The Willing Flame and Frozen Heart.
The air in Cold Ember Pavilion pulsed with unspeakable tension. It coiled in corridors, lingered in gardens, clung to robes and lips. Haaron's presence wasn't spoken about openly, but the effects of it were everywhere—disciples meditated more deeply, sparred with trembling hands, dreamed with heated bodies. And some, like Arin, stopped dreaming and stepped forward.
She was a frost talisman cultivator—dutiful, quiet, overshadowed in rank. But no one trained harder. No one watched Haaron longer. And tonight, she wasn't content to watch.
She arrived at his quarters with her inner robe barely secured and eyes burning with devotion. "Senior Mu Shen…" she whispered, kneeling at the threshold, voice nearly swallowed by her own heartbeat. "I offer myself. For dual cultivation."
Haaron didn't rise. He looked at her. Slowly. Calmly. The Sutra pulsed in his core, already anticipating her. Her spirit had been drawn to his for days, soft threads of desire weaving between them with every glance, every quiet breath near him in training. This was inevitable.
"Come in," he said.
She did. Robe falling from her shoulders, pale skin exposed to candlelight. She didn't tremble because of fear. She trembled because she was ready.
He approached her. Raised her chin with one finger. Kissed her.
And that kiss didn't ask.
It claimed.
Her lips parted, and their tongues met—soft, then firm, then hungry. Haaron backed her toward the Sutra-etched mat in the center of the room. Her robe slipped from her waist.
She knelt again, breath ragged, thighs already wet. "Please…"
He laid her back, knelt between her legs, and ran his tongue from the inside of her knee up to her trembling center. She gasped, fingers clutching the floor. When he found her clit and began to circle, lick, suck—her voice broke.
She cried out.
His hands pinned her thighs apart as he devoured her. Slow at first. Deep strokes of his tongue that made her hips buck, made her heart race. She came before he even entered her, climaxing with a shocked scream that echoed off the walls.
But he wasn't done.
He climbed over her, cock thick and heavy, guiding it to her soaked entrance. "This is your last chance to run," he said, voice low.
She wrapped her arms around him. "Never."
He slammed into her.
She screamed again—not in pain, but in shock at how full, how deep he reached. Haaron gave her no time to adjust. He set a brutal rhythm from the first thrust—pounding into her, his hips slapping against her ass with wet, vicious impact.
She couldn't think. Couldn't breathe.
She took him.
And then she broke.
Her orgasm tore through her like lightning. Her pussy clenched so tight it almost stopped him—but Haaron grunted and slammed even deeper. Her legs shook. Her nails raked down his back.
"You're mine now," he growled, bending to bite her shoulder.
"Yes—yes, Haaron, I'm yours!"
The Sutra lit up between them. Her spiritual sea burst wide open, and her cultivation surged. Haaron felt her energy pour into him—and he poured his essence into her in return, thick and hot, planting his mark deep inside her womb.
She collapsed.
And Yue Shilan felt every second of it.
She stood frozen outside the door. She hadn't meant to come. But the moment Arin's qi exploded and Haaron's power surged, the Sutra pulled her feet forward.
She stepped into the room. Saw Arin, limp and glowing. Saw Haaron, naked and standing over her.
Their eyes met.
"You felt it," he said.
"I didn't want to."
"But you did."
She walked forward in silence. Her hands shook as she reached for her robe sash. "I told myself I would resist."
"You can't."
She dropped the robe.
She wore nothing beneath.
Haaron crossed the room in two strides. He grabbed her by the throat—firm but controlled—and kissed her. Her hands tangled in his hair. Their tongues battled. Their qi screamed.
He spun her and bent her over the nearest table.
She arched her back, presenting herself. "Do it."
He entered her in one savage thrust.
She cried out, biting her own hand. Haaron didn't give her a moment—he fucked her with brutal pace, hips slamming into her ass, cock pistoning deep inside her soaked cunt.
"Say it," he growled.
"I'm yours!"
He grabbed her hair, yanked her up, fucked her harder. She came around him, screaming, her pussy gripping him so tight he nearly lost control.
But he didn't stop.
He turned her over, lifted her legs, pounded her deeper.
She was crying. Moaning. Her back arched, her nipples stiff, her voice broken. "Harder! Don't stop!"
"I won't."
When she came again, it was violent. She squirted, gasped, sobbed his name.
He came inside her, roaring.
And as she trembled in his arms, his hand over her heart, the Sutra bound her again.
Now, she was his.
Completely.