Their cultivation. It had risen. All three of them. The wife, who had been a mid-level cultivator at best, now burned like a candle become a bonfire. The thick woman, whose core he had already flooded with divine qi, had risen again.
Even the horse keeper, a mortal woman with no cultivation worth naming, carried a dantian that swirled with condensed energy. They had become like vessels. Like living manifestations of bestowed power.
He had not simply fucked them. He had elevated them. Raised their levels through the act itself, as one might water a garden.
She didn't know the limit of such a thing. No one did. No scripture in her sect's ten thousand year library described it. But she knew what she sensed. And what she sensed terrified her and tempted her in equal measure.
