Xuán Long lounged upon a throne forged from dragonbone and obsidian, draped in crimson silks that shimmered with the blood of slain immortals. His long black hair flowed over his shoulders, tied back with a golden serpent clasp. His eyes—deep red with vertical pupils—surveyed the world beneath his feet with casual indifference.
At his side knelt a dozen women, each a vision of perfection:
Ling Yue, the frosty Moon Priestess whose touch once froze oceans
Mei Lian, a fiery-tempered alchemist with hair of scarlet flame
Xiao Jin, a shy demi-fox spirit with three twitching tails
And many more—beastkin, elves, celestial cultivators, each bound by desire and crest.
The throne hall of the Crimson Pavilion Sect, once a top-tier sect, had become his harem fortress.
He didn't conquer it.He walked in, waved his hand, and every master and disciple bowed—bodies trembling with lust and reverence.
Xuán Long rose, his voice a silken blade.
"Prepare the ceremonial chamber. Tonight, I shall mark the high priestess."
His words ignited shudders through the women at his feet. The Marking Ritual was both sacred and erotic—an honor none dared dream of yet all craved.
He passed through the silken halls, where incense mixed with aphrodisiac mist. The air carried moans, whispered prayers, and soft gasps as his many consorts trained in the arts of submission and pleasure. Magical restraints shimmered on velvet walls, and ceremonial piercings gleamed under torchlight.
The ceremonial chamber was a temple of lust—domed with starlit jade, runes glowing on the ground.
In the center knelt the newest arrival:Qian Yu, former High Priestess of the Radiant Lotus Temple.A woman whose chastity had once been praised across the empire.Now, her robes were undone at the shoulder, her eyes glazed with divine aphrodisiac, her lips trembling.
"M-my Lord Long…" she whispered, cheeks aflame. "Please… mark me."
He stepped into the circle. With a mere flick of his finger, the ritual began. Chains of spiritual light wrapped around her limbs. A glowing crest ignited across her lower abdomen—the sign of submission, loyalty, pleasure, and power.
She screamed—not in pain, but in release.
It was not just sex. It was cultivation.Pleasure as power. Submission as breakthrough.
Xuán Long absorbed her spiritual essence like a king devouring tribute. He offered her climax, pain, clarity, and euphoria all at once.
When it was done, Qian Yu lay trembling, weeping with joy.
"I am yours," she whispered. "Forever, and beyond reincarnation."
Xuán Long turned away, satisfied.
"Next," he commanded.