The fleshy door sealed behind Lin Fang with a wet, sucking sound, like lips closing after a kiss.
Darkness pressed in, thick and humid. The corridor beyond the door was short—barely ten steps—ending at a circular chamber no larger than a village hut. In the center lay the pond.
It was small, no more than three paces across, sunken into the black stone floor. The liquid inside was not water. It was dark crimson, almost black at the edges, rippling faintly as though something breathed beneath the surface. The metallic scent hit him like a slap—blood, fresh and old at once, warm and alive.
A violent shiver raced down Lin Fang's spine. His stomach lurched; bile burned the back of his throat. He clamped a hand over his mouth, forcing it back down. 'Not here. Not now.' He couldn't afford to be weak.
He stared at the pond. Chen Wei had come out changed after half an hour. A new sword. A new look in his eyes. Whatever this place gave, it gave quickly—or not at all.
Lin Fang stripped off his torn tunic and trousers, leaving only thin underclothes. The air was warm, almost feverish, against his skin. He stepped to the edge.
The blood lapped at his toes like a living thing.
He took a breath, then stepped in.
The liquid was hot—too hot—like stepping into a bath drawn from slaughter. It rose to his calves, his thighs, his waist. When it reached his chest he forced himself deeper, until it closed over his head.
Darkness absolute.
For a long time, nothing happened.
He floated in the warmth, lungs burning, mind racing. Minutes stretched. He surfaced once to breathe, then submerged again. Still nothing. No flash of light, no voice, no gift.
An hour passed—he could feel it in the ache of his limbs, the slow burn in his chest.
Chen Wei had taken only half that time.
Panic crept in, cold and sharp.
'Elder Hong Lian's words echoed: the unworthy are consumed.'
If he emerged with nothing… would she kill him on the spot? Or worse—make an example of him?
He thought of his parents' charred bodies. Mei's small hand still clutching that hairpin. Little Lan curled against their mother.
Rage flared brighter than fear.
'I won't die here. Not like this. I want them to suffer. I want revenge before the end.'
He closed his eyes. Clenched his fists underwater until nails bit palms.
'Please. Give me something. Anything. Let me live long enough to make them pay.'
Time dragged. One hour became one and a half.
Then—vibration.
Deep in the pond, something stirred. A low hum rose through the blood, thrumming against his skin like distant thunder. The liquid grew warmer, almost fever-hot.
A soft pink glow bloomed beneath the surface.
Lin Fang opened his eyes.
A scroll floated before him—ancient parchment sealed with crimson wax stamped with a single, stylized heart. The entire scroll radiated gentle pink light, pulsing in time with his heartbeat.
He reached out, trembling.
The moment his fingers brushed it, the scroll dissolved into shimmering pink motes. They rushed forward, pouring into his forehead like warm silk.
Knowledge flooded him.
Forbidden Ecstasy Scripture.
A dual cultivation art born in a shattered realm far beyond the Nine Heavens—a place where pleasure had been weaponized into the ultimate dao. Its creator, a fallen immortal named Yue Mei, had fused forbidden lust qi with soul-refining techniques, turning ecstasy into a blade that could shatter meridians, rewrite wills, and harvest essence at impossible speed.
The scripture had stages:
- First Layer: Blossom of Desire — Awakens latent sensitivity in both cultivator and partner, turning touch into electric fire.
- Second Layer: Chains of Bliss — Allows the user to lock or unleash climax at will, forcing consecutive peaks without respite.
- Third Layer: Soul Ecstasy Seal — Imprints a mark on the partner's soul, binding them through unending pleasure addiction. The more they submit, the stronger both grow.
Higher layers were sealed—whispers of mind-break, body reformation, even ascension through collective rapture—but they required greater cultivation and… more partners.
Visions followed the knowledge.
A woman of unearthly beauty—Yue Mei—standing atop a mountain of writhing bodies in a crimson sky. She laughed as pink qi erupted from her, swallowing armies. Then betrayal: righteous sects descending, sealing her scripture in a blood jade coffin and hurling it across realms. It landed here, in the Mausoleum of the Crimson Thorn, waiting for one whose foundation could bear its weight.
The visions faded.
Lin Fang surfaced gasping, pink light fading from his eyes. The pond was still again—ordinary blood once more.
He climbed out, dripping crimson, skin tingling with faint warmth. Something new hummed in his dantian: a soft, insidious pulse, like a second heartbeat made of silk and sin.
He dressed quickly, mind reeling.
When he pushed back through the fleshy door, Su Ling was still there—alone.
She startled at his appearance, eyes wide. "Fang? You… you're okay?"
He nodded slowly. "It's not that scary," he lied, voice rough. "The pond just… gives what it gives. You should go next. Don't wait too long."
Su Ling swallowed hard, glancing at the door. Then her gaze darted around the corridor.
"Where's Chen Wei?"
Lin Fang frowned. "He's not here?"
She shook her head. "He left right after you went in. Didn't say anything. Just… walked past me and kept going toward the entrance. I called after him, but he didn't stop."
Lin Fang's stomach tightened.
Chen Wei—his best friend since they could walk—had changed in that pond. And now he was gone without a word.
The corridor suddenly felt colder.
Su Ling hugged herself. "What do we do?"
Lin Fang stared at the fleshy door, then at the sealed exit far down the hall. "Nothing, let him be, he is dealing with his emotions in a different way than us." He said.
Su Ling nodded.
Lin Fang turned to Su Ling, voice low but firm.
"Go next. If you wait any longer, Hong Lian will come back. And she won't ask nicely."
Su Ling's face crumpled. Her whole body began to shake—small, uncontrollable tremors that rattled her teeth. Tears spilled over her lashes and tracked down her cheeks in silent rivers.
"I'm scared, Fang," she whispered, voice breaking. "I don't want to die. I don't want to go in there alone. What if… what if it takes me?"
Lin Fang's chest tightened. He understood the fear; it lived in his own bones. But he also knew the truth of their situation.
"If you don't go," he said quietly, "you die anyway. At least in there you have a chance. Something might come to you. Like it did for us."
She stared at the fleshy door, lips trembling, feet rooted to the stone. She took one hesitant step forward—then froze again, breath hitching.
Lin Fang sighed. He stepped closer and gently caught her wrist.
"I'll escort you in," he said. "Just to the threshold. You won't be alone the whole way."
The instant his fingers closed around her hand, something inside him stirred.
The Forbidden Ecstasy Scripture activated without warning.
A faint pink glow—barely visible—rose from the point of contact. Surrounding demonic qi in the corridor twisted, drawn toward him like iron to a lodestone. It passed through his palm, turned soft rose-pink in his meridians, then flowed straight into Su Ling's body.
She gasped.
Her shaking stopped.
Her eyes widened, pupils dilating as a flush crept up her neck. She looked down at their joined hands, then up at him, expression dazed and strangely soft.
"Your touch…" she breathed. "It feels… good. Warm. Like… like everything's going to be okay."
Lin Fang's heart stuttered. He yanked his hand back as if burned.
The pink qi snapped away. The glow faded.
Su Ling blinked, then gave him a small, shaky smile.
"Thank you, Fang. For the courage."
Before he could respond she turned, ducked through the fleshy door, and vanished.
It sealed behind her with that same wet sigh.
Lin Fang stood alone in the corridor, staring at his hand.
'What just happened?'
The scripture had moved on its own. Activated by touch. Turned qi pink. Sent pleasure—comfort, courage, something addictive—into her.
A weapon.
A tool.
He clenched his fist.
'If I can do that just by touching her… what happens if I push further? During cultivation? During… more?'
Revenge suddenly felt closer. Not through swords or poison alone—but through something far more insidious. He could break them. Corrupt them. Turn their own strength against them until they begged for mercy he would never give.
The thought should have horrified him.
Instead it sent a dark thrill curling through his veins.
He waited.
Ten minutes passed.
The fleshy door parted.
Su Ling stepped out.
She looked… different. Not changed like Chen Wei. Not haunted. She was smiling—small, secret, almost serene. Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes brighter than before.
"I got something," she said softly.
Lin Fang nodded. He didn't ask what. He had no intention of telling her about the scripture yet.
Neither spoke of it.
"We should go back," he said. "Before she comes looking."
Su Ling hesitated, then looked at him shyly.
"Fang… can I hold your hand again? On the way? It felt… really comfortable."
Lin Fang froze.
Conflict roared inside him.
'It's dangerous. The scripture activates. She'll feel it again. What if it changes her more? What if it binds her somehow?'
But she looked so small. So fragile. And part of him—the part still raw from losing everything—didn't want to walk alone either.
After a long moment he extended his hand.
She took it immediately, lacing their fingers together.
The moment skin met skin, pink qi stirred again—subtler this time, a gentle current flowing between them. Su Ling sighed softly, shoulders relaxing, a tiny smile curving her lips.
They walked back down the corridor hand in hand.
When they emerged, Chen Wei was already there—standing rigid against the wall, eyes closed, red sword still at his waist. Zhao Yan's body was gone; only a faint dark stain remained on the stone.
Elder Hong Lian lounged on a high-backed chair carved from black jade, one leg crossed over the other, crimson robes riding up to expose smooth thigh. She looked bored.
"You're late," she drawled. Then her golden eyes sharpened. "How long did each of you take in the pond?"
Lin Fang spoke first.
"One and a half hours."
Hong Lian snorted, lip curling.
"Weak. Pathetic. Barely worth the air you breathe."
Chen Wei opened his eyes.
"Half an hour."
A slow, pleased smile spread across Hong Lian's face.
"Not bad, little sword-boy. You may have some talent after all."
Su Ling squeezed Lin Fang's hand once, then stepped forward.
"Ten minutes."
The chamber went dead silent.
Hong Lian blinked.
Then she shot to her feet so fast the chair toppled backward.
"Ten minutes?" she repeated, voice rising. "Ten minutes?!"
She crossed the distance in a blur of red silk and pulled Su Ling into a crushing embrace, laughing—a sound both delighted and terrifying.
"My precious little genius! You will be my personal disciple from this day forward. I will mold you myself. You will rise higher than any of these trash!"
She released Su Ling, then turned to the two boys with a dismissive flick of her wrist.
"You two—outer sect disciples. Barely worth the robes on your backs. Be grateful you're not fertilizer."
She took Su Ling's hand—far more possessively than Lin Fang had—and swept out of the chamber without another glance.
The doors closed behind them.
A moment later an old man in gray robes shuffled in. His face was wrinkled like dried fruit, eyes milky, but he moved with surprising speed.
"Outer sect worms," he rasped. "Follow."
He led them through twisting tunnels and up crumbling staircases until they emerged into open air—though the sky above was choked with perpetual crimson clouds. The outer sect sprawled across a vast, jagged plateau carved into the side of a black mountain. Ramshackle wooden buildings clustered like barnacles: dormitories with leaking roofs, training fields pitted with craters, alchemy sheds belching green smoke. Demonic qi hung thick in the air, making the skin prickle. Distant screams echoed from deeper in the mountain—training, punishment, or entertainment, it was impossible to tell.
The old man stopped at a row of tiny, identical courtyards—each barely large enough for a bed, a table, and a meditation mat. Dilapidated fences of rusted iron separated them.
"Courtyard 47 for you," he told Lin Fang, tossing him a chipped jade token. "Courtyard 48 for the sword-boy."
He handed each of them two small black tokens etched with the character for "slave."
"Treasure Pavilion. Go there tomorrow at dawn. These buy you two slaves each—body cultivators, poison maids, cauldrons, whatever trash is left on the lowest floor. Don't waste them. And don't die before you use them."
He shuffled away without waiting for questions.
Lin Fang stood alone in his new courtyard, staring at the two tokens in his palm.
The pink pulse in his dantian thrummed softly.
Two slaves.