The two of them opted to move to a more secluded corner, away from the potential stares of Juniors and mortal servants who might spot them waiting at the public stairway. The fires of the Sparring Hall might have dulled, but there was still a great deal of work to do before the damage could be said to be contained.
It would not do for the Young Master or the female disciple to distract the others from their duties, especially since asking those lowly servants to ignore the naked pair might be a demand too far a step from reasonable. Feng led Sister Jin to a sequestered nook hidden within a nearby grove, its dense thicket providing some much-needed privacy.
The Sister slipped the beast robes off her shoulders. Their eyes met briefly, her expression indiscernible. She leaned against a nearby red maple tree and dressed herself with the raiment he had passed her earlier, not even bothering to hide behind the trunk to obscure his view.
The Young Master bowed before deliberately choosing to stand several steps away from the shadow of the tree, his eyes politely directed towards the fading embers of the distant tower — and away from her. The rustling of fabric was distracting, and though the temptation — and perhaps even permission — to look was there, the Young Master knew better than to indulge.
He was hardly a hormonal youth who could not control his impulses — or so he tried to convince himself.
Besides, Sister Jin's discomfort with his presence did not escape Feng’s notice.
“If you have other duties to attend to, you need not stay here with me,” he assured her. “I’m sure Lingyu is worried about your absence.”
The Younger Miss was likely still waiting at the bottom clearing of the grand stairway, anxiously awaiting her retinue's return. The other Core Disciple, Shao, was presumed to be close by, but it wouldn’t hurt for Sister Jin to reunite and resume her body-guarding duties.
For Lingyu, this was still a foreign Sect. Having the comfort of her handmaidens nearby was both a matter of protection and political assurance.
As far as excuses to leave his company went, it was more than adequate, doubly so since the Young Master was the one who had suggested it.
To his surprise, however, the female disciple rejected his offer of a convenient exit.
“The Young Miss will be fine. Despite Shao’s impulsiveness, she is not incompetent nor one to be negligent in her duties,” she replied calmly. The disciple resolutely emerged from the shadow of the maple tree and stood beside him under the mellow night sky, poised and unembarrassed.
Sister Jin had traded her inadequate beast coat for his crimson robes. Though an improvement over the former, it still failed to completely conceal her body. She was taller than him, which — when combined with the broadness of her shoulders and roundness of her hips — left a considerable amount of her skin exposed.
Despite his efforts, Feng’s eyes were still drawn to the beauty of her form, tracing elegant curves and slender, muscled limbs that seemed to glow in the moonlight.
Sister Jin was polite enough to pretend not to notice.
“Besides, it would be ungracious of me to leave you alone in this state after you have done so much for me,” she continued, her tone absent-minded as her attention was pulled towards the robes she wore. Her fingers lingered on the fabric, marvelling at their lushness and warmth.
The disciple turned to him and smiled teasingly, still half-dressed in the sunset-rimmed raiment that typically belonged to the Sect’s Young Master.
Feng looked away. “I merely gave you fair payment for your help.”
“Your flesh is a delicacy far too precious to be handed out so indifferently, Young Master,” the Sister murmured as she finished tying the sash around her waist. “And there is also the matter of these clothes that you so kindly lent me. They are very warm.”
Warmed, by his warmth. The Young Master closed his eyes to steady himself before replying: “The hide of a Fire Ox retains heat better than regular fabric. The ones used for weaving my robes are also of a higher quality, so the effects might be more apparent.”
It was difficult to remain unaffected by the sight of Sister Jin in her current half-dressed state. For some reason, it was this display of her half-nakedness — rather than the fullness of it earlier — that was finally causing his body to react. A dryness had settled upon his throat, and Feng was doing everything he could to prevent a more... visible response.
The female disciple delicately traced the silk-like lining of her new apparel. His robes hung loosely on her curvaceous frame, the garment only half-bound in knots and sashes. Adorned in this manner, she appeared impossibly lovely.
As was perhaps her intent.
“You are unusually kind for a cultivator,” Jin noted. “Doubly so for a Young Master. I think I can see why my Mistress is so enamoured with you.”
Kind?
Her comment broke the Young Master out of his state of rapture. Feng considered her words. Kind, was he? For merely giving her his robes when she was undressed. For feeding her when she had wasted her qi trying to cover for his problems.
He gave a mirthless chuckle. “Perhaps it should be seen as more of a tragedy, that such basic decency is regarded as something to be praised, rather than expected.”
The words of Brother Geng at the stables came to mind, as did Lingyu’s from the Sparring Halls. A hundred similar admonishments across his short life, all carrying the same reprimand.
Your weakness would undo you and others someday, Young Master.
Even the mortal elderly whom he had helped… If someone like her thought his actions were wasted, then why…
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Why couldn’t his Heart leave him be? Why force him to perform these charades of disgusting charity?
He was not a good man. A mere pretender of virtue, his character made all the worse by his acts of false kindness. He hated that.
How could he ever meet the faces of those grateful mortals, indulge in the satisfaction of a good deed — be secure in his moral righteousness for once — if every act of goodness since the day he stepped on the Path was led by hypocritical selfishness?
How could he ever contain the Weight of his Heart — festering within him, threatening its horrifying release — if he did not acquiesce to its needs? He was not Lianshi, whose strength eclipsed that of all others such that none may challenge her desires. He was not his Father, who was perfect in every way, capable of controlling his selflessness such that it benefited both Sect and Kin.
His selfishness came in jerks and waves, interfering with his life in times of both peace and turmoil. Demanding kindness, demanding he give charity, demanding he assign mortal life — mortal worms — meaning and value, regardless of how absurd the concept was?!
… And if this kept up, for another year, for another decade, for another century… What would become of him then?
He was not someone capable of changing the world.
Night had completely fallen, and the raging flames of the training hall had dimmed and died as more fire-fighting disciples attended to it. Darkness enveloped the pair, interrupted only by the scant lanterns lit in far-off districts and the sparse pale moonlight that broke through the Jade Clouds above. Even in such scarce illumination, Feng could see the basilisk-green eyes of the female disciple clear as day.
Pitying him.
“Your end will be a tragic one if you do not change your ways, Young Master,” she warned. “Such compassion ill-leads the ambitions of any cultivator.”
How often had he heard someone tell him that? Compassion by itself was not necessarily a weakness. Under the right hands and circumstances, it could be wielded to extract loyalty and value from others, a tool like any other emotion.
But kindness without gain? That was a worthless trait, a chain around any practitioner’s neck.
A cultivator must be — above all else — greedy. Selflessness has no place in the Path to Immortality. Their world — their Age of Cultivators — was one defined by Hunger, as decreed by His Perverse Majesty. The Eternal Banquet leaves no other choice with its blatant encouragement of Cultivation through Cannibalism.
Selfishness was the only way to live. A Cultivator may kill, steal, or even eat their fellow practitioners without guilt so long as the act benefits their advancement.
But what did that matter to him? If such logical reasoning could have swayed the Weight in his Heart, he would have succumbed to the realities of the world long ago and conformed to its cruelties already.
Surely, his life would be easier then…
…
And yet…
“The world already has enough hunger in it, Senior Sister Jin,” Feng finally said, tone melancholic. “There is no need to add mine to it. It is hard to explain, but I…”
His silent Heart tingled, and as Feng glanced to the side of the path, the vision of that blood-haired Devil had returned. Watching him. There was no judgment in her Jade-shaded gaze, only the ever-present dead stare that better suits a corpse than a woman.
He ignored her.
The Young Master considered explaining his condition — that troubling sense of guilt that had housed itself within his unmoving Heart ever since the day he made his first Step into cultivation. He thought about his supposed Heart Devil and the inexplicable nature of its existence.
There were no words he could find that could convey the depth of his Heart’s demands — not in a way that would not have the disciple cast doubt on his sanity, at least — so instead, he smiled at Jin helplessly.
“It is simply another form of selfishness. I am who I am, and what I am is a fool.”
Chains. Nails. Teeth. A single jade eye staring at him, the light in it long faded.
How long has it been since he last saw her smile?
Feng closed his eyes, thoughts drifting off to the damning, incomprehensible dream: one that always showed that strange woman he never met. One that always brought an inexplicable, intolerable feeling of heartache. They shared a quiet moment of contemplation, enjoying the serenity of the night sky.
When Feng heard Sister Jin take a step towards him, he opened his eyes.
The woman stood before him. Towered over him. Like most Split-headed Carnivores in the Body Tempering Realm, she was taller than most men. Through her training and Cultivation Path, the Sect had crafted the female disciple into becoming taller, stronger, and more physically imposing than most other cultivators.
The Path had also made them beautiful beyond compare. It smoothened their skin to an impossible silkiness, made it pure-pale until its radiance rivalled that of Jade Moonlight. Their bodies, muscular yet undeniably feminine, were akin to marbled sculptures. The force of their beauty consumed all who laid eyes on them, and its extent was only matched by the predatory hunger they carried.
Sister Jin’s allure did not compare to Lianshi’s, who existed as the unrivalled jewel of the Split-Headed Carnivores Sect.
But that did not mean the cultivator before him was unattractive. Even among the fabled and distinguished beauties of her Sect, the senior disciple's loveliness was unquestionably first-rate.
Near as she was now — with the two of them utterly alone, and her indecent intent completely focused upon him — the tenacious will of the Young Master faltered.
“Well, selfish or not, I cannot say I disapprove of your character,” Sister Jin murmured. “And if we were to speak of character, I would like to believe mine is not so uncharitable as to not return a favour done.”
She gave a cautious glance around, and — upon confirming there was no one else nearby — leaned down toward him. Her voice lowered into a whisper, hot with sweet desire and carnal promises.
“Allow me to settle my debt, Young Master.”
Split-Headed Carnivores Sect, Part 2
Cultivators naturally become more attractive as they ascend. Having their impurities expelled from their bodies and their musculature refined by Spiritual advancement, their physical forms reflect the state of their cultivated soul and are sculptured into never-before-seen heights of human beauty.
However, even amongst such esteemed companies, the loveliness of the Split-headed Carnivores is well-renowned throughout the Northern Outer Provinces and beyond. Their features are striking to behold, with each bodily detail and facial facet appearing as alluring as an unsullied jewel under pale moonlight.
Skin that glows with a soft opalescent sheen, shifting in hues of deep twilight shimmers. Eyes of slit-shaped pupils, their myriad colours set amidst hypnotic pools of deep amber. Hair that flows like liquid silk, tinted only in the darkest shades of midnight azure. Bodies of unsurpassed temptations, irresistible even to the most chaste of mortal men.
All female disciples, regardless of origins or looks before they joined the Sect, would eventually come to possess these features, forced upon them by the passive influence of their chosen Path, such that they might better lure willing prey into their voracious jaws.
– Excerpt from A Citizen’s Guide to the Flesh-Grafted Empire
