Chapter Five Morning Exercise

At the third quarter of the hour of Mao (5:45 AM), the first light of dawn broke.

The mist atop Qingya Peak hadn't yet dissipated, and dew dripped from the bamboo grove leaves, each drop striking the bluestone slab with a soft, crisp sound. This was the time Shen Du knew best for the past twelve years—regardless of spring, summer, autumn, or winter, rain, snow, wind, or frost, he had to rise at 3:45 AM to practice his sword. This was a rule set for him by Lu Qinghan, and it hadn't changed a single day from when he was eight to twenty.

But today is different.

Today is the first morning that Shen Du has been swallowed into his master's body. He doesn't know how to practice swordsmanship. He doesn't even know if he has "gotten up"—his body is completely wrapped in his master's skin. When his master stands up, it is him standing up; when his master walks into the courtyard, it is him walking into the courtyard. He has no autonomy over the action of "getting up".

Lu Qinghan stood under the crooked old pine tree in the courtyard. The morning breeze ruffled her white undergarment, causing the hem to flutter lightly. She walked barefoot on the bluestone slabs, feeling the cool touch of the surface after being soaked by the night dew. The old pine tree cast a long shadow on the ground, and two early-rising sparrows were arguing on the treetop, chirping and fighting over a freshly caught insect.

She took a deep breath of the morning air; it was cool, carrying the sweet, earthy scent of bamboo leaves and soil. Then she spoke in her heart.

"Shen Du".

"Yes, Master." Shen Du replied almost instantly, his voice still slightly sleepy, but mostly tense. He had barely slept since finishing his bath last night, his mind replaying every scene from the bath—the feel of his master's hand on his skin, the sound of water flowing down his body's curves, the increasingly rapid heartbeat above him, and the final words, "Marrying Master is also possible." Although his master later said it was a joke, the lingering effect of that joke had haunted him all night.

"Start practicing swordsmanship." Lu Qinghan's tone was as concise and efficient as ever, just like every morning, without any superfluous words.

Shen Du was stunned for a moment: "Master, how can I train in my current state?"

"What do you think?" Lu Qinghan's tone carried a hint of a half-smile. "Swordsmanship is something etched into the soul, not just in the hands and feet. Although your physical body is enveloped by me, your consciousness remains, and I can transfer control of your body to you at any time. What do you think I made you swing your sword a thousand times a day for the past twelve years? It was so that you could perform sword moves even with your eyes closed."

As she finished speaking, the tip of her tongue gently curled over the words "eyes closed," creating a momentary friction between the surface of her tongue and the back of his tongue. It was as light as a feather brushing the surface of water, yet it sent a shiver down Shen Du's spine.

“…Yes.” Shen Du took a deep breath, trying to ignore the strange sensations coming from deep inside his mouth and below his body, and focused his attention on his swordsmanship.

"What are we practicing today, Master?"

“Go through the first to twelfth moves of the Qingya Sword Manual from beginning to end.” After Lu Qinghan finished speaking, he relinquished all control of his body with a thought.

It was a wondrous process of transition. Shen Du felt as if his consciousness was being lifted from within his body by an invisible hand. The physical body, which he had previously only been able to passively perceive, suddenly became something he could actively control. He could control his master's arms, his master's legs, his master's waist, shoulders, neck, and even his facial expressions. This feeling was completely different from being passively carried along by his master before—now he was in control, he was driving this body, while his master's consciousness had retreated to the position of an observer.

“Feel it with your heart,” Lu Qinghan’s voice echoed in his mind, her tone calm, but the movement of her tongue was anything but—as she spoke, the tip of her tongue gently touched the base of his, rhythmically tapping with each syllable, each pause like a tiny, light kiss. “Swordsmanship is an extension of the body, not just wrist techniques. Your biggest mistake in practicing swordsmanship is using only your hands, not your body. Today is the perfect opportunity—use my body to feel what it means to exert power from the whole body. Without basic power-generating techniques like chopping, slashing, striking, and sweeping, even the most exquisite swordsmanship is empty.”

Shen Du's mind was starting to go blank. When his master said "body," his tongue pressed against Shen Du's. When his master said "exerting power," the tip of his tongue touched the root of Shen Du's tongue. These movements were too subtle, too intimate, for Shen Du to discern—were they unintentional gestures from his master as he earnestly imparted the essentials of swordsmanship, or... something he shouldn't be thinking about? He dared not consider that possibility. He could only tell himself: his master was teaching swordsmanship earnestly, every word his master spoke was a swordsmanship mantra, and his master's tongue had simply happened to touch Shen Du's.

"Yes," he replied, and then began to practice his swordplay.

When he swung his sword for the first time, the feeling swept away all his distracting thoughts in an instant.

The first move of the Qingya Sword Technique is "Dawn Breaker". The starting stance is very simple - stand with your feet shoulder-width apart, step back half a step with your right foot, lower your center of gravity, and swing the sword diagonally upward from your waist with your right hand. This is the simplest move among the twelve moves of Qingya, and it is also the move that Shen Du has practiced the most. When he was eight years old, he swung "Dawn Breaker" at an old pine tree with a wooden sword for three whole months, cutting off a piece of the bark.

But today is different.

Today, the hand holding the sword was his master's hand. Those slender, long, white hands gripped the hilt, the feel completely different from his own calloused hands. The anti-slip hemp rope wrapped around the hilt pressed against the softest part of his palm, causing a slight itch; he could feel an extremely thin layer of calluses on his master's thumb and forefinger—developed from centuries of wielding swords, much thinner and harder than his own calluses. Moreover, the way the body's energy flowed was completely different from his own. His true energy followed a relatively rough path, while his master's Ice Heart True Energy was delicate and dense, like a finely woven net, each strand of energy flowing precisely along the predetermined meridian routes, not a bit more, not a bit less.

When he unleashed "Dawn," the icy inner energy surged from his dantian, circulated along the belt meridian, and then flowed into the sword through the three Yin meridians of the hand. The entire process was fluid and seamless, more than three times faster than his own inner energy circulation. The sword's edge drew a straight silver line in the morning light, and the air ripped apart with a soft "hiss," a clear and crisp sound. A bamboo leaf not far away was swept by the aftershock of the sword energy, snapping in three clean cuts, a thin layer of white frost forming at the break.

The feeling was incredible—it was the first time in his life he had experienced the power of the Golden Core stage, the first time he had felt the smooth, flowing power of a high-level cultivator's sword strike. Inside his master's body, using his master's hand, he unleashed the most perfect sword strike of his life. But at the same time, his body twitched violently as he swung the sword. His right arm lashed forward and upward, propelling his entire right shoulder forward, and causing a significant stretch in his right ribcage. The mucous layer clinging to his skin faithfully transmitted this power to Lu Qinghan, and in his most sensitive area, his movement brought an unprecedented depth. He felt the part of him buried inside her thrust forward sharply in the direction of his waist's movement.

Lu Qinghan made an extremely soft and subtle sound in his mind. The sound was as short as a gasp from being choked, as light as the rustling of wind through bamboo leaves. If Shen Du's senses had not been highly connected with Lu Qinghan's at this moment, he would not have been able to detect the sound at all.

"Master?" Shen Du stopped what he was doing. "What's wrong? Did I move too much and hurt you?"

A moment of silence followed. In that instant, Lu Qinghan used all her willpower to steady her voice. What had just happened had indeed caught her off guard—when she relinquished control, she had only thought about letting Shen Du practice his swordsmanship properly, forgetting to consider the most crucial issue: Shen Du was inside her body, and every movement he made would have a ripple effect within her. Especially that part. The force of that sword strike from her waist pushed his entire pelvis forward, causing that part, firmly locked inside her lower body, to thrust deeply, hitting her most sensitive cervix. The pleasure in that instant was like a lightning bolt, striking from her tailbone to the top of her head, almost making her cry out.

"...It's nothing." Her voice returned to calm, but beneath the calm was a thin layer of panting, like dark water flowing beneath the surface of ice. "Keep practicing. Don't worry about me."

Shen Du hesitated for a moment, but did not disobey his master's order. He raised his sword again and began to practice the second move.

The second move, "Willow Sway." This move is more complex than "Dawn Break," requiring a large side turn of the body—the left foot as the axis, the right foot drawing an arc, and the waist twisting to drive the sword to slash horizontally. When Shen Du performed this move, his entire waist and hips rotated nearly ninety degrees, and the part locked inside his master's body also rotated a little half a circle, grinding fiercely against the tight inner walls of her passage.

This time, Lu Qinghan didn't make a sound, but her heart suddenly started racing, as if someone was drumming in her chest.

The third move, "Startling Swan," requires leaping into the air, performing a somersault, and then slashing downwards. Shen Du leaped into the air, his legs opening and closing in mid-air, the muscles on the inside of his thighs contracting violently at the moment of takeoff and landing. Each contraction triggered the organ embedded in his master's body, causing it to thrust back and forth inside her vagina. Upon landing, the acceleration of gravity caused his body to sink downwards, and that part slammed deep inside him.

The fourth move, "Frostfall." Seven rapid thrusts in succession, each requiring the use of the waist and abdomen to concentrate the body's strength at the tip of the sword. Shen Du performed seven short, powerful waist-tightening movements, each time rapidly thrusting in and out of her body. Fast, accurate, and ruthless, exactly as required by the sword technique.

The fifth move, "Severing Water." This is a stance that requires maintaining a bow stance for an extended period, with the body's center of gravity extremely low, hips thrusting forward, and the sword held horizontally parallel to the ground. As soon as the bow stance opened, Shen Du's pelvis pressed tightly against the depths of his master's body in an extremely ambiguous posture, maintaining this position for a full three breaths. During those three breaths, his part embedded within her remained motionless, pressed against her deepest point, feeling the warmth and moisture of the inner walls of the passage, feeling the enveloping sensation that pulsated slightly with her heartbeat. Her inner walls felt like countless slippery little mouths, sucking from his tip all the way to his root, a sensation like being soaked in a hot spring while being licked by countless tiny tongues simultaneously. And Lu Qinghan's three breaths were each endured with immense restraint. She could feel his shape, his temperature, his pulse; everything was clearly etched into the interior of her body.

She could even feel the slight curve of his tip hitting her most sensitive crease, and with each heartbeat, that curve would bounce slightly, like gently plucking a taut string with her fingertips.

The twelfth move, the final closing move. Shen Du sheathed his sword, stood naturally with his feet together, and his breathing gradually became steady. After completing the swordplay, he could feel his whole body flowing smoothly—no, it was his master's body that felt completely relaxed—the circulation of his Ice Heart True Qi was smoother and more fluid than before he practiced the sword, and most of the stagnation in his meridians had dissipated thanks to the sword moves. He subconsciously glanced down. His master's body was wearing a white undergarment, which clung slightly to his skin due to sweat, revealing the exquisite curves beneath. His chest rose and fell with his breath, and two soft mounds were faintly visible beneath the garment. He knew that was his breathing—he was breathing heavily, and the amplitude and frequency of his chest rise and fall were his habits—but that curve, that soft touch, was not his. And… at the very bottom of his body, in the place tightly locked by his master's body, came a soreness he had never experienced before, a sensation that almost made his knees weak.

As he performed that sword technique, he thrust into his master's body no less than a hundred times, the cumulative effect resembling a long, unconscious sexual encounter. He was completely unaware of this process—until now, when he stopped, his senses belatedly releasing all the pent-up pleasure at once. The pleasure surged forth like a flood suppressed for twelve years finally finding a crack in the dam, instantly overwhelming all his defenses.

His mind went blank.

Shen Du felt his genitals swell violently inside his master, followed by an uncontrollable, intense contraction, spasming from root to tip. A warm liquid gushed from his body, flowing deep into his master's. The moment that liquid struck Lu Qinghan's cervix, it brought an overwhelming sense of fullness she had never experienced before—like a hot spring being poured into a dry well. The heat spread from her lower abdomen in all directions, ascending along the meridians to her dantian, then spreading along the belt meridian to her waist, making her entire lower abdomen feel hot.

Her body trembled slightly. The tremor came from the depths of her bones, and no amount of cultivation could suppress it; she could only let it spread throughout her body.

Shen Du was completely dumbfounded. He had practiced a sword routine inside his master's body, and then... ejaculated inside his master. This realization left him in a state of shock—his brain desperately tried to deny the fact, but his senses wouldn't lie. He could feel the liquid flowing from his own body, into the depths of his master's body, warm, viscous liquid carrying his own scent, slowly filling the gap between their two bodies.

"Master...Master..." Shen Du stammered for a long time, his voice trembling, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...I really didn't mean to, I didn't know it would happen like this, I was just practicing my sword and then..."

He couldn't continue.

Lu Qinghan took a deep breath—mainly to make sure his voice was still steady—and then spoke. His gentle tone surprised Shen Du for a moment: "What's there to be sorry about? You're a man, so it's normal for your body to react. Cultivators shouldn't be ashamed of this. The harmony of heaven and earth, the balance of yin and yang, is a natural part of the Dao. For the past twelve years, you've only known swordsmanship and cultivation, and you're ignorant of human affairs. Your body's reactions don't lie, so it's not your fault. If you feel unwell again in the future, you can always ask your master."

Shen Du opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but his throat felt like it was blocked by something. He had lost his parents when he was eight years old, and his master was his only support in this world. She taught him swordsmanship, taught him to read, taught him the principles of being a good person, stayed by his bedside all night when he was sick, and sacrificed her own cultivation to clear his meridians when he almost suffered a qi deviation during his Foundation Establishment stage. Now, even with something like this, his master told him in such a gentle tone, "It's okay," "It's normal," "It's not your fault," "You can come to your master."

He secretly vowed in his heart that his life belonged to his master, and that he would do whatever his master asked him to do from now on without complaint.

Then he felt it.

As Lu Qinghan was deeply moved, he silently and quietly tightened the inner walls of his lower body. The moist, soft tissues, like a living velvet sheath, closed in from all sides, completely covering the area that hadn't fully subsided. The peristalsis was slow, rhythmic, and progressed from shallow to deep—first the tightening at the entrance, then the squeezing in the middle, and finally the most sensitive tip being gently held by a soft, elastic tissue, like a silent embrace, or a tender plea to stay. The remaining fluid in the passage was pushed along by this peristalsis, slowly spreading upwards along his genitals, the warm, slippery sensation climbing from the base to the tip, as if his bodily fluids were slowly and meticulously applying a paste to him.

Shen Du's voice caught in his throat. He had just been immersed in emotion, but now he felt something gently yet firmly re-enveloping, locking, and accommodating the part of him that had just been released. The feeling was too intense—the sensitive period after release hadn't passed yet, every touch was magnified several times over, and his master's movements were so delicate and patient. He couldn't help but take a low breath.

"Master...you...you're moving?"

"Hmm." Lu Qinghan's voice was calm, even carrying a hint of nonchalance. "Natural movement, beyond human control. No need to worry about it."

She was lying. Of course she was lying. She could completely control the movement of her sac—her control over it was many times stronger than when they first merged. She could make her sac automatically tear open to let Shen Du out, and she could also make her inner walls contract and undulate as she wished. But she didn't care. She didn't care whether she was lying or what this movement meant. She only cared about one thing—Shen Du was inside her, had just released his essence within her, and now she was using her body to evenly coat her inner walls with his essence. This realization sent a shiver of satisfaction through her very soul.

His seed flowed within her body. It felt like… being marked from the inside out.

She closed her eyes, calmly enjoying this secret yet overwhelming sense of satisfaction, and outwardly turned and walked back into the house as if nothing had happened.

After morning practice, it was time to wash up. Lu Qinghan filled a copper basin with water, her reflection serene and unchanging, revealing no flaws. She submerged her face and then lifted it back up, water droplets trickling down her chin, bringing a cool sensation. But her focus wasn't on the cool water—her focus remained on the source of immense satisfaction within her.

The memories of last night still swirled in her mind: the feel of the hot spring water flowing down her chest, his accelerated heartbeat as the fabric brushed against her skin, and the overwhelming tremor when he released inside her. Now, having just finished washing up, she could feel that weight deep within her swelling again. Starting from the bottom, it slowly opened her passage. It throbbed, warmed, and hardened from soft. She could sense his embarrassment and silent endurance, but the body is always honest. That full, present feeling made her smile contentedly.

The morning passed peacefully. Lu Qinghan meditated and regulated her breathing inside the room, while Shen Du quietly remained inside her body. The two didn't exchange many words. Occasionally, Lu Qinghan would "inadvertently" move her tongue or swallow a sip of tea, each time causing Shen Du's heart to race and a slight throbbing in a certain part of her body. She secretly memorized these reactions, like a collector taking inventory of her most precious treasures.

In the afternoon, when Lu Qinghan opened the wardrobe to change her clothes, her fingers hesitated between several dresses.

Like most female cultivators' wardrobes, Lu Qinghan's wardrobe at Qingya Peak was divided into two distinct sections. The left section was neatly stacked with uniform white dresses—her everyday wear, simple in style, made of fine but not extravagant materials, each piece perfectly ironed and exuding a faint, cool fragrance. The right section, however, was covered in a thin layer of dust, stuffed with clothes she had hardly ever worn. Some were formal dresses issued by the sect, others were exotic garments she had casually bought during her travels over the years, some of which she had even forgotten she had ever purchased.

Her fingers moved from the left side to the right, gently brushing away the dust from the top brocade box, and then she opened the lid.

There was a set of undergarments lying inside.

Though described as undergarments, the material and craftsmanship of this set exuded an exotic charm—it was purchased several years ago during a trip to the Western Regions at a secluded monk's market. The seller was an elderly woman adorned with jewels, who explained that it was woven from the silk of a special spider from the Tian Shan Mountains. This spider silk was ten times finer and a hundred times stronger than silkworm silk, producing a fabric as thin as a cicada's wing, almost weightless against the skin, yet possessing unparalleled breathability and elasticity. The old woman added that the fairies of the Western Regions wore this, their skin appearing and disappearing beneath it, more alluring than nudity. She didn't know why she bought it at the time, and it remained at the bottom of her trunk, never to be taken out again. Perhaps even then, she had a vague feeling that one day she would need it.

Lu Qinghan took the spider silk undergarment out of the box and looked at it in the sunlight streaming through the window. The spider silk was almost completely transparent in the sunlight, with only a very faint, skin-like sheen visible from certain angles. Her face was expressionless, but her fingers trembled slightly. She hesitated for three seconds, then convinced herself with a reason that even she found flimsy—the old ones were all worn out and needed replacing; there was nothing special about them.

She took off her old undergarment and picked up the spider silk undergarment to change into. She glanced down at the color—it was so close to her skin tone that it was almost impossible to tell she was wearing anything unless you looked closely. Slowly and carefully, she draped the fabric over her full breasts. The movement was so slow that she could clearly see her slightly upturned nipples through the thin fabric, and the areolas, their color even more alluring under the spider silk. The sensation was also extremely peculiar—the spider silk against her skin didn't feel like a constraint, but rather a subtle, almost imperceptible embrace, cool and smooth, as if a pair of incredibly delicate hands were gently supporting her breasts. She couldn't help but take a soft breath, and then something else caught her eye.

That stocking.

To be precise, they were two flesh-colored, almost translucent stockings, made of a material similar to spider silk, but thicker and more elastic. She sat down, lifted one leg, and slowly slipped the stockings on. The top edge of the stockings just reached mid-thigh. She pinched the top with her fingers and gently pulled it up, letting the gossamer-thin fabric cling to her long, straight calves, then inch by inch, it flowed over her knees, softly wrapping around her thighs. In her vision, her long, smooth legs were enveloped in a faint, silky sheen, and the already near-perfect proportions, enhanced by the flesh-colored stockings, gained an even more alluring, ethereal beauty. Finally, she tied a delicate bow at the base of her thigh with the thin straps attached to the stockings.

Then the other leg. The same process, the same slow and meticulous movements.

After putting on both stockings, Lu Qinghan stood up, her bare feet touching the wooden floor, and looked down at herself. Upon closer inspection, she noticed a faint sheen on her ankles, calves, the backs of her knees, and the groin. The stockings covered her entire legs, except for her delicate, white feet, which were exposed. The bow on her thigh swayed gently with her steps, appearing and disappearing between the hem of her clothes.

Then she felt it.

Deep inside her, the part that had been dormant suddenly swelled up. It wasn't a gradual, slow expansion, but a violent, almost bouncing swelling, as if it had been abruptly stimulated. Its hardness increased several times in an instant, its tip slightly upturned, pressing tightly against the deepest recess of her body. That sudden change from extremely soft to extremely hard made her throat tighten.

"Shen Du," she began, her tone as calm as if she were remarking on the weather, "Can you see it?"

“…I can see.” Shen Du’s voice was incredibly hoarse. “When you were getting dressed…you didn’t close your eyes…I could see through your eyes…”

Lu Qinghan didn't continue the topic. She deliberately kept her eyes open, wanting him to see. She calmly sat back down on the edge of the bed, then carefully slipped her bare feet into her usual embroidered shoes. She could clearly feel that every time she raised her arm or bent her thigh, the hard object buried deep inside her brought a friction that made her legs weak. She pretended nothing was wrong, but her most private parts were already overflowing with desire.

After dressing, she stood before the bronze mirror, carefully examining her reflection. The fairy in the mirror remained as aloof and pure as ever, with exquisite features and an ethereal air, her white robes flowing gracefully. But only she knew that beneath those layers of pure white, she wore a spider silk undergarment closest to flesh color, and semi-transparent stockings from the Western Regions, having completed the entire dressing process under the watchful eyes of her disciple. And at this moment, his erect penis was firmly inserted inside her, grinding against her inner walls with each movement of her adjusting her clothes. She wasn't angry at all; on the contrary, she loved the feeling of being touched by him. She even deliberately lingered in front of the bronze mirror for a few more moments, subtly twisting her waist as she adjusted her clothes, letting the hard object inside her grind against her cervix. Then, she felt with satisfaction as Shen Du trembled uncontrollably inside her.

"Let's go." Lu Qinghan picked up the storage bag from the table and hung it at his waist, his tone regaining its usual cool and composed tone. "To the market. Many of our clothes were damaged in the battle; we need to buy some new ones."