The chamber was quiet, the candlelight low. Haotian lay stretched across the bed, a thin sheet drawn up to his chest. His body was weary from six relentless days of dual cultivation, his mind sharp despite the fatigue.
Six days… and still, progress is too slow. At this pace, even if every disciple rises, we will not reach the heights needed before the seal breaks.
His brow furrowed. There must be a faster way.
Just as the thought deepened, warmth pressed against him. A slender hand slid across his chest, soft yet firm, and a breath of fragrance reached him. Ziyue, her face tinged pink, rested her cheek against his chest.
Her presence stirred the air, gentle and feminine. Haotian glanced down at her and let out a faint smile. He did not move, did not disturb her, but allowed her to cling to him in silence.
Still, his thoughts churned.
If one woman at a time is too slow… then what if I link with many at once? Transfer my yang chi not into one vessel, but into several simultaneously. The problem… how would their yin return to me in unison? How would the cycles of chi complete?
He pictured the flows of energy in his mind, the delicate balance of yin and yang weaving together. Multiple connections at once would be chaotic, unstable. Unless… there was a conduit. A medium. Something that could balance the flow, a thread binding us together so that the chi passes evenly without direct touch.
His hand flexed against the sheet. A rope? Armor? Some kind of vessel…
And then, the realization struck him like thunder.
He sat up abruptly, startling Ziyue. She blinked at him, confusion in her flushed gaze.
Haotian's eyes burned with sudden light. "The source crystal… and the frost vein beneath the sect."
Ziyue lifted her head from his chest, stunned. "…What are you saying?"
"The medium already exists. Right under our feet." Haotian's voice grew steady, sharp with inspiration. "The source crystal conducts chi. The frost vein nourishes it. If I embed formation nodes into the bathhouse using both as conduits, the yin and yang flows can pass between multiple cultivators simultaneously—safe, balanced, without losing stability."
Ziyue's lips parted in awe.
Haotian clenched his fist. "We don't need to rely only on skin contact. With this, dozens could cultivate with me at once. The speed… the results… would be unimaginable."
The chamber fell into silence, broken only by Ziyue's heartbeat still pressing faintly against his side. Her blush deepened as she whispered, "…Only you could think of something so mad, Haotian."
Haotian's eyes narrowed, determination blazing. "Mad or not, this will change everything."
The following night, the Moon Lotus Sect slumbered beneath a veil of frost. Yet deep within the bathhouse chamber, Haotian stood alone. Torches flickered faintly, their light glimmering across the surface of the steaming waters.
Before him rested the source crystal, its pale-blue surface thrumming softly with dormant energy. Beneath the chamber floor, the hidden frost vein whispered like an unseen river, a cold pulse threading through the stone.
Haotian exhaled slowly. This is it. If my theory holds true, then yin and yang may flow not through touch, but through the conduits already rooted into this place.
He lifted his hand, pressing his palm against the surface of the source crystal. Instantly, golden chi welled up within him. With practiced control, he released a stream of yang chi into the crystal.
The reaction was immediate.
The crystal glowed faintly, then brightened, streams of light rippling outwards like veins of liquid fire. The floor trembled as the frost vein below answered—threads of pale-blue energy surged upward, intertwining with the golden glow.
The bathhouse itself came alive. Steam shifted, swirling into spirals as yin and yang merged in the conduits, humming with resonance. The water began to ripple, not from movement, but from the vibration of chi flowing freely through it.
Haotian narrowed his eyes, extending his senses. Yes… the balance holds. My yang is not dissipating, nor is the yin uncontrolled. It flows, cycles, and completes itself.
He drove more power into the source crystal. The glow intensified. Golden light met azure frost, and where they touched, rainbow sparks shimmered faintly—the resonance of the ten elements within his physique.
The air filled with sound. A low hum at first, then like the chorus of distant bells, as if the sect itself was singing in response.
Haotian's hair lifted in the surge of energy, his robes snapping against the sudden gale. His body trembled under the strain, but his eyes burned with triumph.
It works.
He withdrew his hand at last, the glow fading slowly back into calm. The bathhouse waters settled, though faint wisps of energy still lingered, dancing above the surface.
Haotian stood there, chest rising and falling, sweat dampening his brow despite the cold air. His lips curved faintly.
"With this… I can link to dozens at once. The yin and yang will cycle through the crystal, through the frost vein. It will carry the flows between me and them as if we were bound directly."
His gaze swept over the waters, sharp as blades.
"This… will be the next step."
Within the Sect Master's chamber, the three sat around a low jade table. A pot of tea steamed faintly, yet neither Yinxue nor Ziyue reached for their cups. Their gazes were fixed on Haotian, who leaned forward, eyes burning with quiet intensity.
"I tested it," he said simply. "The source crystal and the frost vein—together, they can serve as a conduit. Yin and yang chi will no longer require direct contact. The crystal carries my yang. The vein channels their yin. Through the cycle, both merge, then return to us, balanced and complete."
For a moment, silence weighed over the chamber.
Sect Master Yinxue's eyes narrowed slightly, her expression unreadable. "…So you truly found a way."
Haotian nodded. "The flow was stable. I pushed the cycle hard, but it held without disruption. With this, I can cultivate with multiple disciples at once. Dozens, if needed. The speed of progress will increase tenfold."
Ziyue's lips parted, astonishment bright in her eyes. She had seen his brilliance before, but each time it still struck her.
Yinxue's fingers tightened faintly on her sleeve. "If what you say is true, then this could raise the entire sect's strength in years instead of decades. But…" She paused, the faintest tension touching her voice. "…how will you prevent impropriety? The disciples may already whisper. If you intend to sit at the center of the bathhouse while women surround you—"
"I've accounted for that," Haotian interrupted calmly.
Both women glanced at him.
"I anticipated that." Haotian raised his hand, golden threads of chi forming a faint circle above his palm. "I will lay soundless formations around the bathhouse—every ripple of voice, every breath, silenced. I will add concealment arrays above the waters, so each disciple can cultivate in absolute privacy, unseen even by her sisters."
Silence pressed down again.
Ziyue's heart swelled as she listened. He thought of everything—the strength of the sect, the morale of the disciples, even their modesty. He had already become the pillar holding them all.
Yinxue exhaled slowly. "Soundless… concealed… hundreds cultivating together…" Her eyes closed briefly before opening again, sharp as ice. "…Very well. If you can truly ensure their safety and their honor, then we will proceed. The arrays will be prepared at dawn."
"You thought it through," the Sect Master finally murmured.
Haotian leaned back slightly, his expression firm. "This will allow us to accelerate without shame, without corruption. The sect will grow strong, and the disciples will not falter in spirit."
The steam from the tea drifted upward, curling between them.
Yinxue lowered her gaze at last. "…Very well. We will prepare the curtains. If this method proves as effective as you claim, then the Moon Lotus Sect may yet stand unshaken when the demons come."
Ziyue glanced toward Haotian, pride flickering in her eyes. He had once again turned impossibility into reality.
Haotian's voice dropped, steady as steel. "Tomorrow, we begin."
The night before, Haotian did not sleep. While the sect slumbered, he worked tirelessly in the vast bathhouse, setting flag posts one by one into the steaming waters. Each post shimmered faintly with runes, carrying a concealment formation and a soundless barrier. He laid them carefully, weaving every formation with meticulous precision. By dawn, hundreds of small sanctuaries stood ready, each one a private haven for a disciple.
At the center, the great source crystal rested within its concealed shroud, veins of frost energy pulsing from the earth below. Haotian himself sat cross-legged in silence, eyes covered by a black blindfold. His breathing was steady, his body unmoving, like a statue of bronze waiting for command. Until the Sect Master herself gave the signal, he would not stir.
Morning sunlight filtered faintly through the frost-veined roof, spilling silvery beams across the steaming waters. Then came the sound of footsteps.
One by one, the female disciples entered. Their robes slipped away as they stepped into the water, each making her way to an awaiting flag post. The soundless formations stirred as they sat within them, the waters rippling softly before turning still again. Concealment shimmered like faint veils, obscuring their forms.
Dozens, then hundreds. Rows upon rows of disciples filled the vast bathhouse until every flag was claimed. The waters glowed faintly with yin chi, thick and serene, like a frozen sea stirring to life.
Even the elders descended into the waters. Their robes fell in silence, their steps graceful as they joined the sea of disciples. Elder Ziyue herself entered, her movements calm though her heart beat faster when her eyes lingered briefly on Haotian's concealed figure in the center. She chose her place, sat cross-legged, and closed her eyes in meditation.
At last, Sect Master Yinxue remained.
Her gaze swept the vast chamber. Hundreds of disciples sat ready, concealed within their sanctuaries, breath steady, hearts quiet. With a small sigh, she let her own robe fall. Her pale figure entered the steaming water, ripples circling outward until they calmed. She made her way to an unoccupied flag post, sat gracefully within the veil of concealment, and folded her hands atop her knees.
For a brief moment, all was silent.
Then Yinxue lifted her fingers and sent out a single thread of chi, her voice carried directly to the man waiting at the center.
"Begin."
Within the concealed heart of the bathhouse, Haotian's eyes beneath the blindfold flickered with light. His hands pressed firmly onto the source crystal. Golden chi roared forth, plunging into the crystal's depths. The frost vein below trembled in answer.
The grand cultivation had begun.
The moment Sect Master Yinxue's chi-thread reached him, Haotian's palm pressed deeper into the source crystal. His cultivation surged, golden yang chi pouring into the crystalline veins. The bathhouse trembled as the frost vein roared in response, a tide of yin chi rising from the depths of the earth.
The waters stirred. Steam curled upward, shifting into spirals as if pulled by an unseen breath. Runes along every flagpost ignited, glowing with soft silver light. At once, each disciple felt it—an invisible thread latching onto their dantian, pulling at the core of their yin.
Dozens. Hundreds. The entire sect linked at once.
Yinxue's voice echoed through the silence, steady yet edged with steel:
"Remember to circulate the chi. Guide it through your meridians and send it back. If you falter, if you allow it to stagnate—you will explode. No matter what pleasure comes, keep the cycle alive."
A ripple of resolve spread through the bathhouse. Every disciple sat straighter, breaths deepening as they steeled their minds. The air thickened with determination.
Then the cycle began.
From Haotian, golden threads of yang chi erupted, flowing into the crystal. The crystal pulsed like a heart, scattering streams of light outward into the waters. At the same time, the frost vein surged, sending cold rivers of yin chi into the same channels.
Where they met, yin and yang coiled into radiant streams, twisting together like twin serpents. The conduits carried the streams outward, shooting into each formation circle surrounding the disciples.
The first contact struck like lightning.
A thousand gasps echoed—cut short by the soundless formations, but the water itself shook as hundreds of bodies tensed. Faces flushed, shoulders quivered. For many, the rush of yang chi penetrating their meridians was hotter than fire, while the yin returning from their cores trembled like ice. Together, they twisted and surged through their bodies, each disciple glowing faintly as the chi completed its first cycle.
Golden light and pale frost shimmered above the waters, but as the cycles continued, rainbow sparks began to burst forth—subtle glimmers from Haotian's ten-element physique resonating through the conduit. The ceiling itself seemed painted in shifting auroras.
Elder Ziyue's lips parted, her breath sharp as the first cycle passed through her veins. She clenched her fists, focusing, guiding the chi, sending it back to the crystal with precision. Her face was flushed, but her will unbroken.
Sect Master Yinxue's eyes narrowed as waves of heat and cold coursed through her body. So this is his theory in practice… the effect is far stronger than I imagined. She exhaled steadily, mastering the cycle with flawless control, even as tinges of color touched her pale cheeks.
Throughout the bathhouse, disciples gritted their teeth, struggling to guide the overwhelming force. Some trembled, their voices muffled by the soundless barriers as moans threatened to escape—but none dared lose focus.
The cycles quickened. The merged streams of chi surged faster, stronger, pressing deeper into their meridians, cleansing, nourishing, reshaping. A radiant aura enveloped the entire bathhouse, so bright the outside sky seemed to dim.
From above, the cries of phoenixes suddenly echoed—spectral frost-blue phoenixes emerging from the mist, circling the bathhouse dome as if heralding the transformation within. Their wings scattered motes of light that drifted downward, merging into the waters.
Inside, breakthroughs erupted.
The first disciple's aura swelled, exploding outward in a burst of light. Another followed. Then another. Ripples of breakthroughs surged like crashing waves, filling the chamber with radiant power.
And yet, through it all, Haotian remained at the center, blindfolded, unmoving. His body shook as torrents of yin poured back into him, but his will anchored the cycle. His chi exploded outward again and again, feeding the crystal, maintaining the storm.
The grand cultivation had begun in earnest.
The cycles surged faster. The bathhouse's surface rippled like a living lake of light, streams of chi shimmering between frost-blue and molten gold. Every disciple was bound into the rhythm of Haotian's pulse—yin and yang coursing through their meridians like twin dragons colliding, sparking in every vein.
Gasps slipped out despite the soundless formations. Shoulders trembled, spines arched. The disciples' lotus postures shuddered as waves of heat and cold coursed through them, forcing them to balance on the razor's edge between pleasure and collapse.
One girl bit her lip until it bled, her head tilted back as a breathless moan slipped free into the silence. Another writhed in her circle, arms pressing against her body as if to ground herself, fingers twitching as sparks of chi crawled along her skin. The warning of their sect master rang in their hearts—rotate, rotate, return it back!—and though sweat poured down their temples, though faces burned crimson, none dared forget.
Yet as the cycles deepened, some began to surrender to the sensation in their own way. A few disciples' hands brushed their arms, their thighs, their torsos, as if desperate to ground the torrent of lightning coursing through them. Their breaths grew ragged, eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed beyond restraint. And still—the chi flowed. They endured, discipline and desire crashing together in every vein.
All around, breakthroughs detonated like fireworks. A pale-haired girl let out a strangled cry as her aura burst upward, ascending into Mid Nascent Realm. Another gasped as light spilled from her pores, her cultivation surging higher, late-stage instantly achieved. One after another, the sect's disciples bloomed like phoenixes reborn, each cycle polishing their cores, widening their meridians. The bathhouse was an ocean of transformations.
And at the heart—Haotian endured the storm.
Blindfolded, robe open, his hands pressed to the source crystal, his body was the pivot around which the tides revolved. But as the cycles continued, the return stream of yin swelled to a monstrous torrent. One thread from a disciple was nothing. Dozens were bearable. But hundreds—hundreds of yin chi rivers poured into him, merging, crashing like a tsunami through his dantian and meridians.
His body quaked. Teeth clenched, sweat poured down his temples, but he refused to falter. The ten-element physique roared awake, each elemental vein shining like a constellation within his body. His core swelled.
Break!
A dragon's roar split the air within his sea of consciousness. Ninety-nine dragons writhed, golden fire ripping through the void. His cultivation surged—
Initial Soul Transformation → Mid Soul Transformation!
The bathhouse shook. Waves crashed against the walls, though none escaped the formation seals. The disciples felt it too, the sudden surge of yang burning through the cycle, scorching them hotter, pushing their pleasure higher—but none dared break focus.
Then another wave hit him. More yin, more torrents, more spiraling rivers than before. His back arched, chest heaving as he roared, every vein lit like molten steel.
Mid Soul Transformation → Late Soul Transformation!
Another crack of thunder split the chamber. Above the dome, phoenixes cried again—this time joined by dragons shimmering in golden flame, their ethereal coils twisting through the steam.
And still—it wasn't enough.
The return flow did not stop. More and more yin poured into him as disciples reached deeper breakthroughs, their cores blooming and sending rivers back to him. Haotian's body glowed blinding gold, every muscle tense, veins standing like cords beneath his skin.
Then—
Late Soul Transformation → Peak Soul Transformation!
The crystal detonated in brilliance. A wave of golden fire burst out from him, colliding with frost-blue streams and scattering into a rainbow storm. The entire bathhouse seemed caught in a celestial maelstrom of phoenix feathers and dragon fire.
Every disciple was lifted, suspended in their circles, their bodies trembling under the sheer divine resonance of his breakthrough. Faces flushed, breaths ragged, their voices silent under the formations—but the storm of pleasure and awe painted every expression.
And at the center, blindfolded, drenched in sweat and golden light, Haotian endured—his body transformed, his cultivation soared, and the sect was baptized in his storm.