Chapter Fourteen

Lin Jingxuan didn't know how long he had been sitting on the ground. Outside the window, from afternoon to dusk, and then from dusk into night, moonlight streamed in again, casting silvery-white spots on his curled-up body. His back was against the door, his legs bent, his peach-colored dress spread out on the wooden floor like a crumpled flower. He looked like a broken rag doll, carelessly tossed into a corner. The semen at the corner of his mouth had long since dried, forming a thin white streak on his skin. His lips were slightly swollen and red from the friction of his own penis inside him all day, and his throat felt slightly tight.

But his eyes were open. They stared blankly, unfocused, at the bronze mirror before him, reflecting a beautiful woman slumped on the ground—her clothes disheveled, her hair loose, her face flushed. That beautiful woman was his body, his shell, the image he had taken after being enveloped by the nine-tailed fox. He looked at her as if she were a stranger, yet also as if he were looking at himself.

Then his body began to betray his brain.

It wasn't the nine-tailed fox spirit controlling him—she had relinquished everything she could control to him. She nestled quietly deep within the shell, even her breathing softened, like a cat curled up asleep in a corner, neither disturbing nor interfering, simply experiencing it all in silence. But Lin Jingxuan's body—or rather, this shell he controlled, which belonged to her—was spontaneously generating a desire surging from the depths of his bones. It wasn't because of her manipulation, but because his own nerves, his own flesh and blood, his own brain, had developed an irreversible instinct after days of repeated stimulation. He needed pleasure, like he needed food when hungry or water when thirsty.

"No...no..." he murmured, but his hands were already beyond his control. He controlled the nine-tailed fox's tongue—the tongue he had wrapped around her legs and placed inside her vagina—and it began to slowly writhe. With a thought, the soft, fleshy tongue deftly turned, licked, and circled within the walls of her vagina, its tip sweeping across the most sensitive recesses deep within, its rough surface grinding against every tiny fold. Pleasure, like a lit fuse, burned up from between her legs along her lower abdomen. From the outside, the beautiful woman's thighs were spasming slightly, the muscles beneath her skirt twitching uncontrollably, and a damp patch gradually appeared between her legs.

And his hand—his own hand, and the hand of the nine-tailed fox he was filling—rose simultaneously, slowly moving up his inner thigh, his fingertips parting the edge of his soaked underpants, then slipping inside. Two fingers, together, slowly and firmly inserted into his own vagina. His fingertips touched the writhing tongue, his fingertips pressing against its surface, feeling the slight protrusion of each taste bud. He pressed the tongue against the most sensitive part of his vagina, using his fingertips and tongue to sandwich it, and began to knead. As he kneaded, he used the tip of his tongue to push against his fingers.

Meanwhile, his mouth wasn't idle either. His genitals were still inside his mouth; with his tongue removed, his mouth was just an empty cavity, yet his penis remained incredibly sensitive to his lips, palate, and throat. As his consciousness began to chase pleasure, he couldn't help but make swallowing motions—no, it wasn't swallowing anymore, it was deliberate sucking. He made his lips tightly hold the base of his penis, his palate pressing against the veins on the back of his penis, and a soft sucking sound emanated from deep in his throat, like a baby suckling at a nipple. Each suck caused the tip of his penis to hit his soft palate, and the displaced feeling of being enveloped by his own mouth no longer terrified him, but instead gave him a twisted, perverse satisfaction.

He was being licked, penetrated, and sucked by himself simultaneously. He occupied the positions of two people, simultaneously being his own mouth, vagina, and tongue, simultaneously being the inserter and the inserted. His consciousness jumped back and forth between these three positions, and pleasure surged from three directions at the same time, converging deep within his brain.

"Mmm...uh..."

He made a sound, no longer a suppressed groan, but a greedy, indulgent, undisguised moan. The beautiful woman's expression in the mirror also changed—she no longer stared blankly at the mirror, but her eyes were red-rimmed, her eyes half-closed, her lips tightly pursing the thick shaft protruding from her mouth, her throat rising and falling. She was penetrating her own lower body, so much so that the veins on the back of her hands were bulging, while the muscles on the inside of her thighs twitched rapidly. She looked completely like a wanton woman driven to the extreme of lust, no longer the gentle and dignified woman she had been during the day.

The climax came suddenly and violently. His penis throbbed deep inside his mouth, and semen gushed out, filling his entire mouth. He swallowed it down his throat, choking and coughing repeatedly, the white fluid splattering onto the mirror. At the same time, a violent spasm erupted deep inside his vagina, his tongue being tightly clamped by the contracting inner walls, the tip of his tongue protruding between his labia covered in his own spurting fluid. He was curled up on the bed—he had somehow climbed onto the bed from behind the door—his legs tightly clamped around his hands, his mouth still holding his semi-erect penis, his face buried in the sheets, emitting a whimper that was somewhere between a cry and a moan.

After the climax subsided, he lay on the bed, his face buried in the pillow, silent. Moonlight shone on his sweat-dampened back, making the dark patterns on his peach-colored dress shimmer. After a while, he struggled to get up, walked barefoot to the dressing table, stood still, and looked at the bronze mirror. The beautiful woman in the mirror had returned to stillness, the flush of her climax still lingering on her cheeks, her lips slightly swollen from prolonged sucking, and a trace of snot hanging from the corner of her mouth. The ecstatic look from her climax was gone from her face, replaced by a broken, empty sorrow. He looked at himself in the mirror, at the alluring woman, at the smudge at the corner of her mouth and the tears in her eyes. Then tears fell. Not an angry roar, not a devastating wail, just silent, quiet weeping, tears sliding down his cheeks, dripping onto the wooden surface of the dressing table, drop after drop.

“What have I become…” he said to himself in the mirror. His voice was no longer that of a man, but a woman’s voice—hoarse, soft, and with the lingering satisfaction of an orgasm.

The nine-tailed fox remained silent for a long time. She could sense every thought in his mind—the self-loathing, the longing for his past self, the coexistence of strangeness and familiarity with his current body. She watched him stand silently before the mirror, weeping, his lips trembling as he couldn't utter a complete sentence. Behind him, she sighed softly, almost silently. The breath escaped from the few remaining folds of her tongue, traveling along the inner wall of her vagina to the sensation on his thigh, warm and soft, like a very faint spring breeze.

“My husband,” her voice echoed deep within his consciousness, her tone different from before, devoid of languor, mockery, or that smug sense of control, but instead carrying a hint of barely perceptible heartache, “You are too tired.”

She paused for a moment. Her consciousness slowly spread around him, like a pair of hands hesitating whether to embrace a wounded person.

“I know you hate yourself. You see yourself as a wanton woman, feel nauseous looking at your body in the mirror, and find it absurd to think about how you cried out this morning, ‘I am myself, I can’t control myself.’ You feel like you can never go back—whether it’s that young sword cultivator from the Qingxiao Sword Sect or Lin Jingxuan who once controlled you, you feel like you’re getting further and further away, right?”

She was silent for a moment. The inner walls of her skin contracted gently and slowly, not to squeeze or stimulate, but a gentle, enveloping wriggling motion, like pulling a soft blanket up to cover a person who was cold.

“My heart aches for you. Even if you don’t believe me, my heart truly aches for you. But the way I show my heartache is different from others. I won’t say things like ‘let you go’ or ‘give you freedom,’ nor will I hypocritically say ‘I won’t touch you again.’ My love is very selfish; I want to keep my husband by my side forever and not let him go anywhere. But I also don’t want to see you crying like this.”

Her thoughts swirled gently in his mind, as if she were pondering something seriously. Then she made a decision.

“Starting tonight, let’s change our approach. We won’t kill any enemies, nor will we venture into demonic sects, and we won’t even mention revenge. These things can wait, but my husband can’t go astray. So, I’ll take you to live a peaceful life, undisturbed by anyone. I won’t force you, I won’t control you, and I’ll let you live a peaceful and ordinary life as a woman. Is that alright?”

Lin Jingxuan didn't answer. His tears were still flowing, but his body had stopped trembling. What surged from the depths of his consciousness was no longer resistance, but a kind of bewilderment after utter exhaustion. He neither agreed nor refused—he no longer had the strength to agree or refuse anything. The nine-tailed fox didn't wait for his answer either, slowly withdrawing all control from his limbs and bones once more, letting him fall heavily, weakly, like a crumpled piece of paper in the darkness. Then she took over the actions of her own body, quietly rising from the dressing table and carrying his body back to the bed. She pulled the blanket up to his collarbone, gently wiping away the tear stains on his cheeks with her fingers, and then turned off the light.

The moonlight outside the window dimmed, and the room was plunged into complete darkness.

In the dead of night, all was quiet. The nine-tailed fox spirit quietly opened her eyes within him. Her consciousness peeked out from the depths of his skin, gently and cautiously probing into Lin Jingxuan's sleeping consciousness. He slept soundly, his consciousness curled up deep within his skin, trembling slightly, but much more peaceful than the night before. Afraid of waking him, she only moved those organs that wouldn't stimulate him. The tongue that he had used so much, that he had tormented all day, was slowly withdrawn from his vagina—first letting the tongue slide down the soft flesh that had been licked until it was red, the nine separate lobes of the tongue like nine closed silk fans, gently withdrawing one by one from between his thighs. Then she carefully withdrew the penis that had protruded from his mouth, the limp penis sliding over his slightly swollen lips, retreating from the base of his tongue, returning to its normal position on the inner wall of his skin. Then came his limbs—her hands loosened his legs from the skin of his arms, his toes freed from her palms; her legs gently released his arms from the skin of his thighs. Each separation was extremely light, but he still groaned softly in his sleep, his brow furrowed, but he did not wake up.

The inverted limbs returned to their proper positions, and the body regained its normal alignment. Lin Jingxuan was once again a complete person—a person wrapped up, but at least his head and feet were facing the same direction. The nine-tailed fox spirit was somewhat tired after doing all this. But she didn't stop; instead, she gently pressed the inner walls of her vagina back against his genitals. This time, there were no stimulating movements; she simply slipped on, like putting a warm scabbard on a cold iron rod. His organs rested softly within the soft flesh, rising and falling slightly with his breathing, but the skin neither tightened nor secreted any fluid; it simply wrapped him, keeping their destinies connected.

The night was still long. She began to sculpt herself.

First, the hair. The elegant bun that was once styled on top of the head has quietly come undone, the hair cascading down like a waterfall, its length shortened from past the shoulders to past the back, the color changed from jet black to a deep chestnut brown, a thin layer of bangs parted at the forehead, the ends naturally curling into several soft arcs. Then, the face shape. The height of the cheekbones has been slightly reduced, the jawline has changed from a charming oval face to a softer face; the height of the nose bridge has been lowered, the tip of the nose has changed from a delicate upturned nose to a more natural straight nose; the fullness of the lips has been reduced a bit, the lip color has changed from peach pink to a light mauve, the corners of the mouth naturally have a slight upward curve, making it look like it's always smiling. The biggest change is in the eyes—the upward angle of the peach blossom eyes has been flattened, the outer corners of the eyes droop slightly, the eyelashes have been lengthened but straightened, no longer so curled, and the color of the pupils has changed from dark gold to a soft amber.

Finally, there's her figure. Her shoulders have narrowed slightly, and the outline of her collarbone has become softer; the fullness of her chest hasn't diminished much, but her waist is no longer deliberately slender, instead naturally transitioning to her hips. Her overall figure has transformed from a "mature beauty" to a "youthful girl"—around twenty-four years old, neither tall nor short, neither fat nor thin, wearing a simple moon-white dress, looking clean, gentle, and upright.

She sat up in bed and gazed at herself in the bronze mirror on the wall for a moment. The image reflected was no longer that of the alluring Lady Frost, but a gentle, refined young woman with dignified features—the kind of person who would be called "Senior Sister" in a righteous sect. Then she lay back down, closed her eyes, and slowly probed into the depths of his memories.

Altering memories is a delicate task, especially when the other person is asleep. She dared not make drastic changes, so she could only cover the surface of his memories with a thin, semi-transparent veil. She temporarily covered everything related to the name "Lin Jingxuan" with the veil—the past of the Qingxiao Sword Sect, the faces of her master and junior sister, Yin Wujiu's palm strike, the vendetta at the Bone-Eating Hall, the despair of falling into the Burial Sword Abyss. These memories did not disappear, but under the veil, they became distant and blurry, like a dream from many years ago, the details forgotten upon waking, leaving only a faint shadow. Then she embroidered a new pattern on the surface of the veil—the life of a mortal woman named "Shen Yuetang".

Shen Yuetang, twenty-four years old, was born in an extremely remote town—Qingshi Town. She was the eldest daughter of the Shen family's eldest branch, with four younger female disciples. She had cared for them since childhood. After reaching marriageable age, she didn't marry but instead became a disciple of a nearby ordinary sect called "Suxin Zhai." This sect was small, with only about ten disciples, all women. They had no cultivators and didn't participate in martial arts conflicts. They spent their days growing vegetables and flowers, practicing very basic breathing techniques. It was more like a peaceful matriarchal society than a sect. Shen Yuetang was the respected senior sister of Suxin Zhai; whenever her junior sisters encountered problems, their first thought wasn't of the sect leader, but of their senior sister.

The nine-tailed fox had meticulously crafted all of this, assigning names and personalities to several junior sisters for Shen Yuetang—Second junior sister Liu Ya, sixteen years old, lively and active, who loved to cling to her senior sister and act coquettishly; Third junior sister Xiao Mei, thirteen years old, extremely timid, who would always run to her senior sister's room to sleep during thunderstorms; Fourth junior sister Qing Lu, nineteen years old, taciturn but thoughtful, who often helped her senior sister with the sect's miscellaneous tasks; and Little junior sister Shuang'er, eleven years old, an orphan whom her senior sister had picked up by the river, who was not yet able to speak well, but loved to hold onto her senior sister's clothes and never let go.

She fabricated a complete twenty-three-year life story for him—from catching fish by the stream in his small town as a child, to kneeling before the gate of Suxinzhai Temple on a rainy day as a teenager to become his disciple; from nervously preparing teaching materials all night before his first morning class for his junior sisters, to carrying his second junior sister on his back for ten miles to see a doctor when she had a fever late at night. Every detail was so real that it was flawless—even the small details like the ginkgo tree in the backyard of Suxinzhai Temple that would cover half the courtyard with fallen leaves in autumn, and the mice that would always steal rice from the rice jar in the corner of the kitchen at night, were all filled in by her. None of these memories were real, but each one was so vivid that it was indistinguishable from the real thing.

After doing all this, she withdrew the tentacles of consciousness that had probed into his memory space and gently exhaled. Then, with the lightest of movements, she re-entered his genitals with the inner walls of her vagina. This time, there were no stimulating movements, just a simple, quiet fit.

He was fast asleep and didn't feel the vaginal walls pressing against him at all. But deep in his consciousness, the dream of "Shen Yuetang" had begun to unfold.

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the ginkgo trees in the backyard of Suxinzhai, scattering golden fragments across the wooden walkway.

Shen Yuetang opened her eyes precisely at the end of Yin hour (3-5 AM). This was a habit she had developed over many years; her body would wake up on its own at a fixed time without anyone needing to wake her. Birds chirped outside the window, and in the distance, she could faintly hear Liu Ya starting a fire and cooking in the kitchen, occasionally punctuated by Shuang'er's sleepy mumbles. She smiled slightly, threw back the covers, and sat up.

She put on her moon-white training clothes, simply braided her hair into a plait and pinned it up behind her head in front of the mirror, then pushed open the door and went out. A small patch of the wooden floor in the corridor was damp with morning dew. She walked around it and knocked on Liu Ya's door: "Second Junior Sister, are you up? You'll be late for morning class."

A flurry of activity erupted inside, and Liu Ya burst out with her disheveled hair and a hairband dangling from her mouth: "Senior Sister, I was wrong! I only slept in for half an hour longer—"

“Half a quarter of an hour? Look where the sun is already.” Shen Yuetang lightly flicked Liu Ya’s forehead with her finger, just enough to make the little girl yelp as she covered her head. Shen Yuetang shook her head and turned to look at the other junior sisters. Xiao Mei had kicked off her blanket again last night, so she bent down to pick it up and tucked her back in, whispering in Xiao Mei’s ear, “Morning class is still half an hour away.” Xiao Mei mumbled a response, still half asleep. Qinglu was already practicing her breathing exercises in the backyard. When she saw Shen Yuetang approaching, she nodded slightly as a greeting. Shen Yuetang nodded in return and went over to correct her arm posture. Junior sister Shuang’er was squatting under the ginkgo tree picking up fallen leaves. When she saw her senior sister approaching, she ran over and held up a golden leaf, her eyes sparkling: “Senior sister, look! It’s beautiful!” Shen Yuetang patted her head and softly said it was beautiful. Then she walked to the center of the courtyard, and the junior sisters gradually arrived. She began to lead the morning class. The breathing technique at Suxinzhai is very simple: just breathing—inhale for three breaths, hold your breath for two breaths, and exhale for five breaths. Mortals don't need to refine spiritual energy or temper their meridians; they only need to nourish their qi, cultivate their body, and calm their mind. She guided them to follow her rhythm in the gentlest voice. The morning sun was lovely, warming everyone's faces, and even the most mischievous Liuya obediently followed along.

This is Shen Yuetang's daily routine. Every morning, she leads her junior sisters to early lessons; in the morning, she weeds and waters the flowerbeds in the backyard, and picks vegetables with them to prepare lunch; in the afternoon, she teaches her youngest junior sister to read and write, or instructs her second and third junior sisters in some simple martial arts self-defense techniques; in the evening, she goes to the stream halfway up the mountain to fetch water, occasionally chatting with the old herbalist living at the foot of the mountain; at night, she mends clothes for her junior sisters and copies down traditional Chinese medicine prescriptions passed down from their predecessors under the lamp. Her days are as plain as water, but every drop of water leaves a mark on her heart.

However, this body had a problem that had troubled her for a long time and was difficult to talk about.

Her body was exceptionally sensitive. Not the slight sensitivity a typical woman experiences before or after menstruation, but a deep-seated, bone-deep abnormality that had existed since she could remember. She always felt something inside her—not pain, not discomfort, but an extremely slight, almost imperceptible "insertion." It was as if something warm, soft, and resilient was inserted deep within her, pushing against the soft flesh from the inside out. She never dared to confirm it, but sometimes when she walked quickly and her inner thighs rubbed against each other, the insertion sensation would become clearer, causing her to unconsciously squeeze her legs together and stop to catch her breath. It was even more pronounced at night when she lay down; once her body was quiet, that thing inside her seemed to subtly remind her of its presence.

She had searched through all the medical books in Suxinzhai, but found no record of this constitution. She could only conclude that it was due to an inherently weak constitution and an unusual physical structure, a fate ordained by Buddha to prevent her from finding peace in this life.

It was another quiet afternoon. The junior sisters were either napping or playing in the back hills, and the entire Suxinzhai was peaceful, save for the chirping of cicadas and the sound of a distant stream. Shen Yuetang was in her room, leaning against the bedpost, a medical book in her hand, but she couldn't concentrate on reading a single word. That familiar restlessness, spreading from the depths of her body, returned. She placed the book beside her pillow, gently pulled the curtains closed, locked the door, and then wrapped herself in a thin blanket and lay down on her side.

She hesitated for a moment, then slowly, almost stealthily, slipped her hand inside her panties. When her fingertips touched the soft flesh between her legs through the thin fabric, she gasped softly—it was already slightly moist, the soft mucous membranes pulsating slightly with her heartbeat. She gently pressed along the outer edge of her panties, feeling the spreading heat that made her blush and her heart race even through the fabric. She bit her lower lip, her fingertips slowly probing deeper. The moment they touched that soft flesh, the vaginal walls reacted immediately—a series of fine, involuntary contractions spread from her fingertips, as if something was awakening within her.

Her other hand involuntarily clenched the bed sheet. Her slender white knuckles creased the rough fabric, and a very soft, suppressed sob escaped her throat. Various images, which she didn't want to recall but which always flashed through her mind in the middle of the night, floated into her mind—a blurry male silhouette leaning against her back, his arm wrapped around her waist, encircling her in his embrace; or a person whose face she couldn't see whispering her name in her ear.

Her fingers began to slowly move in and out, her other hand still clutching the sheet, refusing to let go, as if she would no longer be Shen Yuetang if she let go of that last bit of restraint. Her eyes were closed, her eyelashes trembling slightly, her cheeks burning red. The sound of water between her legs grew louder and louder, and she wanted to stop in shame, but her body simply wouldn't obey her commands—her waist began to arch upwards in rhythm with her fingers, each arch causing her fingertips to touch a soft spot that made her entire spine go limp.

"Hmm... Ha..."

The thrusting of her fingers intensified, the pleasure building ever higher. Shamelessly, she committed this blasphemous act alone in her bedroom that afternoon, but she couldn't help it; her body was like that. The more she tried to stop, the clearer the sensation of penetration became, as if that warm object was moving in sync with her fingers. What she didn't know was—it wasn't her imagination. The inner walls of the nine-tailed fox's vagina were contracting with incredibly subtle, perfectly synchronized rhythms, seamlessly mirroring the flow of her fingers. With each arc of her fingertips, the inner walls of her vagina tightened slightly; with each upward thrust of her hips, the inner walls squeezed precisely in that direction. She thought it was just her body being sensitive, and indeed, her body was sensitive, but the reasons for this sensitivity were far more complex than she imagined.

But the nine-tailed fox didn't make any further moves. She simply nestled beneath Shen Yuetang's skin, gently tightening her inner walls, providing just the right amount of response to each of his spasms, like a prompter hidden offstage, softly handing over the next line to the actor performing a one-man show. She had promised not to interfere, and she wouldn't overstep the line again. This promise was her heartache—and also her love.

The climax came gently and lingered. Shen Yuetang's arched back slowly slumped back onto the bed, her fingers loosening weakly, the soft flesh between her legs still twitching slightly, a small wet patch soaking through her underpants. Her face flushed, she covered her head with the blanket, closed her eyes, and repeatedly recited the calming mantra in her heart, but couldn't help but slowly drift off to sleep in the afterglow.

The nine-tailed fox gently caught his sleeping consciousness in the darkness, and used the tip of its tail to tuck him in, as if it were tucking him in.