua,” his voice rang out, smooth and rich. ”I apologize for the intrusion.”

Hua Yimei forced herself to sit straighter, channeling the dignity of her station. ”Deacon Wang. We are in the middle of administrative duties. Is there an emergency?”

”Not an emergency, Sect Leader,” Wang Jian said, his eyes dancing with amusement. ”But a matter of great importance. I have finished reviewing the resource allocation for the new pill batches. I also have some... sensitive suggestions regarding the safety measures for the Isle’s perimeter arrays. These matters require your immediate, private attention.”

The disciples nodded sagely. Of course. The Hero was working tirelessly for their safety.

”The new pills are vital,” one deacon whispered to another. ”Elder Wang is so dedicated.”

Hua Yimei stared at him. She saw the glint in his eyes. She knew exactly what ”safety measures” he wanted to discuss.

”Can it not wait until the evening council?” she asked, her voice tight.

”I am afraid not,” Wang Jian said, his voice dropping a register, becoming firmer. ”The timing is critical. And... I find myself quite hungry to resolve this issue. I do not like to wait when my appetite is roused.”

The double meaning hit her like a physical blow. Hungry.

She looked at the disciples. They were waiting for her command, expecting her to grant the audience. If she refused, it would look suspicious. It would raise questions. And Wang Jian held the ultimate trump card—the recording of her degradation.

Defeated, Hua Yimei let out a shaky breath.

”Very well,” she said, her voice hollow. ”Leave us. All of you. Close the doors. No one is to disturb us under any circumstances until I call for you.”

”Yes, Sect Leader!”

The disciples bowed and filed out quickly, whispering excitedly about the important work their leaders were doing.

The heavy doors swung shut with a resounding THUD, sealing the hall. The sunlight was cut off, leaving the vast room illuminated only by the glow of the spirit-pearls embedded in the ceiling.

As soon as the latch clicked, the atmosphere in the hall shifted instantly.

Wang Jian raised his hand. He snapped his fingers.

HUMMMMMM.

A barrier of grey energy expanded from his hand, washing over the walls and doors. It was a high-grade isolation formation. Soundproof. Spirit-proof. Nothing short of a Nascent Soul attack could pierce it.

The benevolent hero vanished. The predator emerged.

Wang Jian began to walk up the steps of the dais, his steps slow and deliberate.

”You dismissed them quickly,” he noted, a smirk playing on his lips. ”Obedient.”

Hua Yimei stood up, her legs trembling beneath her heavy robes. ”This is the Grand Hall, Wang Jian! The seat of my ancestors! You cannot do this here! Have you no shame?”

”Shame?” Wang Jian laughed, a dark, echoing sound. ”I own this sect, Yimei. I own the island, the resources, the disciples... and I own the woman sitting on the throne. Why should I feel shame for enjoying my property in my own house?”

He reached the top of the dais. He towered over her.

”Please...” Hua Yimei backed away until her legs hit the throne. She collapsed back into the seat. ”Not here... anywhere but here...”

”Here is exactly where I want you,” Wang Jian growled. ”On your pedestal. Looking down on everyone... while I break you open.”

He stepped between her legs.

He didn’t bother with foreplay. He didn’t bother with sweet words. He reached out and grabbed the high, stiff collar of her ceremonial robe.

”These robes,” he muttered, his eyes raking over the gold embroidery. ”They are too heavy. They hide the view.”

RIIIIIP!

With a violent jerk, he tore the silk. The sound was like a gunshot in the silent hall.

”No!” Hua Yimei gasped, trying to catch the fabric with her hands.

Wang Jian slapped her hands away. He gripped the front of the bodice and pulled apart with raw physical strength. The expensive silk screamed as it shredded. Buttons popped, rolling across the stone floor. Gold thread unraveled.

In seconds, the majestic robes of the Sect Leader were reduced to tatters hanging off her shoulders. He ripped the inner tunic open, exposing her chest to the cool air of the hall.

Her massive breasts tumbled out, heaving with her terrified breathing. They were heavy, milky-white globes of soft flesh, their sheer volume staggering. They bounced slightly as she trembled, the large, dark pink areolas puckering in the cool air.

Wang Jian’s eyes darkened with lust. ”Beautiful,” he breathed. ”Look at you. The dignified Sect Leader, about to be bred like a sow on her own throne.”

He reached out and grabbed her breasts, his large hands kneading the soft flesh aggressively. He squeezed them together, burying his face in the deep cleavage, inhaling her scent of orchids and fear.

”Stop...” Hua Yimei whimpered, her hands fluttering uselessly against his shoulders. ”Someone might hear...”

”The array is active,” Wang Jian mumbled against her skin, licking the swell of her breast. ”Scream all you want. Only the ancestors can hear you now. And they are watching.”

He pulled back, looking down at her. He saw the flush rising on her neck. He saw the way her nipples had hardened despite her fear.

”Your body knows its master,” he taunted.

He reached down and yanked her heavy skirts up, bunching the fabric around her waist. He grabbed her ankles and roughly pulled her legs apart, draping them over the high, carved armrests of the throne.

She was wide open. Her pale, soft inner thighs were exposed, leading to the patch of dark hair between her legs. And to her absolute mortification, she was already wet. The Stellar Yang Qi in her system reacted to his proximity, preparing her to receive him whether she wanted to or not.

Wang Jian undid his belt. His robes fell open.

His massive cock sprang free, rock-hard and twitching with anticipation. It was a thick, veined slab of meat, glistening with pre-cum.

Hua Yimei stared at it, her eyes widening. Even after three days in the cave, the sight of it still shocked her. It looked too big to fit.

”Open up,” Wang Jian commanded.

He stepped closer, positioning himself between her spread legs. He didn’t tease her. He didn’t rub against her. He lined himself up with her entrance.

He grabbed her hips to hold her in place.

THWACK.

He drove into her in one smooth, brutal thrust, burying himself to the root.

”AAAAH!” Hua Yimei screamed, her head throwing back against the rose-quartz backrest of the throne. Her crown tilted askew, strands of hair falling into her face.

He filled her completely. He stretched her walls, claiming the space inside her with an arrogant finality.

Wang Jian groaned, the tightness of her cultivation-tempered body clamping down on him. ”So tight... even after everything... you grip me like a vice.”

He began to move.

He set a punishing rhythm immediately. He stood while she sat, giving him perfect leverage to pound into her. Slap. Slap. Slap. The sound of his hips colliding with hers echoed in the sacred hall.

”Call me Master,” he commanded, gritting his teeth as he withdrew almost all the way and slammed back in.

”N-no...” Hua Yimei sobbed, her hands gripping the armrests of the throne until her nails threatened to crack.

Wang Jian reached out and smacked her breast, watching the flesh ripple. ”Tell the ancestors watching this hall who owns you! Say it!”

He thrust harder, hitting her cervix.

”Ah! Master! Master, please!” she cried out, her resistance shattering under the physical onslaught. ”You own me! You own me!”

Wang Jian laughed, a sound of pure triumph. He leaned forward, grabbing her massive breasts again. He loved them. He was obsessed with them. He squeezed them together, forcing the nipples into his mouth, sucking on them while he fucked her.

Hua Yimei’s mind fractured. The pleasure was too intense. The Stellar Yang Qi flooded her meridians with every thrust, heating her blood, making her nerves scream with sensitivity. She hated him. She hated herself. But her hips began to move, rising to meet his thrusts, desperate for the friction.

”That’s it,” Wang Jian growled, spitting her nipple out to kiss her neck, biting down hard. ”Milk me. Take it all.”

Time lost meaning in the hall.

Wang Jian was relentless. He fucked her for hours. He changed positions, treating the throne like a playground. He pulled her off the seat, bending her over the armrest so her face was pressed into the cold stone while he took her from behind.

SMACK.

He spanked her curvy, heavy buttocks. Her white skin turned red under his hand.

”Look at that jiggle,” he taunted, thrusting into her doggy-style. ”The Sect Leader... ass in the air... taking cock like a common whore.”

The sun hung high in the azure sky above the Isle of Whispering Petals, a blinding eye of gold that cast beams of prismatic light through the translucent rose-quartz walls of the Sect’s Grand Hall. This hall was not merely a building; it was the spiritual heart of the Fragrance Melody Sect, a sanctuary of silence and authority where the ancestors had presided for generations. The air here was usually thick with the scent of burning spirit-incense—a calming blend of sandalwood and lotus—and filled with the soft, respectful murmurs of elders discussing the logistics of survival and prosperity. The polished stone floors reflected the stained-glass ceiling, creating a kaleidoscope of colors that danced over the rows of empty seats, leading up to the dais where the seat of absolute power rested.

Today, however, the hall felt less like a sanctuary and more like a gilded cage.

Sect Leader Hua Yimei sat upon the high throne carved from a single, massive block of pink spirit-jade. She was adorned in her most formal ceremonial robes—layers of heavy, deep purple silk embroidered with golden phoenixes that seemed to take flight in the shifting light. The high collar was stiff against her neck, forcing her chin up, and the wide sleeves cascaded down the armrests like waterfalls of fabric. A heavy jade crown, encrusted with spirit stones, pinned her dark hair in an elaborate, severe style that pulled at her scalp.

She looked every inch the regal, untouchable matriarch of a rising power. Her posture was rigid, her expression serene and unreadable, a mask of jade perfection.

But beneath the heavy silk, her body was a trembling ruin of nerves.

She held a jade slip in her hand, staring at the logistical reports regarding the sect’s recovery—the intake of new herbs, the distribution of pill resources, the repair of the outer arrays. The characters were crisp and clear, but they blurred before her eyes. She couldn’t focus. Her mind, usually a fortress of calm calculation, was under siege. It kept drifting back to the damp darkness of the cave. To the sensation of rough hands claiming her skin. To the feeling of being filled, stretched, and fundamentally broken.

’Focus, Yimei,’ she chided herself, her internal voice sounding brittle and frightened. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted the copper tang of blood, using the sharp pain to anchor herself in the present. ’You are the Sect Leader. You are a Middle Stage Core Formation expert. You carry the weight of three thousand lives. You cannot let him break your mind.’

But her body betrayed her. The Stellar Yang Qi that Wang Jian had forcibly infused into her marrow hummed in her veins, a constant, low-level vibration that acted as a reminder of her servitude. It was a shackle made of energy, binding her cultivation to his will. Every time she circulated her Qi to calm herself, she felt him. She felt the foreign heat that now underpinned her own foundation, a parasite that kept her strong even as it enslaved her.

”Sect Leader,” a soft voice broke her reverie.

A young female deacon stepped forward from the base of the dais. She held a tray of steaming spirit tea, her eyes filled with concern and reverence. ”You have been staring at that report for an hour, Sect Leader. Please, rest a moment. The sect is safe now. The arrays are holding, and the trade routes are open, thanks to the Hero Wang.”

Hua Yimei flinched at the name. It was a physical reaction she couldn’t suppress, a spasm of muscle and spirit. The deacon didn’t notice, or if she did, she attributed it to the stress of leadership. Her eyes shone with adoration when she spoke of Wang Jian. To the disciples, he was the saint who had saved their Young Mistress from the jaws of the Crimson Shark, the warrior who had defended their treasury against elite demons single-handedly. They had no idea he was a monster who had raped their leader into submission to secure his own power base.

”I am fine,” Hua Yimei said, her voice sounding hollow to her own ears. ”Leave the tea. And summon Elder Lan. I need to review the coastal defenses.”

”Yes, Sect Leader.” The deacon bowed low, placing the tea on a side table and retreating backwards.

Just as the deacon reached the massive double doors, they groaned.

CREAK.

The heavy doors, reinforced with spirit-iron and warded against intrusion, swung open slowly, pushed by a hand that knew no resistance.

Hua Yimei’s head snapped up. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage of bone. She knew who it was before he even stepped across the threshold. She could feel his aura—that dark, suffocating gravity that made her knees weak and her blood run hot with a treacherous, conditioned response.

Wang Jian strode into the hall.

He was dressed in the indigo robes of the Head Guest Elder, the silver constellations on the fabric shimmering with his movement, mirroring the starry sky of his cultivation technique. He walked with a relaxed, predatory swagger, his hands clasped behind his back. The sunlight streaming in from the open doors seemed to bend around him, crowning him in a halo of false divinity. He looked handsome, powerful, and utterly in control.

The female disciples and deacons in the hall immediately stopped their work. They turned to him, their faces lighting up with reverence. It was the look of sheep greeting the wolf who had promised to eat the other wolves.

”Elder Wang!”

”The Hero is here!”

They bowed deeply, flushing as his gaze swept over them.

Wang Jian smiled—a benevolent, charming smile that didn’t reach his cold, dark eyes. He walked straight down the center aisle, the sound of his boots on the stone echoing in the silence. He ignored the protocol that demanded guests wait to be announced. He looked up at the dais, locking eyes with Hua Yimei.

’He is here,’ Yimei thought, gripping the armrests of her throne so hard the stone groaned under the pressure of her fingers. ’In the Grand Hall... in broad daylight... surely he wouldn’t dare... not here. Not in the sight of the ancestors.’

Wang Jian stopped at the base of the steps. He bowed slightly, a mockery of respect that only she could see through.

”Sect Leader Hua,” his voice rang out, smooth and rich, filling the cavernous space. ”I apologize for the intrusion.”

Hua Yimei forced herself to sit straighter, channeling the dignity of her station, wrapping the mantle of the Sect Leader around her shaking shoulders. ”Deacon Wang. We are in the middle of administrative duties. Is there an emergency?”

”Not an emergency, Sect Leader,” Wang Jian said, his eyes dancing with a dark amusement. ”But a matter of great importance. I have finished reviewing the resource allocation for the new pill batches—the ones essential for the disciples’ recovery. I also have some... sensitive suggestions regarding the safety measures for the Isle’s perimeter arrays. These matters require your immediate, private attention.”

The disciples nodded sagely. Of course. The Hero was working tirelessly for their safety.

”The new pills are vital,” one deacon whispered to another. ”Elder Wang is so dedicated. He barely rests.”

Hua Yimei stared at him. She saw the glint in his eyes. She knew exactly what ”safety measures” he wanted to discuss. She knew what ”resources” he intended to allocate.

”Can it not wait until the evening council?” she asked, her voice tight, a desperate attempt to delay the inevitable.

”I am afraid not,” Wang Jian said, his voice dropping a register, becoming firmer, layering a command beneath the polite veneer. ”The timing is critical. And... I find myself quite hungry to resolve this issue. I do not like to wait when my appetite is roused. The sect’s future depends on the... fluidity of our cooperation.”

The double meaning hit her like a physical blow. Hungry. Fluidity.

She looked at the disciples. They were waiting for her command, expecting her to grant the audience. If she refused, it would look suspicious. It would raise questions. And Wang Jian held the ultimate trump card—the recording of her degradation in the cave. If she pushed him, he would burn her reputation to ash.

Defeated, Hua Yimei let out a shaky breath. The fight drained out of her, leaving only a cold dread.

”Very well,” she said, her voice hollow. ”Leave us. All of you. Close the doors. No one is to disturb us under any circumstances until I call for you.”

”Yes, Sect Leader!”

The disciples bowed and filed out quickly, whispering excitedly about the important work their leaders were doing, oblivious to the fact that they were leaving their Queen alone with the executioner.

The heavy doors swung shut with a resounding THUD, sealing the hall. The sunlight was cut off, leaving the vast room illuminated only by the glow of the spirit-pearls embedded in the ceiling.

As soon as the latch clicked, the atmosphere in the hall shifted instantly. The air grew heavy, charged with a predatory intent.

Wang Jian raised his hand. He snapped his fingers.

HUMMMMMM.

A barrier of grey energy expanded from his hand, washing over the walls and doors. It was a high-grade isolation formation. Soundproof. Spirit-proof. Nothing short of a Nascent Soul attack could pierce it.

The benevolent hero vanished. The monster emerged.

Wang Jian began to walk up the steps of the dais, his steps slow and deliberate, the sound of a ticking clock.

”You dismissed them quickly,” he noted, a smirk playing on his lips. ”Obedient. I like that.”

Hua Yimei stood up, her legs trembling beneath her heavy robes. She backed away until her legs hit the throne. ”This is the Grand Hall, Wang Jian! The seat of my ancestors! You cannot do this here! Have you no shame? No respect for the sacred?”

”Shame?” Wang Jian laughed, a dark, echoing sound that bounced off the rose-quartz walls. ”I own this sect, Yimei. I own the island, the resources, the disciples... and I own the woman sitting on the throne. Why should I feel shame for enjoying my property in my own house?”

He reached the top of the dais. He towered over her, his shadow engulfing her.

”Please...” Hua Yimei whispered, collapsing back into the seat of the throne, shrinking away from him. ”Not here... anywhere but here... take me to the pavilion, take me to the cave... but do not defile this place...”

”Here is exactly where I want you,” Wang Jian growled, his eyes burning with a dark fire. ”On your pedestal. Looking down on everyone... while I break you open. I want the ghosts of your ancestors to watch as their descendant spreads her legs for the man who conquered her.”

He stepped between her legs.

He didn’t bother with foreplay. He didn’t bother with sweet words or seduction. He reached out and gripped the high, stiff collar of her ceremonial robe with one hand.

”These robes,” he muttered, his eyes raking over the intricate gold embroidery with disdain. ”They are too heavy. They hide the view. They act as armor, Yimei, and you have no need for armor with me.”

RIIIIIP!

With a violent jerk, he tore the silk. The sound was like a gunshot in the silent hall.

”No!” Hua Yimei gasped, instinctively trying to catch the fabric with her hands to cover herself.

Wang Jian slapped her hands away effortlessly. He gripped the front of the bodice and pulled apart with raw physical strength. The expensive silk screamed as it shredded. Pearl buttons popped, rolling across the stone floor like spilled marbles. Gold thread unraveled.

In seconds, the majestic robes of the Sect Leader—robes that had taken years to craft—were reduced to tatters hanging off her shoulders. He ripped the inner white tunic open, exposing her chest to the cool, conditioned air of the hall.

Her massive breasts tumbled out, heaving with her terrified breathing. They were heavy, milky-white globes of soft flesh, their sheer volume staggering. They bounced slightly as she trembled, the large, dark pink areolas puckering in the cool air, betraying the sensitivity of her body.

Wang Jian’s eyes darkened with lust. ”Beautiful,” he breathed, his gaze devouring her. ”Look at you. The dignified Sect Leader, about to be bred on her own throne. You wear your shame so well.”

He reached out and grabbed her breasts, his large hands kneading the soft flesh aggressively. He didn’t treat them with gentleness; he treated them with ownership. He squeezed them together, burying his face in the deep cleavage, inhaling her scent of orchids and fear.

”Stop...” Hua Yimei whimpered, her hands fluttering uselessly against his shoulders, unable to push him away. ”Someone might hear...”

”The array is active,” Wang Jian mumbled against her skin, licking the swell of her breast, tasting the salt of her sweat. ”Scream all you want. Only the ancestors can hear you now. And they are watching.”

He pulled back, looking down at her. He saw the flush rising on her neck. He saw the way her nipples had hardened despite her fear, peaking against the cool air.

”Your body knows its master,” he taunted. ”Even when your mind rebels, your flesh welcomes me.”

He reached down and yanked her heavy skirts up, bunching the fabric around her waist. He grabbed her ankles and roughly pulled her legs apart, draping them over the high, carved armrests of the throne.

She was splayed wide open. Her pale, soft inner thighs were exposed, leading to the patch of dark hair between her legs. And to her absolute mortification, she was already wet. The Stellar Yang Qi in her system reacted to his proximity, to his scent, preparing her to receive him whether she wanted to or not. It was a biological betrayal that cut deeper than any insult.

Wang Jian undid his belt. His robes fell open.

His massive cock sprang free, rock-hard and twitching with anticipation. It was a thick, veined slab of meat, glistening with pre-cum. It looked violent, a weapon of conquest.

Hua Yimei stared at it, her eyes widening. Even after three days in the cave, the sight of it still shocked her. It looked too big to fit inside a human woman.

”Open up,” Wang Jian commanded.

He stepped closer, positioning himself between her spread legs. He didn’t tease her. He didn’t rub against her. He lined himself up with her entrance.

He grabbed her hips to hold her in place, his thumbs digging into her soft flesh.

THWACK.

He drove into her in one smooth, brutal thrust, burying himself to the root.

”AAAAH!” Hua Yimei screamed, her head throwing back against the rose-quartz backrest of the throne. Her crown tilted askew, strands of hair falling into her face.

He filled her completely. He stretched her walls, claiming the space inside her with an arrogant finality.

Wang Jian groaned, the tightness of her cultivation-tempered body clamping down on him. ”So tight... even after everything... you grip me like a vice. You were made to take me, Yimei.”

He began to move.

He set a punishing rhythm immediately. He stood while she sat, giving him perfect leverage to pound into her. Slap. Slap. Slap. The sound of his hips colliding with hers echoed in the sacred hall, a profane rhythm in a holy place.

”Call me Master,” he commanded, gritting his teeth as he withdrew almost all the way and slammed back in.

”N-no...” Hua Yimei sobbed, her hands gripping the armrests of the throne until her nails threatened to crack. ”I am... the Sect Leader...”

Wang Jian reached out and smacked her breast, watching the flesh ripple. ”Tell the ancestors watching this hall who owns you! Say it!”

He thrust harder, hitting her cervix with a force that sent sparks of white light behind her eyes.

”Ah! Master! Master, please!” she cried out, her resistance shattering under the physical onslaught. ”You own me! You own me!”

Wang Jian laughed, a sound of pure triumph. He leaned forward, grabbing her massive breasts again. He loved them. He was obsessed with them. He squeezed them together, forcing the nipples into his mouth, sucking on them while he fucked her.

Hua Yimei’s mind fractured. The pleasure was too intense. The Stellar Yang Qi flooded her meridians with every thrust, heating her blood, making her nerves scream with sensitivity. She hated him. She hated herself. But her hips began to move, rising to meet his thrusts, desperate for the friction.

”That’s it,” Wang Jian growled, spitting her nipple out to kiss her neck, biting down hard. ”Milk me. Take it all. Be the whore your sect needs you to be.”

Time lost meaning in the hall.

Wang Jian was relentless. He fucked her for hours. He changed positions, treating the throne like a playground. He pulled her off the seat, bending her over the armrest so her face was pressed into the cold stone while he took her from behind.

SMACK.

He spanked her curvy, heavy buttocks. Her white skin turned red under his hand.

”Look at that jiggle,” he taunted, thrusting into her doggy-style. ”The Sect Leader... ass in the air... taking cock like a common whore. Does your daughter know her mother is so lewd?”

”Don’t speak of her!” Hua Yimei wailed into the stone.

He forced her to look at a polished bronze mirror hanging on the wall.

”Look!” he ordered, grabbing her hair and pulling her head up. ”Look at yourself. Is this how you lead?”

Hua Yimei stared at her reflection through tear-filled eyes. She saw a woman with disheveled hair, tattered robes hanging off her waist, her face flushed and twisted in ecstasy and pain, her mouth open in a silent moan as a man dominated her from behind.

”Please...” she whispered to the reflection. ”I can’t...”

”Cum for me,” Wang Jian ordered.

He hit her prostate, grinding his hips.

Hua Yimei screamed as her body convulsed. She climaxed violently, her inner walls milking him dry.

Wang Jian roared, emptying his load deep inside her womb. The searing heat of his essence filled her, reinforcing the shackle.

But he didn’t stop.

He stayed inside her, his cock twitching, staying hard.

”Did you think we were done?” he whispered in her ear. ”I’m still hungry, Yimei. And you are a feast.”

He pulled her back onto the seat of the throne. He started again.

Round after round. Wang Jian’s stamina was infinite. He climaxed again and again—five times, ten times, fifteen times. Each time, he filled her with more energy, more of his mark.

He made her swallow his seed. He pulled out right at the edge, grabbing her hair and forcing her face into his lap.

”Clean me,” he ordered.

Hua Yimei, the proud Sect Leader, opened her mouth and took him in. She licked the head, swallowing the thick, white ropes of semen that erupted from him. It tasted musky, salty, and strangely sweet—the taste of pure Yang energy. Despite her initial disgust, her body craved it. The energy soothed her throat and settled in her stomach like a warm fire. She licked her lips, catching every drop.

”Good girl,” Wang Jian praised, patting her head like a pet.

He pulled her up and kissed her, sharing the taste of his own seed with her.

By the time the sun began to dip low in the sky, turning the light in the hall to a deep amber, Hua Yimei was broken. She lay slumped on the throne, her legs spread wide, semen leaking from her pussy and drying on her inner thighs. Her robes were destroyed beyond repair. Her face was covered in dried fluids—sweat, tears, and his essence.

Wang Jian stood back, adjusting his robes. He looked fresh, energized, his cultivation actually slightly improved by the dual cultivation.

He looked at her, at the artwork of debauchery he had created on the seat of power.

”We exceeded twenty times today,” Wang Jian mused, checking his internal count. ”You are getting better at taking it, Yimei. Your capacity is increasing. Your body is adapting to mine perfectly.”

Hua Yimei couldn’t speak. She just lay there, breathing raggedly, her eyes vacant.

Wang Jian stepped forward and wiped a smear of semen from her cheek with his thumb.

”Clean yourself up,” he ordered calmly. ”You have a sect to run. The evening council is in an hour. You wouldn’t want the elders to see their leader looking like this.”

He turned to leave.

”And Yimei?” he added, pausing at the door.

She flinched, a Pavlovian response to his voice.

”Don’t fix the robes too well,” he smirked, looking back at the tatters on the floor. ”I like the tear. It reminds me of what’s mine.”

He waved his hand, deactivating the isolation formation. The hum of the array died, letting the sounds of the outside world filter back in.

”I will see you at dinner. Don’t be late.”

He walked out of the Grand Hall, leaving the Sect Leader broken on her defiled throne, staring at the ceiling, wondering how she would ever stand up again, knowing that tomorrow, he would return.