The crimson moon loomed high above the city, casting long shadows over the slums of Crimson Edge. Amidst the haze of incense and the whispers of night-walkers, Lucien moved silently, a black robe draped across his shoulders, its hem dusted with ash and sin.
He was following a rumor.
A cultivator merchant had spoken of a forbidden artifact—a Soulbinding Lotus, blooming once every thirteen years, capable of anchoring a fractured meridian core.
Lucien needed it to stabilize the next level of the Ninefold Furnace. His current foundation was growing unstable from too much lust, too quickly absorbed.
But the lotus was held by someone dangerous.
Not a sect. Not a clan.
A woman.
A ma cultivator.
One said to devour men whole—body, mind, and soul.
He found her at the edge of the Red Ash Marsh.
A single pavilion floated above the mist, suspended by chains wrapped around the spires of dead trees. Soft red light glowed from within. The air shimmered faintly with demonic energy, tinged with perfume and blood.
Lucien stepped onto the rickety bridge, and instantly, the fog parted. A soft voice echoed from the shadows.
"Come closer, little fire."
He followed the voice into the pavilion.
She was reclining on a divan of black velvet, one leg crossed lazily over the other, skin pale as bone against her crimson robes. The robe clung to her body like silk to flame—thin, nearly translucent. Her cleavage rose and fell with each slow breath. Her eyes, golden and slitted like a serpent's, locked onto him with hunger and amusement.
She was older than him—perhaps by decades—but her beauty was timeless. Seductive. Predatory.
"You're Lucien Xie," she said, lips curling. "The fallen boy who cultivates through climax."
"And you're the woman who holds the Soulbinding Lotus," he replied coolly. "I need it."
She laughed. Low and throaty.
"You always get straight to the point. I like that."
She rose slowly, walking barefoot across the silk carpet. With every step, her demonic aura pulsed, brushing against Lucien like fingers tracing skin.
"I'll give you the lotus," she whispered, standing inches from him now. "But you'll give me something in return."
He raised an eyebrow. "How much spirit stone?"
She smiled. "Not stone. Not gold. Not even blood."
She pressed her palm flat against his chest.
"I want you. Here. Tonight. In my bed. You will give me one night of true ecstasy... and I will give you the lotus."
Lucien didn't flinch.
But he did pause.
He could feel her cultivation—a step above his. If he miscalculated, she could drain him dry. But he also felt… resonance. Her core burned Yin like a storm. She was a perfect match for the next push. A wild gamble—but if he played it right, it could break him into the next level.
He smiled.
"Then let's not waste time."
Inside the Velvet Chamber
Her bedroom was dark, lit only by floating orbs of dim crimson. The walls were lined with veils and talismans. Incense of aphrodisiac nature filled the air, thick and intoxicating.
She undressed without shame, letting the robe fall. Her body was art—a weapon sculpted for sin. Her tattoos glowed faintly, demonic script flowing down her spine like chains of fire.
Lucien removed his robe, step by step, his lean muscle flexing under flickering light. Her eyes roamed his body like a beast sizing up prey—and a lover savoring every inch.
They met at the center of the bed, not with hesitation, but collision.
Lips found lips.
Claws scraped down backs.
Breathless gasps turned to low moans.
She was not gentle.
He didn't want her to be.
Their spiritual energies danced—twisting, colliding, sinking into each other like red-hot brands. Each thrust, each cry, became a part of the cultivation ritual. They didn't make love.
They burned.
Her body pulsed with Yin energy, overflowing.
He activated the Ninefold Furnace.
A ring of spiritual fire ignited around them, illuminating tattoos, scars, sweat-slick skin.
"More…" she gasped, raking nails down his chest.
"You'll beg soon," Lucien growled, pushing her harder into the ritual circle.
She screamed—not in pain, but release. Her energy surged into him in thick waves.
His meridians lit up like lightning through crystal.
She cried out again, body arching in the full spiritual explosion.
Lucien gritted his teeth, holding back as the furnace threatened to overload. His vision blurred. Her essence was dense—far denser than he'd anticipated.
Just as his mind frayed at the edge, she wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered:
"You're the first man to survive me."
Then everything went white.
The Next Morning
Lucien sat at the edge of the bed, the Soulbinding Lotus in his hand.
She lay beneath crimson sheets, sleeping soundly, a faint smile on her lips.
He looked back at her.
There was no love. No romance. Only the silent respect between two predators who had tasted each other's edge and found mutual benefit.
He dressed without a word.
At the door, her voice stopped him.
"Come back someday," she murmured, eyes still closed. "Maybe I'll let you devour me next time."
He chuckled. "You'll beg for it."
And vanished into the morning mist.