Futa Cultivation

All characters in this story are at least 18 years old.

You are Wu Rensu.

All your life, you’ve dreamed of becoming a Qi cultivator—rising above humble beginnings like the martial heroes in your childhood stories.

But as a poor farmer’s son, that dream is impossibly distant. The world of soaring immortals and jade-skinned fairies might as well exist on another planet.

You’ve never even seen a cultivator—though your childhood friend, Qin Meiyu, insists she has.

“There was this huge BOOM in the sky!” she gushes. “Then a gorgeous giant lady floated down! She gave me this cultivation manual and said that if I could breathe Qi before she returns, she’ll take me as her disciple!”

She waves the so-called manual at you—its pages yellowed and crinkled like something scavenged from a flea market.

You glance at her—small, dark, scrappy, with the earthy scent of soil and sun always clinging to her. Stubborn and bright-eyed, if not exactly the sharpest mind.

Honestly, she probably met a wandering charlatan or a delusional hermit, not some celestial immortal. But she looks so happy you don’t have the heart to crush her dreams.

“Yeah... it’s cool,” you say, unconvinced.

“Rensu, this is it! Our chance! If I become her disciple, I’ll ask her to take you too! We’ll leave this dusty village behind—together!”

You sigh. This girl would probably walk into a bandit trap if you weren’t around.

“Alright, Meiyu.” You ruffle her hair. “We’ll learn together. We’ll leave this place behind.”

You seal the promise with a kiss, and she giggles like it’s the happiest moment of her life.

From that day, Meiyu throws herself into training—deep breathing, lifting rocks, and jogging around the village at dawn and dusk. You humor her at first, even join in, but after a few days of wheezing lungs and aching legs, you quit and watch from the shade.

“She’ll get bored soon,” you figure.

But six months pass, and she doesn’t.

“Look, Rensu! I’m getting stronger!” she says one day, proudly flexing her arm. There’s a faint rise of muscle beneath her brown skin.

You notice the changes: her body is firmer when you hold her, a stronger, steadier rhythm in her laughter. Even her earthy scent—sun and soil and sweat—feels more vibrant, more delicious.

One afternoon, you two lay beneath a pagoda tree, dappled sunlight dancing over Meiyu’s flushed, sweat-slicked face. Her hair clings to her forehead, her breathing slow and sure. You pull her close, nuzzling the warm curve of her neck, inhaling the salt and sweetness of her hard work.

Feeling bold, you begin, “Say, Meiyu, we’re both adults now. Maybe it’s time we take things to the next stage and—”

BOOM!

The sky splits open with a deafening crack.

You both jerk upright as a figure descends from the clouds.

She lands with the grace of a falling star—massive, radiant, terrifying.

The immortal is enormous—easily nine feet tall, her white silk robes stretched taut across hulking muscles. Her broad shoulders and thick, corded arms speak of overwhelming strength, while her hips and breasts are so lush and exaggerated they seem sculpted by some otherworldly hand. Her sharp, breathtaking face is framed by a cascade of flowing hair, and her phoenix-red eyes blaze with ancient, terrifying wisdom.

And between her legs, a noticeable bulge presses against the silk. Perhaps it’s a hidden weapon, you wonder.

She looks down at both of you, like an adult regarding children.

“Immortal! You’re back!” Meiyu beams, springing to her feet.

The towering woman studies her, then nods.

“I see you have followed the manual well, child. Even now, you breathe Qi with every breath.”

“Yes! I practiced every day, just like you said!” Meiyu says.

The immortal’s burning gaze shifts to you, and you stiffen instinctively.

“And this boy?” she asks.

“I—I’m Rensu,” you say. “We’re... cultivating together.”

Meiyu grabs your hand. “He’s my partner! He wants to learn too!”

The immortal circles you slowly, each step making the ground seem to hum underfoot.

“His foundation is weak. His body, untrained. His spirit... unfocused. He lacks potential.”

You open your mouth to argue, but a single look from her pins you silent.

“And yet...” Her nostrils flare slightly. “He carries your scent.”

You blink, confused—then realize she means Meiyu’s.

A flicker of amusement crosses her striking face.

“I am not in the habit of separating husband and wife,” she says, the word making your ears burn. “He may come... as your follower.”

Follower.

The word lands in your gut like a stone.

Still, Meiyu squeezes your hand tightly, her joy shining from every pore.

“Thank you, Immortal!” she says, bowing deeply.

You clench your jaw but hold your tongue. A place beside her is better than none.

The immortal nods once. “You have two hours. Gather your things. Say your goodbyes. Do not make me wait.”

She floats over to a boulder and sits in a lotus position, massive and unmoving.

Meiyu throws her arms around you, trembling with excitement. “We did it, Rensu! We’re really leaving!”

You hold her close, but a bitter thought echoes inside:

Follower.

Not a cultivator. Not an equal.

Still, it’s a chance. Even if you start in her shadow, you can catch up.

You curse yourself for every morning you slept in, every chance you wasted while Meiyu trained.

But it’s only been six months, you tell yourself.

“I can still catch up,” you mutter, a slow fire lighting in your chest.

Fueled by shame and stubborn determination, you gather your meager belongings, offer your farewells, and return to the clearing.

The immortal opens her eyes as you approach.

“Ready?” she says. It isn’t a question.

With a flick of her calloused fingers, an unseen **** wraps around you and Meiyu, lifting you weightlessly into the air.

Then she rises—soaring upward with a single bound, shattering the clouds.

Wind roars past your ears. The village vanishes below, shrinking into a speck of memory.

Meiyu clutches your hand, her eyes shining with wonder.

And just like that, you leave your old world behind—and soar into a new one.