Chapter Eleven: My Wife

Night fell once again on Qingya Peak.

The mountain birds in the bamboo grove had returned to their nests, and the occasional flutter of wings drifted through the bamboo leaves, quickly swallowed by the distant sound of the waterfall. The candlelight in the bedroom had been newly changed, its glow filtering through the gauze curtains and casting a warm amber hue on the walls. Two cups of freshly brewed spiritual tea sat on the table, their aroma mingling with the delicate scent of bamboo leaves drifting in from outside, swirling slowly throughout the room. Scattered before the bronze mirror were the lake-blue gauze dress she had changed out of that morning and the sash that had made her blush; they hadn't been tidied up yet, gleaming with a disheveled yet cozy sheen in the candlelight.

Lu Qinghan lay inside Shen Du's body, quietly experiencing every moment of his embarrassment and forbearance throughout the day. From the terror of waking up to find her body had changed, to the embarrassment of almost screaming when Fang Yuan patted her shoulder, to the exhaustion of finally relaxing and sitting on the edge of the bed in a daze—she felt it all. His heart was beating slightly faster than usual, and his breathing was a little shallow, clearly still troubled by what had happened during the day.

"Shen Du." She spoke softly from deep within his body, her voice gentle and clear, like a mountain stream flowing over pebbles.

"...Yes." Shen Du responded, a hint of nervousness in his voice. He had already realized that when his master called him in such a gentle tone, it usually meant that what was about to happen was something he couldn't predict.

“I have a suggestion for you tonight.” Lu Qinghan didn’t call him “wife”—that title was to be saved for the most crucial moment. For now, she would use “I am your wife” to transition and let him gradually get used to the intimacy of being included under her name. “Now that we are already cultivation partners, we should naturally help each other in our cultivation. I have thought of a little game that can help you cultivate.”

"A game?" Shen Du's guard immediately went up. "What game?"

“It’s very simple.” Lu Qinghan’s voice remained gentle, but beneath that gentleness lay a hint of expectation known only to herself. “Take off your clothes and stand in front of the bronze mirror. Tonight you’re in charge; you can do whatever you want, and I won’t interfere. But there’s one condition—you must control yourself. If you can hold back from ejaculating, tomorrow I’ll help you restore your body to its original state. If you ejaculate…”

She paused deliberately, letting that pause fester in the quiet bedroom.

"...What will happen if I ejaculate?" Shen Du's voice was already getting tense.

"If I ejaculate," Lu Qinghan's voice held a hint of amusement, "your face will soften a little. Just a little, not too noticeable. Consider it a small punishment from your wife for losing control."

This was, of course, fabricated. She could control the rhythm of Shen Du's facial expressions at will, but she needed a set of rules to make him "willingly" accept the change. Shen Du was silent for a moment. He looked down at his body, hesitated for a few breaths, and then began to take off his clothes. The ties of his gray short jacket were pulled open, and the collar slipped off his shoulders, revealing his tanned chest and firm abdomen. After his pants were pulled down, his naked body was completely exposed in the candlelight—a flat and muscular male torso, except for his lower body, which was a smooth, slightly raised female vulva, glowing with a faint pinkish luster in the candlelight.

He walked to the bronze mirror and stood still. The mirror reflected a naked young man with broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and long, powerful legs. But his face was flushed, and he didn't know where to look—he looked at himself in the mirror, and his gaze would hurriedly look away as soon as it touched the part of his lower body that didn't belong to him.

"Very good." Lu Qinghan's voice resounded within him, carrying a hint of encouragement. "Now, put your hands on your waist. Just like I did last night—forward, back, left, right. Do it yourself."

Shen Du raised his hands and placed them on his sides. When his palms touched the skin on his sides, the sensation from his fingertips made him slightly startled—these were his own hands, with distinct knuckles and calluses on the base of his thumb. He took a soft breath and then began to move his waist.

The very first thrust almost made him cry out. His pelvis lurched forward, and the tip of his penis—the organ invisible from the outside but truly present inside—slammed hard into the depths of his master's vagina. The glans rolled over a soft, moist fold, hitting the most sensitive spot at the cervix. Unbeknownst to him, Lu Qinghan had silently activated her pleasure-sharing mechanism. Every sensation she felt—the tingling numbness of the glans against her cervix, the fullness of her vaginal walls being stretched, the aching soreness from repeated impacts deep within—was perfectly replicated and directly injected into his consciousness.

A double pleasure surged within him in an instant. Shen Du's waist suddenly went limp, and he almost lost his balance. He instinctively tried to steady himself against the mirror, but Lu Qinghan's voice rang out just in time: "Put your hands on your waist, don't take them off." His hands pressed back against his sides, his knuckles clenching tightly until they turned white. Then, gritting his teeth, he continued to move his hips. Forward—backward—left—right—circling. Every movement stirred the organ buried deep within his master's body, pumping back and forth in the narrow, moist passage. Each thrust of the glans pushed aside layers of soft folds, and each withdrawal was held back by the negative pressure of the inner walls, like being kissed by countless moist, warm mouths simultaneously. And Lu Qinghan shared the pleasure generated by each friction with him without reservation. Male and female pleasures intertwined and swirled in his consciousness, amplifying and surging against each other. Even more deadly was his voice. He was now using his own voice—not the cool yet alluring female voice of his master, but the genuine voice of a young man. Heavy breathing, suppressed groans, and the occasional low moan were all his own. Those deep, husky sounds, brimming with masculine energy, echoed in the bedroom, penetrating his own ears and becoming a different kind of stimulation—he heard his own passionate voice, and that voice, in turn, aroused him even more.

Lu Qinghan had been waiting for the right moment. When he started to lose his rhythm, his waist movements became faster and faster, and his breathing became more and more rapid, she knew the time had come.

"My wife," she called softly.

Shen Du's waist stiffened abruptly, and his glans stopped at the deepest part of the cervix, tightly held by the soft flesh.

"My wife behaved very well during the day." Lu Qinghan continued in that gentle tone, each word like a feather dipped in honey, lightly brushing against Shen Du's eardrums. "I was really touched to see you enduring it at the market. My wife is dignified and generous outside, but she serves her husband so well at home. She is a good wife that is hard to find even with a lantern."

Shen Du's fingers clenched tightly at his waist, his knuckles almost crushing. But what was harder to resist than the physical pleasure was the undisguised possessiveness and praise in his master's voice. It was his master, it was her, praising him, in a tone that belonged entirely to a private conversation between husband and wife.

"Master...no..." His voice was already hoarse beyond recognition, and his Adam's apple bobbed rapidly.

"Don't what?" Lu Qinghan asked knowingly, his tone carrying a gentle smile. "Don't call you 'wife'? Or don't praise you? Is my wife shy? But my wife was so proactive last night, and called me 'husband' so many times, why are you shy today?"

“That’s…that’s because…” Shen Du couldn’t continue. He couldn’t bring himself to say “that’s because you shared your pleasure with me”—because the pleasure was real, the calling him “husband” was real, and every frame of those memories from last night was clearly etched in his mind. It was not something that could be denied with a simple “that’s because”.

Lu Qinghan didn't press him. She simply tightened her vaginal walls gently while he remained silent, performing a slow, comprehensive peristaltic movement from deep within to the entrance. Her cervix first gripped his glans tightly, then the peristaltic waves advanced layer by layer from the depths, each fold tightening and relaxing in turn, like a warm velvet sheath massaging him from tip to base. At the same time, her voice became even softer, carrying a tender tone only found in the private words of newlyweds: "My dear wife, move your waist properly. Your husband is watching you. You look most beautiful when you move your waist. Don't stop, continue."

Shen Du's mind felt like it was being gently tickled with a feather on his eardrums. He gritted his teeth and continued moving his waist, but the rhythm was completely under his master's control. Every time she called out "Wife," he would involuntarily thrust his waist forward an inch. Every time she praised him with "Beautiful," he would draw a more complete circle. His self-awareness was being peeled away layer by layer, replaced by an almost instinctive obedience—following his master's instructions, responding to his master's praise, and pleasing his master with his body.

The first climax came faster than expected. When Lu Qinghan suddenly tightened her cervix as he thrust deep inside, and simultaneously called out in his mind in the most tender tone, "Wife, your husband is going in," Shen Du's defenses completely crumbled. He cried out—a man's voice, hoarse and trembling, like a muffled thunderclap from the depths of his chest. Then he felt his semen gushing out, the scalding liquid hitting his master's cervix and splashing into the deepest part of her body. At the same time, the pleasure of the female orgasm also flooded into his consciousness through the shared passage—his master also reached orgasm at the moment of his ejaculation, her vaginal walls spasming violently and warmly, her vaginal fluids mingling with his semen in the narrow passage, bringing a warm, overwhelming, and intense pleasure.

The double orgasm tore his consciousness to pieces.

He braced his hands on the edge of the bronze mirror, panting heavily. Semen continued to slowly seep from deep within him, spreading down the curve of his master's inner walls. After catching his breath, he looked up, ready to beg his master for mercy, saying that tonight was almost over, when his gaze met the bronze mirror—and he froze. The face reflected in the mirror seemed to have softened the curve of its chin. The angles of its jawline were still there, but the edges had become rounded, no longer as square and hard as before. The height of its cheekbones also seemed to have decreased by half an inch, and its once high cheeks had become slightly flatter. The lips were thicker, the upper lip's cupid's bow was fuller, and the corners of its mouth curved slightly upward, as if in a smile.

He raised his hand in disbelief and touched his face. His fingertips touched real skin, but the contours were definitely different from before. Although the change was subtle, it was enough for him to notice.

"Master...Master!" His voice betrayed his panic. "My face! My face has changed!"

"Hmm." Lu Qinghan's voice was calm, as if he had expected this. "I said before, each time you ejaculate, it changes a little. My wife couldn't hold back just now, so it changed a little bit. Not much, just a tiny bit."

"You call this a little bit?!" Shen Du's voice rose a full octave. "My chin! My lips! I—"

“My lady looks very beautiful right now.” Lu Qinghan gently interrupted him, her voice sincere as if stating an undeniable fact. “I think she’s very cute. Don’t you think so? Her lips are fuller than before, making her look more kissable. Her chin is also softer than before, not so fierce.”

Shen Du opened his mouth, wanting to say, "I don't want to be cute," but swallowed the words back. The realization that his master thought it was beautiful, that his master thought it was cute, stirred up an indescribable feeling within him—not pure resistance, but a trepidation mixed with a secret satisfaction. Before he could sort out this contradictory emotion, Lu Qinghan spoke again.

“The little punishment is over. Now, let’s continue.” Her voice was as light as if she were announcing the second course of the evening. “Tonight’s goal is to teach you to control yourself. You couldn’t control yourself just now, so there was a little punishment. Now let’s do it again—if you can hold back from ejaculating, I’ll help you turn back tomorrow. If you ejaculate again…” She paused, and lightly licked the tip of his penis with the tip of her tongue—of course, using the inside of her vagina.

"...It will change again?" Shen Du's voice trembled.

“It will change a little more,” Lu Qinghan answered confidently. “Are you scared, my wife? If you are, then bear with it. Just bear with it. Now, put your hands back on your waist.”

Shen Du actually put his hands back on his waist. He didn't know why he was being so obedient. His master had said "put your hands back on your waist," and his body moved on its own. He was beginning to lose track of whether this was the instinctive obedience a disciple had developed over the years, or the instinctive cooperation a husband felt for his wife after their wedding night. He took a deep breath and started moving his waist again. This time he was smarter—he slowed down the rhythm of his movements, minimizing direct stimulation to his glans, and quickly withdrew each time he reached deep, not daring to linger too long in that most sensitive spot. But how could Lu Qinghan let him have his way? She activated the muscles of her inner walls, initiating a series of rhythmic, active contractions. She was no longer just passively enduring his thrusts, but actively "chasing" him—when he withdrew, her inner walls would tighten, preventing him from completely withdrawing; when he thrust in, her cervix would actively meet him, taking a deep breath of his glans. She even started talking.

"That's how my wife was when she first started cultivating. Whenever she encountered difficulties, she wanted to take shortcuts. She could have gone slower and more steadily, but she insisted on going fast. It's the same now—you think going fast will prevent you from ejaculating? You're wrong. The more anxious you are, the easier it is to ejaculate. You'll see."

As she spoke, she tightened her cervix and sucked three times in quick succession at that most sensitive spot. Shen Du's knees buckled, and he fell forward, his forehead hitting the bronze mirror, leaving a warm mist on its surface.

"Also, my wife looks beautiful in clothes. When you wore that gray short jacket today, I was thinking that you would look even better in a wedding dress."

As she spoke, she turned his pleasure channels to their maximum—her own pleasure, the tingling sensation of her cervix being struck, the fullness of her vaginal walls being stretched open, the warmth deep within her passage after being filled with semen—all of this was shared with him in its entirety. At the same time, she added another layer—the psychological pleasure of being penetrated, the satisfaction and submission of being completely possessed and filled by the one she loved. Shen Du's waist completely lost its will, beginning a series of frantic thrusts. The man's heavy breathing echoed in the bedroom, sweat rolling down his forehead and dripping onto the wooden floor in front of the bronze mirror. His abdominal muscles contracted violently, and the veins in his thighs bulged from the exertion. Then, with his master's lingering, soul-stirring cry of "Wife," he ejaculated again.

This time, he ejaculated more, more violently, and for longer than the first time. During his orgasm, his whole body convulsed five or six times, and his semen poured into his master's body in spurts, while his master's vaginal fluids simultaneously poured onto his glans. The two warm liquids mingled in the passage, bringing an almost illusory bliss.

He lay face down in the mirror, his consciousness fading, only the lingering pleasure still echoing within him. He managed to lift his eyes for a glance—and then froze. The person in the mirror had completely smoothed out their cheekbones. The sharp angles of their jawline had vanished, replaced by a soft, delicate oval face. Their eyes had become half a circle larger, with slightly upturned corners, as if gently lifted by an invisible hand. Their lips had become thinner and more refined, with distinct peaks and slightly upturned corners, exactly like the curve of their master's lips in their memories. Their face now bore a five-tenths resemblance to Lu Qinghan—not exactly identical, but anyone who looked at them would say they were sisters. Not brothers, but sisters.

"Master!" Shen Du's voice trembled with genuine sobs, "How could things have become so—"

"My wife is so beautiful." Lu Qinghan's voice rang out almost simultaneously with his, his tone filled with undisguised pure admiration and satisfaction. "Look in the mirror, these eyebrows, these eyes, these lips—don't they look just like your husband's? My wife is becoming more and more like your husband, so beautiful. Your husband loves her so much."

Shen Du's protest was abruptly choked back. His master liked him. His master thought he was handsome. This realization was like a hand, gently extinguishing the tiny flame of resistance that had just ignited in his heart.

“Furthermore,” Lu Qinghan spoke again, his voice even gentler, with a hint of coquetry, “these are the rules of the game. My wife agreed to play herself, didn’t she? My wife is a woman of her word, isn’t she?”

“...Yes.” Shen Du said the word with difficulty.

"Then let's continue." Lu Qinghan's voice became light again. "Let's take it slow tonight. My wife, relax and don't be nervous. The more nervous you are, the easier it is to ejaculate."

Shen Du took a deep breath and placed his hands back on his sides. The third time, the fourth time… In the following time, he experienced several more climaxes. After each climax, his face in the mirror underwent subtle changes. His eyelashes became thicker and longer, fluttering gently like two small fans when he blinked; his eyes became more moist, the iris around his pupils changing from dark brown to a lighter amber, gleaming softly in the candlelight; his nose became more delicate and petite, the tip slightly upturned, increasingly resembling the curve of his master's nose in his memory; his skin became smoother, the tan from practicing swordsmanship fading a shade to a soft complexion between that of a man and a woman. When the sound of the clapper at midnight echoed from the main peak to Qingya Peak, everything was complete.

Shen Du knelt before the bronze mirror. It took him more than ten breaths to regain control of his limbs before he slowly raised his head to look at the mirror. A face was reflected in it. It was the face of a young girl. An oval face, willow-leaf eyebrows, amber almond-shaped eyes, a small, pert nose, and thin, full lips. Her skin was fair and delicate, her cheeks flushed with the lingering blush of her orgasm, like peach blossoms moistened by spring rain in March. This face was exactly like his master's in his memory—not the current Lu Qinghan, but the image of the white-clad fairy he first saw when he first arrived on the mountain twelve years ago. His master was about this age then, in his early twenties, not much older than him. But the face in the mirror was softer than his master's back then, the curve of her eyes more gentle, the corners of her lips more upturned, possessing a soft, youthful charm that his master lacked. This wasn't his master's face; it was the face of someone younger than his master, the face of his master's younger sister.

He opened his mouth in front of the mirror. The girl in the mirror also opened her mouth, her lips parting in a full and soft arc, revealing a few neat pearly teeth.

“Master…Master…” he uttered. The girl's lips in the mirror opened and closed, but the voice that came out was that of a young man, hoarse and masculine. The face was so beautiful, so pure, so girlish—but the voice was unmistakably male. This sense of dislocation struck him like a bolt of lightning. He actually found the face in the mirror beautiful. Not the aloof and noble beauty of his master that he dared not profane, but a more gentle, more approachable, more relatable beauty. And his own voice paired with that face created a strange sense of disorientation—like a man's soul residing in a girl's body, like the most secret forbidden fruit being peeled back and revealed before him.

He was afraid. Yet, he was also involuntarily drawn to the imagery. This chaotic, fragmented, and completely shattering imagery was striking the deepest corner of his heart in a way he couldn't resist.

Lu Qinghan had been quietly sensing all his emotional reactions. When he stared blankly at the girl in the mirror, his eyes shifting from fear to confusion, and then to a kind of bewildered infatuation, she knew the time had come. In the gentlest, most tender, and most affectionate tone, she softly called out from the depths of his consciousness, "My wife."

Shen Du's body trembled violently, and his lips moved on their own almost without thinking.

"...Husband."

The word "husband" was uttered in his own voice—a hoarse, deep, and purely masculine voice. Coupled with the girl's face in the mirror, her watery amber almond-shaped eyes, and the way her full, soft lips opened and closed, this extreme contrast sent shivers down Lu Qinghan's spine.

"My wife has been wonderful today." Lu Qinghan's voice began to tremble—not feigned, but genuinely shaking with overwhelming satisfaction. "I've decided to give you another gift. Give me complete control of your body. Close your eyes."

Shen Du closed his eyes. He felt his body being manipulated to stand up and walk to the front of the bronze mirror. He felt his waist begin to move—his master was controlling him to move his waist. He felt his penis thrusting in and out of his master's body again, and the pleasure exploded from that spot once more. But this time, there was an additional layer of external pleasure—as he moved his waist, the female organ belonging to his master would rub slightly with the movement, and the warm, honeyed fluid flowing from that pink little mouth would slowly flow down the inner thigh, bringing wave after wave of female, penetrating pleasure.

His male body simultaneously experienced the pleasure of being penetrated by a woman. Two kinds of pleasure surged from different gender positions at the same time, exploding like fireworks in his senses.

"Open your eyes."

Shen Du opened his eyes. In the mirror, a young girl was swaying her hips. On that face, exactly like his master's, her eyebrows were slightly raised, her eyes were sparkling, her red lips were slightly parted, and her breathing was rapid and disordered. Her body was his body—broad shoulders, a strong chest, and a flat stomach. But her face was his master's face, her expression was that of a young girl in love, and the sound she made as she swayed was his voice—a low, husky male moan. And beneath his body, her smooth female vulva was secreting more and more nectar from his thrusting, glistening lasciviously in the candlelight.

It turned out that the master was indeed teaching him to "control himself"—leaving only the girl's face for his consciousness to manipulate, and then watching how he used that face to utter moans in front of the mirror that belonged to a man and to desire itself. He was overwhelmed by pleasure from both ends; his male organ was being inserted, his female organ was being inserted, the face in the mirror was that of a girl, and the voice in the mirror was that of a man.

He was completely immersed. All reason, all master-disciple ethics, all gender identity, all obsessions about "what I should be like" were torn to shreds by this double pleasure and the distorted face in the mirror. He stopped thinking, stopped resisting, stopped thinking about who he was, who his master was, what a man was, what a woman was. He only knew that there was pleasure in his body, a young girl in the mirror, his master calling him "wife," and he only wanted to respond to her.

"My wife," Lu Qinghan called out.

"Husband!" Shen Du responded. The girl in the mirror opened and closed her lips, and two clear tears welled up in the corners of her eyes as she lost control of her pleasure.

"Does my wife like it?"

"I love it! My wife loves it! My wife loves her husband the most!" Shen Du's voice was completely out of control, his hoarse voice echoing in the bedroom, carrying a near-collapse, unreserved surrender. His penis reached its final limit during his master's cry. With a deep thrust, semen gushed out, the scalding liquid filling his master's cervix. At the same time, his female organs also experienced an unprecedented release—the tingling and numbness spreading from the depths of his vagina washed over his pelvis and spine like waves.

A double climax, a double bliss. He stood before the mirror, a girl's face, a man's body, a woman's genitals, semen flowing inside his master, honey-like fluid sliding down his thighs. The image in the mirror, flickering in the candlelight, resembled a bizarre yet exquisitely beautiful painting.

When everything calmed down, Shen Du lay face down in front of the bronze mirror, his consciousness already blurred. Lu Qinghan quietly remained inside him, feeling his semen slowly flowing into her vagina, feeling the exhaustion and satisfaction emanating from deep within his body. She gently stroked her own lower abdomen through the skin, feeling the person who had fallen into a deep sleep inside her, and then looked up at the sleeping face of the girl in the mirror, which was exactly the same as her own.

Just a little bit more. The face is already altered; next comes the hair, the figure, and the final step of "practice." No rush. She has plenty of time. Little by little, day by day, he'll gradually get used to it. When everything is complete, she'll take him to stand before the same bronze mirror, let him look at the perfect girl in the reflection, and tell him—from this day forward, your name is Shen Qinghan. Anyway, she has plenty of time to slowly work things out with him. The method to separate the demonic sword is still far off; the sect's patriarch has said there's no precedent for this, and it's unknown how long it will take. Qingya Peak is isolated from the world; aside from going down the mountain once a month to buy supplies, almost no outsiders come. This mountain is her and his entire world. And in this world, she can take her time.