By morning, the entire sect seemed to breathe with tension.
Not spiritual tension.
Gossip.
Lin Mu walked the narrow stone paths between Cloudveil Hall and the inner sanctum gardens. His hands were folded neatly behind his back, robes immaculate, hair tied in a perfect warrior's knot.
But the stares followed him.
At first, they were subtle—eyes darting away when he glanced in their direction, whispers tucked behind fan-covered mouths.
But then came the laughter.
Two outer disciples bowed to him out of habit, then burst into stifled snickering the moment he passed.
"I heard she screamed so loud the peak elder's beast stirred."
"Maybe she finally found a real sword, huh?"
Lin Mu's steps faltered.
Then resumed.
He didn't confront them. Didn't scold them. He couldn't. Because they were right.
He had heard it too—those screams. His Xue Lan moaning for another man, legs shaking, body stretched and filled in ways he'd never achieved.
Worse—he hadn't stopped it.
He'd watched.
He'd cleaned her afterward.
He had swallowed the evidence.
And now, the sect knew.
The stories grew by the hour.
"Jade Sect's genius can't even please a woman."
"They say he helps carry water to the men who fuck his wife."
"I saw him bow to Jin Rui the other day. Can you imagine? Bowing to the man who uses your wife?"
Lin Mu didn't deny it.
Because he had.
Not out of obligation—but because something inside him… craved it.
Still, the shame burned hot in his chest.
He trained longer that day, trying to center himself.
But his thoughts drifted—again and again—to the sounds of her voice, the flush of her skin, the way her legs had trembled beneath someone else.
He hated that he remembered.
Hated that he'd grown hard afterward.
And when he finally sat in quiet meditation that night, his Qi began to stir.
It didn't blaze like it had during battle breakthroughs.
It pulsed.
Slow.
Deep.
Like it came from the part of him he didn't want to acknowledge.
The Devouring Shame Sutra activated again. Lines of the forbidden text echoed in his mind:
"He who knows his inferiority, and kneels without deceit, will ascend without pride."
His dantian expanded.
His meridians widened slightly.
A faint rush of spiritual energy surged up his spine—and it felt good.
Too good.
He gasped. Shuddered. His cock hardened again without his touch.
What am I becoming?
A cuckold?
A servant?
A cultivator who kneels to rise?
His pride bled from him like water from cracked stone.
And yet, in its place, something new began to grow.