Chapter Nine: Descending the Mountain

At 3:45 AM, morning light filtered through the gaps in the bamboo wall into the bedroom, casting long, thin golden streaks on the floor. The morning at Qingya Peak was as quiet as ever. Birds chirped in the bamboo grove, warming up before their daily hunt. The faint sound of the waterfall from the back mountain mingled with the rustling of the bamboo leaves in the mountain breeze, creating a unique melody of mountain life. The bronze mirror in the bedroom was still fogged with the breath of the previous night. Several small, tilted celadon cups lay scattered on the floor before them, the bottoms still holding the amber-colored residue of the nuptial wine, gleaming softly in the morning light.

Lu Qinghan woke up.

Her consciousness slowly surfaced from a peaceful night's sleep, the first thing she felt being that familiar weight. Shen Du was still inside her, quietly embedded, his breathing calm and even, his heartbeat steady and strong. After a whole night of adjustment, her body no longer reacted with the same sensitivity to this feeling of being filled that wasn't her own—on the contrary, she now felt it was an perfectly normal, natural sense of completeness, as if after her body had been hollowed out by the demonic sword, this person's very existence had become her new flesh and blood.

She didn't open her eyes immediately, but quietly savored the moment. His chest pressed against the inside of hers, the expansion and contraction of his ribs with each breath transmitted through the mucus layer between their skin, faint yet rhythmic; his legs were nestled between hers, knees slightly bent, toes touching the tips of her toes, the weight of his entire leg resting on the support of his pelvis; his waist and abdomen pressed against her abdominal wall, rising and falling slowly with his breath. Every morning upon waking, she would first feel his presence like this, as if confirming that a precious treasure was safe and sound. Then she gently moved her tongue. The tongue that covered his tongue rose slightly, then gently fell back, like giving her pillow-side partner a morning kiss.

Shen Du was also awakened by her actions. His consciousness returned faster than his body—he woke up the instant his master's tongue touched his tongue. Over the past few days, he had gotten used to being woken up with his master's mouth sealed shut. Although he was once again shocked by that strange sensation of being enveloped by her tongue every day, at least he wasn't as panicked and at a loss as he had been at the beginning.

"Good morning, Shen Du." Lu Qinghan's voice rang in his mind, carrying the languidness unique to the morning and a faint smile.

"Good morning, Master," Shen Du replied, his voice muffled.

"The weather is nice today." Lu Qinghan sat up, her bare feet touching the wooden floor, and walked to the window, pushing open the bamboo window. Morning light and mountain breeze rushed in, dispelling the lingering scent of last night in the bedroom. Outside, the bamboo forest was lush and green, the distant mountains were shrouded in mist, and the sea of ​​clouds surged—it was indeed a rare and beautiful day. She stretched lazily by the window, her movements relaxed and casual, the sheer fabric of her undergarment outlining the curves of her body in the morning light.

“Such beautiful weather, why don’t we go down the mountain to buy some things?” She said this casually, as if talking to herself, but her tongue flicked lightly over the words “down the mountain,” as if marking a secret plan known only to her. “Yesterday at the market I was too busy buying clothes and jewelry, and I’m still missing a few of the cultivation materials I need. I also need to buy some household items—now that we’re married, we should have some homely, everyday things. The kitchen knife in the kitchen is all dulled; it’s been used for over ten years without being replaced. I might as well get a new one today.”

The words "married people" made Shen Du's heart skip a beat. He wasn't used to this way of speaking—no, let alone used to it, just hearing it from his master's mouth made him feel like his head was spinning. The scenes from last night were still vivid in his mind: the red-clad fairy in the mirror, the nuptial wine, the repeated calls of "husband" and "wife"—even now, thinking about it, he still felt the unreality of having just woken up from a grand dream.

But Lu Qinghan didn't give him time to process it. She straightened up in the morning light and made a very subtle but far-reaching move—transferring ninety percent of her control over her body to Shen Du. Limbs, torso, head, throat, tongue, facial expressions, even the rhythm of her breathing—everything was handed over to him. She retained only the last ten percent—control over the peristalsis of her vaginal walls. Just one ten percent, no more, no less, just enough for her to grasp his most vulnerable nerve.

"Today you will be me." Lu Qinghan's voice echoed in his mind, his tone cold and calm, as if he were assigning a perfectly normal cultivation task. "You will control everything from head to toe. Dressing, walking, talking, buying things, and interacting with people, it will all be you. You are Lu Qinghan now."

Shen Du was stunned. Then he started to panic.

"...Master!" His voice rose a half-tone, "What did you say? You want me to use your body to go down the mountain? To talk to people? To buy things? I can't! How can I impersonate you to talk to people—"

"Why can't you?" Lu Qinghan interrupted him, her tone carrying a hint of self-righteous composure. "You've studied my swordsmanship for twelve years, and you execute the moves quite well; you've watched my demeanor and actions for twelve years, and you can imitate seven or eight tenths of it even with your eyes closed. Besides, you've been inside my body these past few days. How I walk, how I talk, how I treat people—haven't you felt it?"

"That's a completely different matter!" Shen Du's voice was on the verge of collapse. "What if someone recognizes me if I use your body to go to the market? What if I twist my ankle? What if I let something slip? What if someone greets you and I don't recognize them? After all, you're a Golden Core stage senior, and I'm just a mid-Foundation Establishment disciple; I simply can't replicate your aura—"

"Are you questioning my judgment?" Lu Qinghan's voice deepened slightly, carrying a hint of feigned sternness that only Shen Du could detect.

Shen Du immediately shut his mouth. He was afraid of his master. This was an instinctive conditioned reflex he had developed over twelve years, like a trained hunting dog that would stop and wait for a command at the sound of a whistle.

"It's settled then." Lu Qinghan's voice returned to its gentle tone, with a hint of anticipation for the upcoming show. "Go wash up and change now. The third item on the left in the wardrobe is new; wear that today."

Shen Dusheng closed his eyes listlessly—his eyelids wouldn't move, but his remaining willpower closed them in his mind. Then, resignedly, he began to control his master's body. He first raised his hands—those slender, fair hands with distinct knuckles—and flexed and extended them a few times in the air to familiarize himself with the feel of control. Then he stepped forward with his right foot. As he stepped, the bow on the inside of his stockings lightly brushed against the skin of his thigh, bringing a very subtle itch. He tried to ignore the sensation and continued walking. As he walked, his hips swayed naturally—he couldn't control it; it was his master's body's instinctive gait. But each sway of his hips caused the part embedded in his vagina to sway from side to side, gently grinding back and forth against the moist, tight inner walls of the passage. He clenched his teeth—his master's teeth—forcing himself not to think about it.

The process of washing up was also an ordeal. When he scooped up cold water from his master's hands and splashed it on his master's face, the icy water droplets trickled down his forehead and cheeks, flowing over his chin and dripping into his collarbone; when he picked up the wooden comb to comb his master's hair, the light scraping of the comb teeth against his scalp sent a tingling sensation through his lower back. He held his breath the entire time, afraid to utter a sound. Fortunately, this torture finally ended, and he successfully washed his face, combed his hair, and inserted the silver hairpin.

Then he stood in front of the wardrobe. Lu Qinghan had just said "the third item from the left of the wardrobe," so he opened the wardrobe door and counted to the third item from left to right—and then froze. It was a lake-blue gauze dress. He had bought it at the market yesterday; the color was like lake water after rain, dried by the sun. The light and soft fabric was so light that he could hardly feel its weight. Small magnolia blossoms were embroidered in silver thread on the hem and cuffs, perfectly matching the silver hairpin in his hair. Elegant, fresh, and ethereal, but none of these were what made him freeze. What made him freeze was—the design of the dress's waist. It was an extremely fitted dress, with a very narrow waist that required a wide sash of the same color to achieve the desired effect. And to wear a dress with such a sash, he had to do many things he had never done before in his life—such as wrapping the sash around his waist three times, crossing his hands behind his back to hold the ends of the sash, then taking a deep breath, tightening the sash, and tying a delicate bow at the back. This movement will create an extremely thin curve in your waist while lifting your chest, making the curves of your entire upper body fuller and more upright.

"Master...Master," Shen Du's voice trembled again, "Isn't this dress too tight around the waist? Should we change into another one? The moon-white one I bought yesterday was quite nice—loose, comfortable, and good-looking, and it doesn't restrict movement—"

"Isn't it pretty?" Lu Qinghan retorted, a hint of grievance in her voice. "I just bought this yesterday, and I specifically chose a style that matches this silver hairpin. Don't you think it suits my skin tone perfectly?"

Shen Du was speechless. The lake blue color did indeed suit his master's skin tone, and the silver hairpin did complement the silver magnolia blossoms perfectly—he had already noticed this when he saw it with his own eyes at the market yesterday. Resignedly, he took the lake blue gauze dress out of the wardrobe. Then he began to change. The process was three times more difficult than he had imagined. First, he took off the white gauze undergarment he had worn that night—he carefully controlled his master's fingers, pinching the sides of the garment and slowly pulling the undergarment down from his shoulders. The undergarment was very slippery, and every time his fingers touched his skin, he would involuntarily flinch. Then came the spider silk undergarment. He almost closed his eyes as he put on the undergarment, but the sensations he felt didn't lie—the delicate, dense sensation of his soft, elastic breasts being wrapped in spider silk faithfully transmitted to his consciousness. Then came the waist sash that gave him a headache. He laboriously reached his hands behind his back, crossed them, then turned back to adjust their position, his elbows brushing against the curve of his chest several times, each time sending shivers down his spine. Finally, there was the lake-blue gauze dress over his clothes, its soft hem falling to cover his legs and concealing the blush-inducing stockings.

After getting dressed, Shen Du felt he had used up all his mental strength for the day. But little did he know, an even greater test was yet to come.

Lu Qinghan remained quietly inside him, watching him clumsily yet earnestly manipulate his body to dress. She could feel his embarrassment and tension—not only mentally, but also physically. His penis remained semi-erect from the time he finished washing up until he finished dressing, throbbing inside her vagina. Several times she almost couldn't resist tightening her inner walls to tease him, but she restrained herself. No rush. The real show would be shown down the mountain.

Then, Shen Du took a deep breath—his master's body took a deep breath—and pushed open the wooden door of Qingya Peak, stepping onto the mountain path leading to the sect's market.

The mountain path wound its way down, and with each step he took, he could feel subtle changes within his body. His hips swayed gently with each step, enveloped in clothing; the soft curves of his chest rose and fell gracefully beneath his clothes; his slender waist, cinched tightly by a sash, swayed in the sunlight. These sensations were far too stimulating for a young, vigorous man. Even more stimulating was the slow, deliberate echo of his master's voice in his mind.

"We'll be taking the cable car down the mountain today, my wife."

Shen Du stumbled.

"Master! What did you just call me?" His voice exploded in his master's throat. Luckily, no one was around, otherwise, onlookers would have seen a fairy in a lake-blue gauze dress suddenly talking loudly to herself.

"I'll call you 'wife'," Lu Qinghan's voice remained gentle as water. "Didn't we agree on our wedding night? You are my wife, and I am your husband. What, you've already forgotten after just one night?"

"I was forced into it by you!" Shen Du's voice had completely disregarded seniority and hierarchy. "In that situation, anyone would—"

"What will happen?" Lu Qinghan's voice suddenly dropped a bit, carrying a hint of unclear danger.

Shen Du wisely shut his mouth. Who dared to be stubborn at a time like this? Who was it that was being forced to call him "husband" yesterday? He continued walking with his head down, stepping onto the cableway spanning the two peaks. The iron suspension bridge swayed gently in the morning breeze, with sheer drop-offs and surging seas of clouds on either side. Usually, when he walked this cableway with his master, his master would lead the way while he followed closely behind. Today, he was walking alone—using his master's body, stepping on his master's embroidered shoes, with no handrails on either side and no master to shield him from the wind. This feeling was too strange, and it made him feel a subtle sense of loss, like a hero losing his edge.

He stopped halfway down the cable car, gripping the iron chain to catch his breath. Below, the sea of ​​clouds surged endlessly, occasionally splitting open to reveal a bottomless abyss. Just then, Lu Qinghan gently moved the inner wall of her vagina.

The touch was light and gentle, like plucking an arpeggio on a musical string with fingertips. The vaginal walls, starting from the entrance, underwent a slow, wave-like peristalsis, contracting and relaxing layer by layer, from shallow to deep. That wave pushed deeper and deeper, becoming tighter and tighter with each thrust. Shen Du's knees buckled, and he almost collapsed onto the cable car. Fortunately, he clung tightly to the iron chain, preventing a fall.

"Master!" he forced out through clenched teeth, "You...you're moving!"

"Hmm." Lu Qinghan's voice was as flat as if he had just yawned. "Let's keep going, my wife."

Shen Du gritted his teeth and stood up straight, his lake-blue gauze dress fluttering in the mountain breeze on the cable car. He felt his penis suddenly swell to its maximum size inside his master, filling the entire passageway completely, which was now writhing rhythmically and autonomously. He gritted his teeth and stepped his left foot onto the next bamboo plank. Then his master called him again.

"My wife walks so gracefully."

Here it comes again. That word. He forced himself not to listen and kept walking. Once he crossed the suspension bridge, the safe mountain path would be there; all he had to do was get across—

"I remember seeing my wife twisting her waist like this in the mirror yesterday."

Shen Du's foot slipped, his embroidered shoe leaving a shallow white mark on the bluestone steps. He leaned against a bamboo grove by the roadside, panting heavily. A thin layer of sweat had already formed on his forehead—not from exhaustion, but from the stimulation of his master's repeated calls of "Wife" and the continuous writhing movements within him. He still had a sliver of control. Her vaginal walls continued to contract in small, rhythmic motions, like countless soft, wet mouths simultaneously sucking at him. Each contraction brought a jolt of electric pleasure, which surged up his penis, to his tailbone, and then along his spine to his cerebral cortex.

He walked on, constantly provoked by her. Along the way, unfamiliar fellow disciples greeted him—no, not him, but their master. Shen Du nodded in imitation of his master, feeling as if his retina was filled with the words "Help!", yet he could only utter his master's cool and polite "Mm" or "Okay." By the time they reached the market, he was already gritting his teeth and enduring. At that moment, Lu Qinghan issued another command in his mind.

"Go to that robe shop from yesterday and pick up two more new undergarments. Remember to ask the shopkeeper if they have a better color to match this waistband."

Shen Du's body stiffened. The robe shop, the shopkeeper from yesterday, that middle-aged female cultivator whose enthusiasm was almost overwhelming. Now he not only had to play the role of her master, but also had to choose clothes in front of her? Lu Qinghan, of course, knew what he was thinking, so she added another sentence.

"My wife has such a great figure, it would be a shame not to buy her some nice clothes. Go ahead, I'll pick some out for you."

That "husband" was like the last straw that broke the camel's back. Shen Du pressed his lips tightly together—his master's lips—and stepped into the market. The sect market in the morning was just as bustling as it had been the afternoon before, with all sorts of cultivators moving through the streets and alleys, and the air filled with a peculiar aroma of spiritual food and elixirs. When he entered the robe shop, the shopkeeper recognized him at a glance—or rather, recognized the big customer, Fairy Lu Qinghan, who had bought a lot of things yesterday.

"Fairy Lu is here again!" The shopkeeper greeted her with a beaming smile, holding an account book he was taking stock of. "Did those clothes from yesterday fit you well? What would you like to see today? We just received a new batch of goods last night, and some of the inner garments are made of particularly fine material—light, soft, and breathable. They're perfect for summer, and I guarantee you'll be satisfied!"

Shen Du nodded with a forced smile, trying his best to imitate his master's usual aloof and reserved demeanor. But his consciousness was entirely focused on a certain part of his body—Lu Qinghan increased the amplitude of her movements while he was dealing with the shopkeeper, changing from the gentle waves to a more forceful squeezing. Her cervix also began to cooperate with the movements, sucking on his glans with each stroke, each suck precisely hitting the edge of him on the verge of losing control.

“This one…this one and this one,” Shen Du said with difficulty in his master’s voice, pointing to the several undergarments recommended by the shopkeeper, his voice already a little tight, “wrap them all up.”

The shopkeeper was completely oblivious to anything amiss. The fairy before him had slightly flushed cheeks, a gentle voice, and was generous with her money—just like yesterday. She diligently folded the clothes and placed them in the brocade box, and casually added a piece of scented wood. If she could see what was happening inside this fairy's body, she would probably be so frightened that she would burn the account books on the spot.

Shen Du took the brocade box and walked out of the shop, his palms sweating profusely. He hurried through the market crowd, reaching a relatively quiet alleyway. Leaning against the wall, he took a deep breath, his calves trembling slightly. Lu Qinghan, watching his difficult gait, showed no mercy, but instead gently moved the inner wall again. Shen Du's body jerked violently. It wasn't over yet. He hadn't bought the kitchen knife, nor the cultivation materials. Using the last vestiges of his reason, he clumsily carried the brocade box to the materials shop. Inside, as he bent down to examine a bag of spirit stones on the bottom shelf, his master tightened the inner wall again, using his squatting position to press his glans against the deepest recess of the cervix—grinding it relentlessly around the cervix. He almost cried out, but thankfully gritted his teeth and held it back at the last moment.

After buying the ingredients, as they passed the spirit food stall, the sweet aroma of spirit rice cake wafted over again. Lu Qinghan whispered in his mind, "My wife looked so cute when she was shy with the spirit rice cake yesterday, let's buy another one today." Shen Du mechanically walked to the stall, mechanically took out spirit stones, and mechanically took the spirit rice cake, his blush never fading throughout. He lowered his head and took a bite of the spirit rice cake in his hand. The sweetness of the glutinous rice melted on his tongue, mixed with the familiar cool fragrance from his master's mouth.

Just then, Lu Qinghan finally stopped tormenting him. She tightened the peristaltic rhythm of her vaginal walls, changing from intermittent contractions to a continuous and intense spasm. The tight suction almost made Shen Du jump up on the spot. He hurriedly grabbed a hitching post to avoid falling, and the spirit rice cake in his hand almost dropped to the ground.

"No... Master... not here..." Shen Du pleaded softly in his master's voice, completely disregarding the proper etiquette between master and disciple, "We're almost there... we'll be back soon..."

"I'll deal with you when we get back." Lu Qinghan's voice was tinged with laughter, but the deadly urge slowed down, turning into a gentle and tender lingering feeling.

Shen Du stumbled back to Qingya Peak. Pushing open the courtyard gate, he saw the old, crooked pine tree, and for the first time, he felt a deep connection to it—even though he had been forced to kneel and copy scriptures under it countless times by his master over the past twelve years. He went into his bedroom, closed the door, and finally couldn't resist, sliding down to the floor against the door. His silver hairpin was askew, his lake-blue gauze dress was spread out on the ground, sweat soaked the stray hairs at his temples that clung to his cheeks, and his chest heaved violently.

And Lu Qinghan, in that instant when he finally relaxed, launched his final attack.

She said, "My wife, you've worked so hard. I'll take good care of you from now on." Then she took control of her body, leaving him only control of her speech. She manipulated her body to stand up, manipulated her hands to untie the waistband that was now even tighter with sweat, manipulated her hands to caress her full breasts, and manipulated her hips to begin swaying in the bedroom alone—with a greater amplitude and a faster frequency than the night before.

Shen Du cried out uncontrollably. His master's voice echoed in the empty bedroom—his voice, the voice his master had uttered. He called his master "Husband, slow down," and himself "I'm coming." All the words tumbled out in a jumble, each sound so shameful it made him want to bang his head against the wall, but his master, like a greedy collector, wouldn't let a single word slip by. She absorbed all those sounds into the depths of her soul.

She twisted her waist one last time, her soft, deepest part of her vagina sucking hard at his glans. He shuddered, his semen gushing out, hot, violent, and utterly unreserved. She, too, reached her climax at the same moment, letting out a muffled groan, her waist stiffening in mid-air. Two souls, within the same body, simultaneously reached the pinnacle of ecstasy; the pleasure, amplified in the instant of merging, was transformed into an almost tangible white light, engulfing them both.

After the white light faded, Lu Qinghan looked down at her flat stomach. Through the thin layer of human skin and the bulging, sticky filling, she could almost see the man convulsing and trembling inside her. She gently placed her hand on her stomach, tenderly stroking her lover, who was curled up and panting, through the skin. Her fingertips moved as gently as if caressing the most precious porcelain in the world, each rotation of her fingertips carrying the lingering love that had been suppressed to the extreme for twelve years and was now finally being released.

"My wife did very well today," she said softly, her voice as gentle as the morning breeze rustling through the bamboo leaves outside the window. Her fingers continued to draw circles on her lower abdomen, one after another, lingering gently, as if offering a tender comfort to the lover in her womb. Then she slightly raised the corners of her mouth and added, "Let's continue tomorrow."