Days bled into nights within the secluded valley, establishing a rhythm that was as deceptive as it was depraved. To the untrained eye, or indeed to the innocent eyes of Yue Lingshan, the cave dwelling had become a bustling hub of cultivation and mutual support—a sanctuary for refugees of a fallen sect. But beneath that veneer of righteous camaraderie lay a web of shadows, lust, and absolute domination spun by one man.
The dynamic in the cave dwelling had stabilized, settling into a pattern that Wang Jian found immensely satisfying. He had his public face, the doting husband and wise leader, and his private reality, the master of a harem that spanned cultivation realms and social statuses.
One afternoon, seeking a break from his own cultivation, Wang Jian wandered into the armory section of the dwelling. It was a cold, quiet room lined with stone racks, filled with weapons looted from their various conquests. The air smelled of cold steel and oil.
