Chapter Six

Leng Gu wasn't in a good mood today.

As an outer hall steward of the Bone-Eating Hall, his being sent to this godforsaken town of Luoxia to purchase medicinal herbs already indicated his marginalized position within the hall. The truly powerful stewards were all enjoying themselves in the main hall; who would bother running errands in such a remote and impoverished place? His face grim, he rummaged through a few low-quality spiritual herbs at the counter of a pharmacy, his bony skin scraping against the stems with a soft, scratching sound. The pharmacy owner, a gaunt old man, huddled behind the counter, barely daring to breathe, fearing this demonic cultivator might overturn his stall at the slightest provocation.

Just as Leng Gu was about to turn and leave, a faint sobbing sound drifted over from across the street. The sound wasn't loud, but it pierced his ears with unusual clarity amidst the cacophony of the street—as if someone had used an extremely fine thread to precisely pull on his auditory nerve through all the noise. He instinctively turned his head and looked in the direction of the sound.

Across the street, in front of a teahouse, a woman in white sat on the steps, covering her mouth and nose with a handkerchief, sobbing uncontrollably.

She looked to be in her early twenties, dressed in a plain white dress. The fabric wasn't expensive, but it was clean and neat. Her hair was loosely tied back with a silver hairpin, with a few stray strands falling beside her fair neck. Her appearance was that of a typical well-bred young lady—dignified, gentle, and beautiful. But at this moment, her eyes were red from crying, tears clung to her eyelashes, and the tip of her nose was red. Her whole face was filled with sadness and helplessness.

Several passersby stopped to watch, but no one went forward to ask what was wrong. This was understandable; although Luoxia Town was a bustling town, no one wanted to provoke a stranger who looked wealthy but whose background was unknown. Leng Gu didn't want to get involved either, but when the woman in white glanced at him while wiping away her tears—that one glance made him freeze in his tracks.

Those eyes.

Those were exceptionally beautiful almond-shaped eyes, brimming with tears, like two pools of spring water ruffled by the wind. Her gaze held a mixture of sadness, confusion, and an indescribable tenderness, like a wounded animal cautiously sending a distress signal to a passerby. For a demonic cultivator like Leng Gu, this look was almost a physiological stimulus—the helplessness of the weak was the predator's favorite signal.

He changed direction and headed towards the teahouse.

As he approached the woman in white, he deliberately softened his voice—a gentleness he only used to coax his prey—"Madam, is there anything I can help you with?"

The woman in white looked up at him, her eyes blurry with tears. Her lips trembled several times before she finally spoke, her voice hoarse and soft, choked with sobs, each word seeming to be squeezed from her throat, "I... my husband passed away last month..."

She choked up again, covering her face with a handkerchief and crying for a long time before continuing, albeit haltingly. She said her surname was Shuang, and she was the wife of a wealthy family in the neighboring town of Qingshi. Her husband had died of illness last month, and her relatives, taking advantage of her being a helpless widow, had seized her family's property and driven her out of her home. With nowhere to go, she came to Luoxia Town with only a little money left, only to have it stolen on the way. Now she was penniless and couldn't even afford food.

At this point, tears welled up in her eyes again, her voice breaking into fragments, "I really...I really don't know what to do...I'm just a woman...sob..."

Leng Gu watched her cry, his mind already calculating. The woman was dressed in plain white, but the fabric was undoubtedly fine silk. Her hands were calloused, and her skin was remarkably well-maintained, suggesting her identity was likely genuine. A helpless widow, so beautiful, was practically a gift to anyone practicing evil arts. Most importantly, he noticed faint fluctuations of spiritual energy around her, but not the regular flow of a cultivator's energy; rather, it resembled the physical characteristics of a naturally born spiritual body—a constitution ideal for the Bone Devouring Hall's Bone Demon Techniques. With such a woman in his hands, he could first drain her essence several times, then extract her bones to refine into bone puppets, wasting nothing—it was a gift from heaven.

“Lady Shuang,” he bowed, making his voice sound gentler, and even forced a smile—a smile that looked more like a grimace on his perpetually gloomy face, though he himself was unaware of it, “I am Leng Gu, a cultivator from the Bone-Eating Hall. As you know, the Bone-Eating Hall is considered a major sect here. If you have nowhere to go, why don’t you come back to the inn with me for a rest? I’ll have someone prepare some food for you, and I’ll try to think of a solution for you.”

The woman in white raised her head, looking at him with her red almond-shaped eyes. Her gaze held gratitude, hesitation, and finally, a resolute determination. She nodded gently, her voice barely audible, "Then...then thank you very much, Senior Leng..."

When she stood up, her legs went weak. Leng Gu reached out and supported her arm. Through the thin sleeve, he could feel the warmth and softness of her skin. His Adam's apple bobbed, but he maintained his gentle expression as he turned and led her toward an inn at the east end of town.

The inn wasn't large, but it was quiet. Leng Gu booked a room on the second floor, led the woman in white inside, and casually closed the door. When they were alone in the room, the woman in white visibly stiffened for a moment—she stood in the center of the room, twisting her handkerchief in her hands, head bowed, not daring to look at Leng Gu, her entire body tense like a fully drawn bowstring. To Leng Gu, her posture was the instinctive reaction of prey sensing danger but unable to escape, only increasing his interest.

"Sit down." Leng Gu gestured to the edge of the bed, sat down in a chair next to the table, poured a cup of tea, and pushed it in front of her. "Have some water to calm your nerves."

The woman in white obediently sat down on the edge of the bed, holding the teacup in both hands and sipping it slowly. Her wrists trembled slightly, and tiny ripples appeared on the surface of the water in the cup.

While sipping his tea, Leng Gu chatted casually with her, asking about her family, her husband's illness, and the names of her relatives. The woman in white answered each question clearly and logically, though her voice still trembled slightly. After about the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, Leng Gu was fairly certain of his assessment—she was indeed a pampered young lady from a wealthy family, not a cultivator, and posed no threat to him. Her body temperature, breathing, blood flow, and pupillary reflexes were all normal human indicators, without any trace of pretense.

He had no idea, of course, that a silent war was raging inside the woman sitting in front of him.

"No...don't go there..."

Lin Jingxuan watched his enemy's face approach, bit by bit, the inner turmoil burning him like a fire. He recognized Leng Gu—he remembered that face more clearly than anyone else. The battle at the back mountain of the Qingxiao Sword Sect, Leng Gu had whipped the corpses of his three junior brothers to pieces with his bone whip, laughing as he did so; that laughter still occasionally echoed in his nightmares. He hated this man, wishing he could immediately draw his sword and cut off his head. But now, he sat before his enemy, powerless to resist, wrapped in the skin of a gentle, widowed fox demon.

This time, the nine-tailed fox took away all his control. Not just half, nor only certain key parts. She stripped him of all movement, from his limbs to his tongue, from his eyelids to his toes. Lin Jingxuan was like someone trapped in a glass dome, able to see, hear, and feel, but unable to even blink.

"Hush," she responded from the depths of her consciousness, her voice as sweet as a dagger coated with honey, its tip still dripping blood, "Husband, don't be silly. Aren't you best at waiting for the right moment? Look, the opportunity has come—this guy surnamed Leng just took a cold-attribute pill this morning, and his spiritual energy is in chaos from clashing with the sword intent of your two junior brothers. Killing him is as easy as turning your hand. But how he dies, you have to listen to me."

"I don't want this—!"

"What do you not want? Don't you want revenge? Where were you when your master died? Where were you when your junior sister was captured? Now your enemy is sitting right in front of you, and you're saying you don't want it?"

Lin Jingxuan's heart felt like it was being squeezed. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He was the last disciple of the Qingxiao Sword Sect, the only one in the world who still remembered that massacre. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see the dust and smoke from the collapsing sect gates and hear the agonizing cries of his fellow disciples. His enemy was right in front of him; he should have rushed at him without hesitation, even if it meant biting his throat, even if it meant dying together, he should have acted without a second thought.

But at this moment, his body didn't belong to him at all.

Even more terrifying was the fact that he could feel the nine-tailed fox spirit making his genitals increasingly wet. It wasn't his own sensation, but a signal synchronized from the inside of her skin—as he sensed her physical reaction, his genitals were being squeezed by layers of soft flesh within the skin. Two distinct signals were placed side-by-side before him, making it impossible for him to distinguish which was his and which was hers. He could feel a slippery fluid secreting from that area, filling the space between the inner walls of her skin and his own organs, each breath bringing a fine, viscous friction.

"This time, I will be gentler with you, my husband," her thoughts whispered in his mind. "Last time, you felt disgusted when you looked at the face of the Blood-Handed Scholar, so this time I won't let you look. Just don't open your eyes—you can't control your eyes anyway. Listen to me, just pretend you're lying in a hot bath, soaking until your whole body is soft and you can't muster any strength."

"I don't--"

She suddenly loosened her grip on his throat, causing him to let out a muffled, forcibly suppressed groan. The woman in white looked up at Leng Gu, then coughed lightly, covering her mouth with her handkerchief to mask the suppressed groan. Leng Gu, holding a cup of tea, never took his eyes off her face; the greed in his eyes was almost blatant.

“Senior… I’ve been so lonely since I became a widow.” She said, her voice still trembling with tears. The redness in her eyes, combined with her gentle and dignified face, gave her words a poignant beauty. “Sometimes I think that if someone could hold me in their arms, even just for a moment, then there would be hope for the future.”

Leng Gu put down his teacup, stood up with a half-smile, and walked to her, looking down at her. His black robe blocked the light from the window, casting her in shadow. He extended a finger, lifting her chin, forcing her to look up and meet his gaze. The moment his fingertip touched her chin, his breathing became noticeably heavier—this woman's skin was exceptionally beautiful, smooth as the finest cream, warm, and carrying a faint, sweet fragrance.

“Madam, since you are so understanding, I don’t need to be bound by the rules.” His voice was hoarse and deep. His fingertips slid from her chin to her cheek, and then from her cheek to behind her ear, slowly brushing aside a stray strand of hair that was hanging over her ear, revealing the outline of her entire face. “Come with me.”

He took her hand and led her from the edge of the bed to the bedside, then gently pushed her. She obediently lay down on the bed, her long hair spreading out on the pillow like a black fan-shaped piece of silk. She closed her eyes, her eyelashes trembling slightly, her lips pressed tightly together, and her hands clasped in front of her chest, as if making some meaningless defense against herself.

Leng Gu stood by the bed, looking down at the woman on it—dressed in simple white, gentle and dignified, with a vulnerable air about her when her eyes were closed. A satisfied smile curved his lips. He took off his outer robe, bent down, and loosened her belt.

"No...please...don't let him touch me..." Lin Jingxuan repeated these words deep in his consciousness, over and over again. His pride had shattered into a million pieces, each piece screaming at him to break free, to resist, to refuse even if it meant biting off his own tongue rather than endure this humiliation. But his body remained motionless—not because he didn't want to move, but because he simply couldn't.

She didn't let him see Leng Gu's face; she hadn't lied to him about that. He was surrounded by darkness, but in the darkness, his other senses became sharper, forcing him to focus all his attention on his lower abdomen and below.

Insertion was slow, as Leng Gu wanted to prolong the process. The tip of his member touched an extremely wet entrance, and he felt her body shudder noticeably; her abdominal muscles contracted violently for a moment—not from pleasure, but from a nauseating, instinctive reaction. But the Nine-Tailed Fox precisely suppressed any muscular movement that might push him away, transforming it into a gentle arching of her waist, allowing his member to penetrate even deeper.

"Ah..." The woman in white opened her lips and let out a long, trembling sigh.

"Please... let me go..."

Lin Jingxuan wanted to shout, but his throat was tightly sealed, and even his plea could only echo in the corners of his consciousness. Meanwhile, the Nine-Tailed Fox was speaking in his name in a completely different voice.

Once Leng Gu started, he didn't stop. He pressed down on her legs, each thrust violent and heavy, faster and harder. Waves of impact came from inside the nine-tailed fox's body, and the soft flesh secreted more fluid under the intense friction, making the point of contact slippery and smooth.

But with each thrust, the nerve signals generated by friction exploded silently in the darkness. Every time her vaginal walls were stretched, penetrated, withdrawn, and re-entered, a dense pulse of sensation shot straight to the deepest part of his consciousness. He didn't want to feel it, but these sensations didn't need his consent to penetrate the thin membrane of her skin and be transmitted in.

Meanwhile, his genitals were experiencing the same stimulation on the inside of the skin—though his organs weren't in direct contact with the cold bone, the inner wall of the skin faithfully translated everything the vagina felt into a feeling of being enveloped and rubbed. The pressure from the inside, the warmth and viscosity of the fluid, even the dull thud of each thrust deep into the core—all of this was experienced in sync. He felt no pain from the stretching, only pleasure, layer upon layer, wave after wave, like a tide repeatedly washing over his fragile nerves.

"Husband... harder..." A submissive murmur escaped from the white-clad woman's lips. Her eyes remained closed, two blushes rose on her dignified and gentle face, her lips were slightly parted, and the tip of her tongue was faintly visible between her teeth. Her expression looked both painful and pleasurable.

"Husband...love me more...more...so good...husband's treasure is so hot and big...ah...it's so beautiful...so comfortable...I'm going to die...I'm going to die of pleasure..."

Lewd words flowed from her mouth incessantly, her voice sweet and soft, like crushed candied fruit wrapped in the rhythm of each penetration. Her legs unconsciously wrapped around Leng Gu's waist, her waist even began to actively respond to his movements. Every time he withdrew, she would slightly lift up to follow; every time he thrust in, she would lower down to meet him, allowing him to penetrate even deeper.

Listening to these words in the darkness, Lin Jingxuan felt as if he had been thrown into an ice cellar and then pulled out to be roasted on a hot coal fire. These words were coming from his own vocal cords. He himself had honed a clear voice through sword practice; his master had said that his voice was naturally suited for exorcising evil and practicing righteous arts. Now, this very voice was being used to whine and please a demonic enemy. Hearing the words "this humble servant" float from his own mouth, he wished he could bite off his tongue immediately—but he couldn't.

Hearing her cries, Leng Gu grew even more excited. He grabbed her hair, pressed her head down onto the pillow, and his movements became even more ferocious. His speed increased to an almost insane level, thrusting in and out several times per second, the sounds of their impact echoing in the room, mingling with the white-clad woman's high-pitched moans. Tears welled in her eyes, her fingers gripping the sheets tightly until her knuckles turned white, but they didn't seem to be tears of pain—she kept murmuring "husband," "so comfortable," "so beautiful," her voice growing louder and more unrestrained, each syllable ending with a trembling pleasure.

Deep within the darkness of his consciousness, Lin Jingxuan sensed that familiar force spreading—the climax was approaching. All his defenses had long since crumbled under the relentless stimulation, leaving only a thin, riddled line of defense teetering on the verge of collapse.

Just then, his divine sense detected a subtle fluctuation—Leng Gu's life force was waning. During their union, the nine-tailed fox released a highly concealed demonic aura, which seeped into Leng Gu's body through the mucous membranes at their point of contact, frantically draining his life force and spiritual energy. Leng Gu himself was completely unaware; he only felt exceptionally good and energetic today, completely unable to stop. He didn't know that the source of his frenzied desires was his own life force burning rapidly.

Realizing this, a twisted sense of pleasure welled up deep within Lin Jingxuan's consciousness—his enemy was about to die. This villain who had slaughtered his three junior brothers was about to be drained dry on this bed. The thrill of revenge was like a drop of ink falling into clear water, spreading rapidly and mixing with the physiological pleasure accumulating within him, forming an extremely bizarre mixture he had never experienced before—he felt joy at his enemy's death, and also a sexually stimulating pleasure from the invasion he was enduring. Two completely different emotions exploded in the same container, almost causing him to lose his mind.

"Ah—!" Leng Gu let out a deep roar as he reached his peak. At the same time, the Nine-Tailed Fox released her final wave of orgasmic contractions inside him—her vaginal walls tightened suddenly, gripping Leng Gu's genitals deep inside. The fine folds writhed and sucked wildly, squeezing out his last essence and life force in one go.

Lin Jingxuan could no longer hold on.

The pleasure was like a red-hot hammer crashing down on his head, shattering his consciousness into countless fragments. He felt himself ejaculate, the semen seeping through the gaps in the membrane and being absorbed completely by the inner walls of her skin; at the same time, he felt the woman's orgasm—that convulsion and contraction, layer upon layer, like waves crashing one after another, from the inside out. The two orgasms overlapped, intertwined, and resonated in his perception, pushing this climax to an intensity far beyond his limits. The darkness before his eyes exploded into a dazzling white light, and his mind went completely blank. In the distance, he could faintly hear her voice:

"This is the best, my husband..."

Leng Gu's tall, imposing body swayed twice, then collapsed onto the woman in white like a hollowed-out tree. His skin withered visibly, his bones becoming fragile and hollow, emitting faint cracking sounds. Like the Blood-Handed Scholar, he died with the lingering intoxication of orgasm on his face, his eyes half-open, his lips upturned, as if still savoring the pleasure he had just experienced.

The woman in white pushed aside the cold, desiccated corpse and sat up from the bed. She straightened her disheveled clothes, re-tied her belt, and simply tied her loose hair into a bun. The flush of her orgasm still lingered on her face, and a faint pink hue remained at the corners of her eyes, making her appear exceptionally alluring and captivating. Yet, combined with her dignified and gentle features, it created a strangely beautiful effect.

She got up and walked to the copper basin in the corner of the room, slowly washed her hands, and wiped her fingers clean one by one with a handkerchief. Then she turned around, leaned against the wall by the window, hugged her arms, and closed her eyes.

Deep in her consciousness, she saw Lin Jingxuan curled up in a ball, his aura weak and chaotic, like an oil lamp that could be blown out at any moment. His consciousness trembled slightly in the darkness, whether from the lingering pleasure or from humiliation, she couldn't tell.

“My lord,” she whispered to him in her mind, “just now, you personally took care of your two enemies. The first one made you feel disgusted by being fucked, but you did enjoy it. The second one, you have learned to enjoy it. It seems my teaching methods are quite effective.”

Lin Jingxuan did not answer. He was speechless and did not want to speak. His consciousness was like a pile of embers doused with water, emitting a faint, acrid heat.

He felt satisfied with Leng Gu's death. A genuine satisfaction. But at the same time, the climax he had just experienced—the experience of being brought to orgasm as a woman—was equally real. In the same moment, he experienced the satisfaction of revenge and the satisfaction of submission, two satisfactions stemming from the same event, inseparable and indistinguishable. This inseparable pleasure was what drove him to despair: if he had to continue accompanying the Nine-Tailed Fox, taking revenge one by one, then he would experience the same thing when he encountered the next enemy. He would feel gratified by the death of his enemies, yet unable to resist the pleasure. In the end, what would this cycle turn him into? This question pierced his heart like an icicle.