Ren's mouth curved.
"It'll feel good," he said, utterly shameless. "For me and for you."
Five pairs of eyes widened at once.
He didn't give the moment a chance to slip away. His voice stayed lazy, almost conversational, as if he were discussing the weather instead of suggesting something that made half the courtyard's temperature spike.
"How far we go is up to you," he went on. "You decide how much you want to undress. If you just want to loosen your robes a little, that's fine. If you want to curl up and cuddle while we work…" His grin deepened. "Even better."
He tipped his head, gaze moving over them with open amusement and the kind of warmth that never felt cheap.
"For the record, I recommend cuddling," he added. "It helps."
Na Shui made a tiny noise somewhere between a squeak and a groan.
Na Yi's fingers twitched against her sleeve. Her eyes stayed calm, like always… but the tips of her ears gave her away, flushing a faint, betraying red.
Qin Xingxuan's composure cracked; a faint, gorgeous blush spread from the hollow of her throat up to her cheeks.
Murong Zi stared at him as if he'd just taken the spear in her chest and twisted it—half scandalized, half delighted, eyes bright with a reckless spark.
Bai Jingyun—
Her lashes trembled. Her entire face had turned a soft, steady crimson, but her gaze didn't flee from his. It stayed locked on his, like a sword that refused to bend even when the heavens pressed down.
Ren laughed low in his throat, the sound warm and dark.
"I'm serious," he said then, letting some of the teasing fade from his tone. "With my realms and my bone, the closer I am, the more precisely I can guide you. If I'm working directly along your meridians, I can correct mistakes before they happen. I can push your comprehension when it's about to stall, and I can temper your blood and bones while we do it."
He lifted a hand and tapped his temple with one knuckle.
"My special abilities make comprehension smoother," he said lightly. "And my bloodline will help your body. I touch your flow, and the Dao shows me every knot and flaw."
He shifted his gaze, letting it rest on Bai Jingyun first, then Murong Zi, then Qin Xingxuan.
"And for you three," he continued, voice turning that shade softer he only ever used with his women, "there's more. I'll be giving you Azure Dragon blood—true dragon essence refined through my path. It'll deepen your foundations, strengthen your meridians, and make future bottlenecks much easier to crack."
Murong Zi's breath caught.
Qin Xingxuan's fingers curled tighter around the edge of the bench.
Bai Jingyun's heart jolted so hard she almost felt it skip.
Azure Dragon blood.
Even cultivators who'd never seen a dragon in their lives knew what that meant. That kind of thing only appeared in legends, in sect annals so old the ink had half-faded. It didn't just "strengthen the body"—it rewrote foundations, changed a person's future.
Na Shui swallowed hard.
"T-that kind of thing…" she stammered, voice thin. "Isn't it… too much?"
Ren shrugged, as if they were talking about cups of tea instead of priceless bloodlines no one in Sky Fortune Kingdom should have ever seen.
"If I didn't think they could bear it, I wouldn't offer," he said simply. "The Azure True Dragon Infinity Seed is easy for me to control. Sharing what I've drawn from it is easy."
His smile curled again, a touch more honest this time.
"And seeing you three walking your paths with that kind of foundation," he added, "that's a reward for me."
Gratitude rose—raw, unguarded.
Murong Zi tried to cover it with a grin and failed; her lips trembled for a breath before her usual boldness surged back to the surface.
"…Then I'll just have to live up to it," she muttered, eyes bright.
Qin Xingxuan bowed her head slightly, palms pressing together on her knees.
"I will not waste what Senior Brother gives," she said quietly.
Bai Jingyun's voice was softer than both of theirs, but steadier than she'd expected.
"…Ren," she said, no titles.
He felt it. The choice in that. The resolve.
"Thank you."
He didn't answer with words at first.
He just opened his arms.
Murong Zi blinked.
Na Shui squeaked again.
Na Yi's lips curved in the slightest smile.
Qin Xingxuan went rigid for half a heartbeat.
Bai Jingyun's breath stopped in her throat.
"Come here," Ren said.
It wasn't a command. It was an invitation—like a door held open and a hand extended.
Murong Zi, naturally, was the first to move. She half-leapt into his side with a laugh she tried to make overly dramatic, as if it were all a joke. The wet shine gathering at the corners of her eyes ruined the act.
Qin Xingxuan followed more slowly, knees moving as if weighed down by years of discipline and expectations. But when she reached his other side and felt his arm come around her shoulders, the tension in her spine loosened by a fraction.
Na Yi and Na Shui slipped in from behind, arms looping around his neck, pressing cheek to shoulder. The familiar scents of sweat, faint spirit herbs, and warmed stone wrapped around him, the smell of long hours training in the same fields.
Bai Jingyun hesitated the longest.
Then she stepped forward.
She moved like someone approaching the edge of a cliff she'd already decided to jump from. One step, then another, until the last layer of distance between them dissolved, and Ren could feel the quiet tremor in her chest.
He drew them all in, arms wrapping around soft waists and firm shoulders, pulling them together into a tight circle of warmth and pulsing true essence. For a moment, the world outside their embrace felt very far away—Acacia Peak, Sovereigns, scheming clans, all reduced to faint echoes.
"You all being cute like this," he murmured, amused and fond, "is already plenty of reward."
Na Shui made a strangled sound.
"I-I'm not cute," she protested weakly, face buried somewhere against his collar. "Na Yi's the cute one…"
Na Yi's lips brushed his ear as she breathed a faint laugh.
"Shui," she murmured, "you're shaking."
"That's because he keeps saying things like this," Na Shui hissed back, voice muffled.
Murong Zi's laugh came out wetter this time, like a blade cutting through mist.
Qin Xingxuan swallowed hard, eyes closing for a brief moment as she allowed herself to lean into him, just a little.
Bai Jingyun…
She hadn't realized when her hands had moved, but her fingers had curled into the cloth at his chest without her noticing, knuckles white.
Ren gave them one last squeeze, then let his arms fall away with reluctant ease.
"All right," he said lightly. "We can continue this later. For now, we've got work to do."
Na Shui jerked back like she'd touched live lightning.
Murong Zi actually looked disappointed, eyes narrowing as if she were about to argue.
Na Yi stepped back smoothly, smoothing her hair with a quiet, practiced motion that didn't quite hide the tiny smile still at the corner of her lips.
Qin Xingxuan straightened, cheeks still faintly pink but gaze clearer, the softness folding back behind her steady sword-heart.
Bai Jingyun took a half-step away, hands smoothing the front of her robe as if that could erase the memory of how close she'd just been.
Ren looked over them again and nodded once, satisfaction flickering through his eyes.
"First," he said, "we start with Jingyun."
Five heads turned toward her at once.
Bai Jingyun's breath hitched.
"Her Chaotic Virtues Combat Meridians haven't been fully rebuilt yet," Ren continued, tone turning clinical in that way only a true cultivator understood—as if he were discussing the structure of a divine weapon instead of a girl he'd just held. "She's still running mostly on the Heaven-Opening Origin Art and the Lantern-Heart Flame Diagram. Before I pour dragon blood into her, I'm going to restart her meridian path properly. Then I'll plant the Azure True Dragon Infinity Seed's counterpart."
His smile crooked, shamelessness slipping back into place like a favorite cloak.
"You can stay and watch," he added. "Get a feel for what it's like. Might help you decide how much you want to bare next time."
Na Shui's face went scarlet from collar to hairline.
Na Yi's eyes actually brightened, though her expression stayed composed, like a sage witnessing an interesting new dao.
Qin Xingxuan's gaze flickered sharply, a quiet, suppressed eagerness she didn't manage to hide in time.
Murong Zi crossed her arms, looking torn between hunger to learn and the instinct to escape before she said something she couldn't take back.
Bai Jingyun felt as if she'd been placed on the edge of a precipice—wind tugging at her robes, sky yawning open below.
Ren saw every reaction.
He chuckled softly.
"Next time, then," he said gently, sparing them for now. "You'll get your turns. Zi, Xuan—you're after Jingyun. But for now…"
He tipped his chin toward the courtyard entrance.
"Go consolidate what you've gained today," he said. "Sort out your minds. If you walk into this kind of tempering with your hearts drifting, you'll only make it harder on yourselves."
Na Yi bowed once, composed but unable to hide the faint spark in her eyes.
"…I'll leave Jingyun to you," she said softly.
Na Shui hovered for a breath longer, biting her lip, then blurted, "D-don't bully her too much," and fled in a flustered rush, almost tripping over the threshold.
Murong Zi snorted, the corner of her mouth twitching.
"I'll be back later," she warned, jabbing a finger at him. "If she comes out looking completely different, I'm barging in whether you're cuddling or not."
Qin Xingxuan's lips twitched.
"I will… observe carefully next time," she said, voice quiet but firm. "I don't want to be left behind."
They left together, their departing footsteps fading into the Martial House's distant hum—spear thrusts, saber rings, the muffled roar of a hundred thousand cultivators chasing after a road they couldn't yet see.
Silence settled over the courtyard.
The spirit spring murmured in the corner, hot mist curling and dissipating into the fading light. The lone tree's leaves rustled, dappling the ground in shifting patches of sun and shadow.
Ren turned back to Bai Jingyun.
Without Na Shui's chatter, Murong Zi's boldness, or Qin Xingxuan's silent pressure, her presence felt… very clear.
Her black hair fell like ink across her back. Her eyes, always steady on the surface, held a depth of restrained emotion—like a lake that refused to overflow even when storms raged above it.
She'd watched an Acacia collar close around her neck.
She'd watched that same mountain burn.
Now she stood in front of the man who'd crushed a Sovereign's backing like rotten wood.
He smiled.
"Come here," he said softly. "Let's get you comfortable first."
Her feet moved before she consciously told them to.
Ren sat back down on the stone bench, leaning against the tree's trunk. The bark at his back was rough and familiar, like an old friend who'd watched too many quiet nights.
When she drew near, he reached out and took her hand, fingers warm and sure around hers, tugging her gently until she understood what he wanted.
She settled into his lap, stiff at first, every muscle tense, as if waiting for the world to laugh at her.
Slowly, as his arm slipped around her waist and drew her back against his chest, that tension began to unwind.
Her heart pounded so loudly she was certain he could hear it, each beat echoing in her own ears like a drum.
His breath brushed her ear.
"Lean back," he murmured. "Trust your weight to me. If your muscles stay tense, it'll make the meridian work rougher."
She obeyed.
Her spine rested along his chest. The back of her head brushed his shoulder. His free hand slid up, fingers tangling briefly in her hair.
He began by simply stroking.
Slow, unhurried motions, fingers combing through her long black hair from crown to tip. It wasn't a technique. It wasn't a circulation. It was just touch.
But Bai Jingyun's racing thoughts gradually slowed, each pass of his fingers smoothing away a layer of tension. The humiliation of Acacia's collar, the crushing despair of being sold like a treasure, the terror of Sovereigns and sects—all of it dulled, faded to the edges.
Her breath evened.
Her true essence settled, waves calming in a lake that had been storm-tossed for too long.
"Good," Ren said quietly, his voice a steady weight behind her. "Close your eyes."
She did.
"Now," he continued, tone low and calm, the way water sounded in deep wells, "run the Heaven-Opening Origin Art once. Slowly. Don't force it. Just let it move the way you're used to."
His right hand moved from her hair, drifting down to rest lightly over her lower abdomen, just above her dantian. His palm was warm, fingers spread, but there was nothing crude in the touch—only an anchoring weight, a promise that said: I have you.
Inside her body, true essence stirred.
It followed the familiar pattern of the Heaven-Opening Origin Art, spiraling along known routes… and immediately, Ren saw every place it fell short.
The Immortal Soul Bone pulsed.
Complexity collapsed.
Her meridian network unfolded before his inner sight: a three-dimensional diagram of channels and acupoints, tiny imperfections carved by years of cultivation on too-narrow a path. Heaven-Opening Origin Art's graceful spirals wove through them, but there were rough edges—small twists and knots—that would one day become shackles.
Ren's fingers tightened slightly against her abdomen.
"All right," he murmured, more to her consciousness than her ears. "Let's start over."
His left hand traced a line along the inside of her forearm, bare where the sleeve had slipped back—his fingers trailing the path of a key meridian from wrist to elbow.
True essence followed his touch.
Where his fingertip passed, her meridian responded—widening, softening, as if some invisible hammer were gently knocking away grit from a pipe that had been clogged for years.
Pain flared.
Sharp, sudden, white.
Bai Jingyun's breath caught in her throat.
"Stay with it," Ren murmured, voice a quiet anchor at her ear. "Don't shy away. You've endured worse."
Memories surged up unbidden.
The humiliation of Acacia's leash. The suffocating sweetness of incense that promised warmth but only turned the body into a toy. The weight of eyes treating her as an ornament, not a person. The helpless fury at being told who she would marry, what she would become, where she would kneel.
Compared to that, this pain was clean.
Honest.
She gritted her teeth and rode it.
In her Spiritual Sea, the fire-colored lake stirred.
The red-gold rune-wheel of her Fire Martial Intent spun slowly above it, its field compressing every flicker of heat, forcing it to burn purer and brighter. That intent had once been her only rebellion—a refusal to bend, forged into flame.
Now, beneath that wheel, a second diagram began to draw itself.
Chaotic Virtues Combat Meridians.
But not the basic version Ren had gifted to the Martial House earlier, the rough template meant for tens of thousands.
This one was tailored.
Its loops and spirals bent around the unique turns of Bai Jingyun's meridians. Its nodes aligned themselves with the points where her sword intent naturally liked to gather before a strike. It was as if someone had taken a general map and redrawn it to fit the contours of a single, specific body.
Her body.
Ren's fingers moved from her arm to her side, tracing along her ribs, then up toward her shoulder. His touch was light, but he didn't avoid her skin; as she'd relaxed, her robe had loosened slightly at the collarbone, exposing a narrow line of pale skin.
Whenever his fingertip passed over a key junction, her meridians jolted.
True essence flared, then was pressed down and reformed, hammered while still hot.
In her inner vision, old pathways shattered like brittle glass, only to reform in smoother, thicker lines, the brittle veins of a frightened girl reforged into channels worthy of a cultivator who dared to look Sovereigns in the eye.
Chaotic Virtues Combat Meridians took shape in full.
Each circulation would no longer merely temper muscle and bone. It would carve the memory of perfect movements into her marrow, storing them as tiny, unseen Dao Fruits waiting to ripen. Every slash, every step, every thrust honed to the limit could be captured, saved, and used again.
Bai Jingyun's body trembled.
Sweat beaded at her temples, damp strands of hair clinging to her skin.
Ren's arm around her waist tightened, steadying her, his chest a solid wall at her back.
"Breathe," he reminded her. "In through the nose, out through the mouth. Let the pain roll through you. Don't let it pile up."
She obeyed.
Pain rose in waves—sharp and biting when a particularly stubborn knot was broken, dull and deep when entire channels were widened. Each wave crashed, then rolled back, leaving behind a strange, expansive lightness.
Her meridians felt… open.
Not empty, but ready. Like a field after the stones had been cleared and the soil turned over.
"Good," Ren said softly. "Again. Run the new path."
She did.
True essence moved.
This time, it didn't scrape along too-narrow routes. It flowed in clean arcs and deep spirals, surging through muscle, bone, and Spiritual Sea with a sense of quiet inevitability—as if this had always been how it was supposed to move.
The Chaotic Virtues Combat Meridians activated fully.
At each nodal point, her body "remembered" a fragment of perfect movement—the angle of a sword swing that cut cleanly through a shield, the way her foot should land when stepping into a thrust, the exact timing of a parry. Those impressions stamped themselves into bone and tendon like tiny seals.
Her aura thickened.
The early Bone Forging foundation she'd painstakingly carved out now felt like the beginning of a much stronger, more stable structure. Every breath drew in more of the world. Every beat of her heart pumped power more efficiently through that newly reforged network.
Ren exhaled slowly.
"Good," he repeated. "Now that the path is ready…"
His hand over her dantian warmed.
Ancient Ming bloodline stirred, coiling like a sleeping beast opening one eye.
The Azure True Dragon Infinity Seed in his own body responded—a star of azure-gold light pulsing in his inner Heaven, coiled around by true dragon shadows and threads of Chaos energy.
He called a sliver.
A thread of dragon bloodline peeled away from that seed, carrying its law—"regenerate with the bearer's realm," "expand true essence without limit," "endure higher energies without breaking." He ran it through his Immortal Soul Bone, stripping away anything that didn't harmonize with Bai Jingyun's path, then guided it down his arm.
His palm pressed a fraction more firmly against her lower abdomen.
"Jingyun," he said quietly. "I'm going to plant the Azure Dragon's mark now. There'll be a moment where it feels like fire and ice at the same time. Don't fight it. Let your Fire Martial Intent wrap around it."
Her fingers dug into his wrist.
"I—"
She swallowed.
"I'm ready."
He smiled, not that wide, teasing grin he used with the others, but something smaller, warmer.
"Of course you are."
He pushed.
The refined dragon essence slipped from his palm into her dantian like a drop of molten metal falling into a still lake.
Her world exploded.
In her Spiritual Sea, the fire lake roared.
The red-gold rune-wheel of her Fire Martial Intent flared blindingly bright, its field expanding, pressing down on the invading essence with ruthless, refining will. It was the will that had refused Acacia's chains, focused into flame.
The dragon essence didn't resist.
It coiled.
Like a dragon folding its wings, it curled up under the rune-wheel's pressure, allowing itself to be compressed, tempered, stripped of anything that wasn't pure "dragon endurance," "dragon growth," "dragon vitality."
Bai Jingyun's body arched, a strangled sound escaping her throat.
It felt like every bone was being filled with fire and every vein packed with ice. Her skin burned; her marrow froze. Her heart hammered wildly, each beat a thunderclap.
Ren's arm caught her, holding her firmly in his lap, not allowing her to twist away.
"Jingyun," he murmured at her ear, voice threading through the chaos. "Listen to me. Your heart is your furnace. Your Fire Intent is your hammer. Don't be afraid. You've already burned Acacia's chains to ash. This is nothing in front of that."
His words sank into the storm.
Her heart, battered by waves of heat and cold, found a center.
She remembered walking toward Acacia Peak with numb steps, thinking her fate sealed.
She remembered standing under that false engagement's shadow, the feeling of suffocation, of being pressed into a shape that wasn't hers.
She remembered Ren's palm coming down from the sky like judgment, smashing that mountain's arrogance into dust.
Her fear burned.
What remained was stubborn pride.
Her Fire Martial Intent roared.
The rune-wheel spun faster, its field grabbing the coiled dragon essence and shaving away everything unnecessary. Under its suppression, the essence condensed, shrinking from a wild drop of power into a single, clear Seed.
A tiny dragon—formed of azure-gold light—curled up beneath the rune-wheel like a serpent beneath a sun, its body wrapped around a core of dense true essence.
The Azure True Dragon Infinity Seed had taken root in her.
As it settled, a new law fluttered through her meridians:
Every realm she stepped into, the Seed would follow—never dragging her forward too fast, always a half-step behind, pushing without crushing. Every cycle of cultivation would leave behind a little more true essence than before, her pool growing, its density increasing, its quality rising.
Bai Jingyun's aura flared.
The bench beneath them groaned faintly as stone dust shook loose. Hairline cracks crawled along its legs before Ren quietly smoothed the force away, the formation under the courtyard absorbing the excess.
From Strength Training to Viscera Training, right up to Altering Muscle, her foundation surged forward, stabilizing at a denser, deeper level. Her combat power, already brushing Early Houtian thanks to Heaven-Opening Origin Art and Fire Martial Intent, quietly climbed higher—toward the mid reaches of Houtian.
Not from a temporary boost.
From bedrock.
Ren's hand slid from her abdomen up to her sternum, palm resting lightly over her heart, grounding her as the last convulsions passed.
Her breathing came in rough, shuddering pulls.
Sweat beaded along her neck and temples, dampening stray strands of hair against her skin, tracing down the delicate line of her jaw.
Gradually, the violent surges calmed.
The rune-wheel slowed.
The tiny dragon Seed curled, its breathing matching hers, its law folding neatly into her own Dao.
Ren waited until her breaths had steadied, until her meridians no longer shuddered with each circulation.
Then he spoke.
"Open your eyes," he said softly.
She did.
The world looked the same—stone bench, spirit spring, tree, sky fading toward evening.
But the way it felt had changed.
Every breath she took seemed to draw more of the world's energy into her, her meridians catching it effortlessly, no longer leaking as much. True essence flowed through her body like a river whose stones had finally been cleared, its current smooth and deep.
Muscles that had always held a subtle, defensive tension now felt… grounded. Her bone structure felt heavier in a good way, like a sword that had finally been tempered properly.
She turned her head slightly, looking at him over her shoulder.
He'd never been far.
But right now, that closeness felt different.
Ren's eyes warmed when their gazes met.
"Welcome back," he said quietly.
The relief, the pride, the sheer, aching gratitude hit her too hard to control.
Before she could think, she moved.
She twisted in his lap, turning to face him properly. Her knees slid along the bench, robes rustling softly. She ended up straddling him without intending to, hands braced against his chest as she tried to catch her breath.
Their faces were suddenly very close.
Ren smiled, his voice dipping back into that lazy drawl that made people forget he'd shattered Sovereigns like clay.
"Eager, are we?" he teased.
Bai Jingyun realized their position.
Her blush came roaring back, flooding her cheeks, ears, the pale line of her throat.
"I—"
The apology never made it out.
Ren's hand lifted, fingers sliding along her jaw, thumb brushing the line where sweat had left a faint gleam.
"You did well," he said, voice low. "Better than I expected, honestly."
Her heart pounded.
His gaze held hers, steady and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world to sit here with one woman in his lap and a whole kingdom simmering beyond the walls.
Then, without asking again—because she'd already answered him in a hundred quiet ways—he leaned in.
Their lips met.
It wasn't a chaste brush.
Ren kissed her fully, confidently, yet without rush—his mouth firm against hers, the angle perfect, the pressure steady. His hand at the back of her head cradled her gently, thumb stroking the delicate skin just below her ear. The other stayed at her waist, anchoring her in place, keeping her steady in the wake of everything that had just transformed inside her.
Bai Jingyun's thoughts scattered.
The lingering fire from the dragon Seed's integration flared, wrapping itself around that single point of contact. Her newly reforged meridians hummed, light currents of true essence following the rhythm of her racing heart, imprinting the moment into bone and blood.
When he finally drew back, just enough to let her breathe, her eyes were dazed, pupils slightly dilated.
"Ren…" she whispered.
He smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek, his gaze soft enough to melt tempered steel.
"You're beautiful," he said simply. "Especially like this."
She didn't look away.
The world outside the courtyard—Seven Profound Martial House, Sky Fortune Kingdom, Sovereigns and schemes, Acacia's ashes—faded to the edges of her awareness. For a time, there was only the warmth of his lap beneath her, the strength of his hands, the quiet breathing of the dragon Seed in her dantian.
They stayed like that for a while.
Not just kissing—though there were more, gentler ones, each one burning a little less wildly and settling a little deeper—but talking in low voices. He coaxed small confessions out of her with the same patience he'd used to rebuild her meridians. She admitted fears she'd never put into words. He answered with quiet, steady promises, not of protection from all things, but of standing beside her as she burned her own road through the world.
Occasionally, when words grew too full—when gratitude tangled with desire and relief—another kiss would steal in, simple and sure, grounding them both more firmly than any oath.