“Is this really a proper cultivation method?”
At Wu Zhaohua’s fingertips, the gathered spiritual light took the form of a tiny Spirit Sword, tracing with unwavering precision.
Each stroke left a deeper brand upon him.
The burning heat and faint tingling pain mixed into an indescribable sensation, causing Jiang Huai’s body to tense uncontrollably.
The Black Dragon Mark at his lower abdomen seemed to sense danger. Once again, it shimmered with unease, but Wu Zhaohua, with a heavier, punishing press, forcibly suppressed it.
“Wu Zhaohua, I can’t hold on much longer…” Jiang Huai’s voice trembled noticeably.
This can’t be right, can it? This is even more outrageous than Qin Qingyue’s Black Dragon Mark.
He could feel the so-called “Root Foundation Mark” sending warmth through his body, but in a way that made his heart race with panic, as if he was about to break through some critical limit.
“I’m not doing this anymore, Wu Zhaohua!” He struggled, trying to break free.
“Let me go! Are you tricking me?”
Wu Zhaohua leaned in, candlelight reflecting off her rosy cheeks and delicate fingers.
No matter how you looked at it, this scene was a far cry from the serene and abstinent cultivation one would expect.
“It’s alright, it’s alright,” Wu Zhaohua’s voice was still gentle enough to drip with honey, but carried a certainty and dominance.
“It’s almost done. Just bear with it a little longer.”
She paused, deliberately slowing her movements, and spoke softly:
“If you can’t endure, that’s alright too.”
This was exactly what Wu Zhaohua wanted.
Alarms blared in Jiang Huai’s mind, especially when he suddenly caught sight of a white handkerchief off to the side.
The Handkerchief of White Silk lay there quietly, but was ever ready to claim its exclusive spoils.
He jerked violently, straining his waist, legs kicking upward, trying to throw off the gentle yet domineering woman atop him.
“I’m not doing this anymore! Wu Zhaohua, are you tricking me?”
“Ah.” Wu Zhaohua clearly hadn’t expected such a fierce struggle from Jiang Huai.
A flash of surprise flickered in her eyes, but it was quickly swallowed by a deeper obsession.
She reacted in an instant, seizing his ankle just as he moved.
The force was so great, it brooked no resistance.
Jiang Huai felt his ankle clamp tight, as if caught in iron pincers. All his strength drained away in an instant.
A little Qi Refining Stage cultivator trying to resist Great Ascension—laughable, utterly laughable.
“Don’t move!”
Wu Zhaohua’s voice suddenly dropped, her gentle mask splitting to reveal the unyielding dominance beneath.
You are mine. You are mine. You are mine.
I won’t hold the Black Dragon Mark against you, but today, I must brand you with something of my own.
You belong to me. You always have.
“I said I’m not doing it. Let me go.”
Jiang Huai realized in despair that against absolute strength, all his struggles were like an ant trying to shake a tree—futile.
Wu Zhaohua’s gaze was focused, devout, possessiveness nearly spilling from her eyes.
Elsewhere, on a lonely island coast.
A gentle sea breeze blew as Qin Qingyue, seated by the shore meditating and healing, suddenly snapped her eyes open!
The Xuanhei Dragon Mark she’d carefully placed on Jiang Huai was connected to her very soul.
This Black Dragon Mark belonged to her alone. Naturally, it gave Jiang Huai many benefits, but it also tethered him to her in an unbreakable bond.
Just now, in that instant, she clearly sensed her Dragon Mark being repeatedly assaulted and suppressed by an extremely overbearing, forceful power.
It felt as if someone was trying to overwrite, erase, or even stamp something new atop her mark.
Then, as if failing, that force vanished.
Without a doubt, this was Wu Zhaohua’s doing. She’d started acting on Jiang Huai, attempting to erase the mark Qin Qingyue had left on him.
“Crazy woman, how could you possibly erase my mark?” Qin Qingyue sneered to herself.
Su Yingman, meditating beside her, glanced over in confusion at Qin Qingyue.
What’s going on? Has the Main Wife lost her mind after losing her husband? Why is she talking to herself?
Qin Qingyue didn’t have long to gloat before that overbearing power returned once more.
This time, the power carried a sharp edge of Sword Qi, sliding slowly downward from the place of her Black Dragon Mark.
Qin Qingyue’s lovely face stiffened. She could clearly feel another force growing, pushing her aside.
It was as if her once private mansion had suddenly been broken into by Wu Zhaohua, sword in hand, insisting on sharing this place called “Jiang Huai’s body” and squeezing her out.
“Wu! Zhao! Hua!”
Qin Qingyue’s teeth nearly cracked from the force of her bite, her breathtaking face frosted over, and her Red Pupils glinted in the darkness with a cold, violent light.
It was the fury of having one’s territory and possession utterly violated.
She actually dared treat her marked one like this!
That area… that area is…!
“Courting death!” A deep dragon’s roar seemed to rumble within Qin Qingyue’s chest.
Even she hadn’t gone that far, only claiming the abdomen as her territory.
To think Wu Zhaohua would dare to meddle there.
If she’d known, she would’ve marked that place first.
If Wu Zhaohua really pushed Jiang Huai, she’d make it so that Jiang Huai couldn’t produce any result, driving Wu Zhaohua mad with frustration.
Her possessiveness wasn’t as overwhelming as Wu Zhaohua’s. She could even tolerate Jiang Huai taking other concubines, female slaves, mothers… Mother Dragons.
The North Sea White Dragon, the South Sea Red Dragon—one yin, one yang, perfect for cultivation. She’d get both.
She didn’t care what they were called; as long as it benefited Jiang Huai’s cultivation, that was all that mattered.
After all, it was just flesh.
Qin Qingyue felt that as long as she was number one—above all other women, as Main Wife, Palace Master, Sect Master, whatever—she didn’t care.
In other words, so long as she was the one to truly stand beside Jiang Huai for a lifetime, that was enough.
But Wu Zhaohua was different. Not only did she have a grudge with Qin Qingyue from youth, she was also fighting for this position.
She would never willingly accept being beneath Qin Qingyue—of this, Qin Qingyue was certain.
Their conflict was inevitable, irreconcilable.
“Main Wife, is something wrong?” Su Yingman poked her head over and asked.
Qin Qingyue took a deep breath, suppressing her turbulent murderous intent. The thick, black-scaled Dragon Tail behind her slammed the ground, sending shards of stone flying.
She rose slowly, her voice exceptionally calm:
“Yingman, we’re not going to Wenxuan Sect just yet.”
Years of bitter struggle had left Qin Qingyue with a crystal-clear mind.
Wu Zhaohua would surely have already woven a tight net around the mountain gates, just waiting for her to walk in.
It wasn’t as if she’d never broken into a sect’s gates before, but always by surprise.
If the other side was prepared, it would be a whole different story.
Her mind raced, and with a shimmer, Qin Qingyue transformed into a mighty, fierce Black Dragon.
Su Yingman understood at once, obediently leaping onto her massive dragon claw.
“Let’s head to the South Sea Dragon Palace and find something to do!”
Thinking of that always-smiling, charming Chihong, a nameless rage welled up in Qin Qingyue.
Wu Zhaohua was holding the Handkerchief of White Silk, gently wiping her flushed and slick face.
How wonderful. Truly wonderful.
She glanced at Jiang Huai, huddled in the corner of the bed, and a rare trace of embarrassment crossed her face as she explained:
“Actually… I really was thinking of your foundation building, believe me.”
She paused, raising her hand, her tone uncommonly serious:
“I swear a Heaven Dao Oath—should there be one word of falsehood, may I suffer Five Thunders Striking the Crown!”