Reverend Obscenity-Chapter 12: Show Cancelled

In the Nether Blossom Sect's secluded pool, the evening air was thick with lotus incense, crimson runes on black jade walls pulsing faintly.

Fengyang lingered alone, shirtless, his skin slick with sweat and water from his second bath, taken after a day of toiling cultivation.

Moments earlier, he'd taken his pleasure with Lian Xue, her breathless moans fading as she slipped into the sect's shadows, leaving him to recline against the pool's edge.

Crimson mist flickered, and Huo Yan materialized, his skeletal grin wide, crimson eyes glinting. "How was her taste, brat?" he cackled.

Fengyang smirked, water dripping from his muscled torso. "Sweeter than Meiyin's tears, geezer, but not enough to cloud my head."

Huo Yan drifted closer, tattered robes swaying. "Oh? You plowed Xingchen's spy and think you're clear? Ballsy or brainless, which is it? Not like I mind, since I got myself a show."

"She offered herself, geezer. It was presumptuous of me to refuse." Fengyang's tone was coy, his fingers trailing through the water. "So tell me old man, could her lust be flared seeing Meiyin's ravaged state every day and want to have a taste, herself?"

Something's off, Fengyang mused, his smirk fading. Lian Xue didn't drain my Yang. I fucked her because it was safe, even so why would she offer herself like that? Xingchen's scheme, or her own lust?

He considered Xingchen using her to distract him, or Lian Xue testing his prowess after Meiyin's enslavement.

Unbeknownst to him, Xingchen's true plan was to slow his cultivation, fearing Fengyang would renege on sharing Meiyin once he reaches Foundation Establishment realm.

If he knew their worry, he'd mumble inwardly, I'd give her up anyway—friendship with a Gu clan young master trumps hoarding a whore who's spread her legs for who-knows-how-many.

He remained unaware that he was the only man Meiyin had ever bedded.

She had denied others not out of fidelity, but because her cultivation technique—the Pure Yang Devouring Art—bound her exclusively to his essence.

His was the only Yang potent enough to sustain her path, making him her sole partner by necessity, not by choice.

Huo Yan snorted, "That's for you to unravel, brat. I'm here for the show, not to babysit your scheming arse."

Hours later, the Nether Blossom Sect's private chambers exuded dark elegance, black jade pillars etched with crimson runes casting a faint glow in the evening's fading light.

Lotus incense coiled through the air, weaving past silken drapes and a low ebony table, its scent heavy with intrigue.

Beyond the chamber, an adjacent courtyard bloomed with nether night flowers, their blood-red petals catching the amber hues of dusk, a warm breeze stirring the sect's shadowed halls.

Fengyang lounged on a cushioned mat, shirtless, his skin full of sweat beads. His qi pulsed faintly, the Nine Yang Ignition Technique warming his sculpted torso, the 4th Stage of Qi Condensation a steady ember in his dantian.

He settled cross-legged, channeling the Nine Yang Ignition Technique. His qi swirled like molten fire, each breath stoking heat in his core.

The chamber's walls hummed faintly, their runes pulsing in sync with his focus, amplifying his cultivation.

Meiyin's return from sect duties was hours away, and Fengyang's discipline held firm—cultivation was his anchor, unbroken except for baths and sleep.

Yet the monotony gnawed, his qi strong but useless without combat skills to wield it.

Restlessness stirred, and Fengyang broke his meditation, voice cutting through the incense.

"Geezer, why not teach me a new technique? This cultivation's dull without attack, defense, or movement skills."

Huo Yan materialized, sneering, his crimson eyes narrowed. "Technique, eh? You don't even know basic martial arts, and you're greedy for offensive, defensive, and maneuvering skills? Brat, your ambition's like a pig eyeing a dragon's hoard."

Fengyang swallowed his retort, aware that pressing Huo Yan further would yield nothing but scorn. Old Ghost is unreliable to teach him basics. He need to find a way on his own.

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His thoughts swirled, weighing possibilities, until he recalled the servants' jubilation when Meiyin advanced to the Core Formation Realm.

A slow grin spread across his face, cunning and deliberate.

Why beg this old bastard when I've got an expert enslaved? Meiyin's mine—she'll teach me.

He relished the petty revenge on Huo Yan, canceling the night "show."

Let the old pervert sulk, he snickered inwardly.

Unfortunately, Old Ghost couldn't sense Fengyang's musings.

He only stirred when spectacle unfolded or Fengyang roused him deliberately.

Otherwise, he slumbered within the ring. The idle wretch lived solely for entertainment.

Night tolled, and Meiyin entered, her crimson robes clinging to her curves, raven hair unraveling from its bun.

Her eyes gleamed with lustful expectation, ready for Fengyang's usual demands. Instead, he rose, voice firm.

"You're not getting my sword tonight, Meiyin. Teach me basic martial arts—now."

Her brows lifted, surprise flickering, but she nodded, her composure steady.

Huo Yan, roused for the anticipated show, gaped, his jaw dropping, crimson eyes flashing betrayal.

"Brat, you'd ditch lust for this? Night's for fucking, day's for toiling!" he snarled, mist swirling furiously.

Fengyang ignored him, leading Meiyin to the courtyard.

Moonlight bathed the space, black jade pillars with crimson runes casting stark shadows, nether night flowers swaying in the chilling breeze.

His Nine Yang Ignition Technique kept him warm from cold of the night as he faced Meiyin.

Meiyin stood poised, her voice gentle yet carrying the warmth of an Orthodox Sect master guiding a cherished disciple, a striking irony for a demonic sect elder."What cultivation technique do you practice, Fengyang?"

"Nine Yang Ignition Technique," Fengyang replied, eyes narrowing at her tone, noting the kind authority in her words, so unlike a slave's deference.

"Tell me, how it works?," Meiyin said, her eyes keen, inviting explanation with a teacher's patient curiosity.

Fengyang exhaled slowly, his brows knit in concentration. "The Nine Yang Ignition Technique drives my qi like a blazing current through the meridians. Each cycle scorches the impurities from my channels and stokes the fire in my dantian. It tempers the body—bone, blood, and marrow—with heat, forging endurance and strength from within. But it's not a combat art—it's just to build robust foundation."

Meiyin considered his words, her expression thoughtful. "Your technique strengthens the body, laying a foundation with steady effort. To wield combat techniques, you need martial arts basics—stances, strikes, blocks, and footwork—which you have yet to learn."

Fengyang grunted, her insight cutting through his impatience.

"Let's start with stances," she continued, stepping into the moonlight. "They're the root of stability and balance."

She demonstrated the horse stance, legs wide, knees bent, back straight, arms at her hips, her crimson robes flowing.

"Root yourself—steady as a mountain." Her voice carried a master's weight, unwavering, her posture flawless.

Fengyang mimicked her, legs trembling under the strain. "Fucking hell," he muttered, sweat beading on his brow.

He persisted, his qi anchoring his balance, driven by her gaze.

Meiyin circled, her instruction precise. "Now the front stance."

She shifted, one leg forward, weight balanced, ready for strikes. "This is for power—strike like a tiger."

Her hands adjusted his posture, firm and unyielding, correcting his sloppy form with a master's touch.

Fengyang gritted his teeth, muscles burning as he mastered the shift.

Meiyin moved to the fighting stance, feet staggered, fists raised, body angled. "Stay light, ready to dodge or lunge," she commanded, circling him, her eyes sharp, her tone leaving no room for error.

His movements were clumsy, legs wobbling, but determination fueled him.

Over hours, Fengyang drilled the stances—horse, front, fighting—sweat dripping despite the breeze, his qi stabilizing his form.

Meiyin's teaching was relentless, her expertise undeniable, her tone that of a true master shaping a raw disciple.

Inside the demonic sect, she would've been merciless—cruel, even—but here, necessity tempered her edge.

Huo Yan hovered, sulking, his crimson mist swirling. "Ingrate! Skipping my show for this nonsense? You're a disgrace, brat!"

Fengyang stayed silent, smirking inwardly, savoring the ghost's frustration.

Unseen, Lian Xue passed by, her chestnut hair glinting under moonlight, her eyes narrowing as she hid behind a pillar.

Shock gripped her as she watched Fengyang and Meiyin, their figures silhouetted in the moonlight, training with focused intensity instead of surrendering to the carnal bliss that usually consumed them.

Young Master Gu and I underestimated this snake. He's no mere lecher—he's a devil weaving webs.

She assumed Fengyang had skipped the indulgences of the night to recover the cultivation time he'd squandered in the pool.

It made sense—after all, he had wasted precious hours on fleeting pleasures.

But what she didn't realize was that he wasn't plotting anything. Like any cultivator, he was simply doing his best to advance his realm, forging martial foundations and preparing to break through beyond Qi Condensation.

A cultivator without battle skills was barely above a mortal. That's why Fengyang had to start from the very beginning, learning combat techniques from the ground up—laying a foundation for skills he'd need to survive and progress in the harsh world of cultivation.

To her, however, it seemed like a scheme.

He's countering our scheme. Just as he had once turned the tides by enslaving Meiyin, he was now subtly shifting the balance in his favor.

She recalled Xingchen's tale of Fengyang's cunning—how, as a mere 1st stage Qi Condensation ant, a fledgling in the world of cultivation, he had managed to convince the young master to spare his life, even when the noose was tight around his neck.

With a clever offer, he not only secured his survival but also gained the means to topple Meiyin and subdue her. He had turned the danger into an opportunity.

Now he's a devil manipulating all. Was my seduction in vain? No—my cravings were sated, and Young Master wants me as his Xiao Huayan, shouldn't I be at least half as promiscuous as that bitch in the legends to be worthy of Young Master.

Her resolve hardened. I'll report this tonight—his wits currently outmatch mine. Only Young Master can outplay this demon.

Hours passed, and Fengyang's legs ached, but his stances grew steadier, a foundation laid. Meiyin nodded, her voice clipped. "Enough for tonight. You're not hopeless."

They retreated to Fengyang's chamber, where he collapsed on his mat, exhausted but satisfied, no sodomy occurring.

Meiyin curled up beside him, her breathing soft, a silent testament to his control.

Lian Xue hurried to her chambers, her mind racing with plans to report, her footsteps fading into the sect's shadows.

Fengyang lay still, his thoughts resolute. The cultivation path is crawling with enemies. The only way forward is to carve my own.

His determination to master martial arts burned bright, a step toward combat readiness, his ascent against the sect's schemes taking shape.

Huo Yan's voice a grumble. "No show, no fun. You're a dull brat tonight."

Fengyang smirked, eyes closing. Keep whining, geezer. I'm playing the long game.