Ultimate Villain's Return as a Doctor in the Cultivation World-Chapter 214- Taking them Again

His voice carried in the realm the same way it carried outside — the flat, present, Nascent Soul Mid Stage ambient carry of someone whose voice did not need to perform.

They looked at him.

"Tight," he said. ’simple." He paused. "With easy access."

He said the last two words the way he said everything — the flat, clinical, completely un-performed delivery of a man stating a specification.

One of the women raised her hand.

The flat, present, slightly-forward raise of a woman who had information and was offering it.

He looked at her.

"I know how to stitch," she said. "I have done it since I was eight years old."

He noted her. Eye of Truth filed: Core Formation Mid, mid-twenties, the woman who had been at position six in the second twelve’s line. Her name — he had not asked. He had not asked most of their names. He had asked one.

"Good," he said.

He gestured at the forest.

"All the natural materials you need are there," he said. "The realm provides. Take what the forest has. Build what you want to build. This—" He looked at the three castles, at the waterfall, at the springs, at the specific, open, enormous, full-world scale of the realm. "—is yours. Create your own place."

They were looking at him.

He looked back at them.

"Go," he said.

They looked at the realm.

They looked at each other.

Then — the specific, flat, present, forward-motion dispersal of twenty-four women who had been given both permission and direction and were executing both — they moved.

Not all together. Not organized. The natural, individual, compass-heading dispersal of twenty-four women each going toward whatever in the realm had been the specific thing in her visual inventory that had produced the most compelling response.

The waterfall drew six.

The castles drew eight.

The forest drew five.

The hot springs drew three.

The remaining two were the stitching woman and her immediate volunteer, already heading toward the forest with the flat, forward, practical walk of women who had a project.

He watched them go.

He was still holding the Chief.

He had not stopped holding the Chief.

His hand was still at the small of her back — the flat, warm, present hand that had been there since the realm door — and she was still there, in the specific, haven"t-moved-yet quality of a woman who had watched the twenty-four disperse and was standing in the remaining space.

He looked at the hot spring.

He looked at the Chief.

"Should we walk," he said.

Not a question. The flat, present, already-decided delivery of a man who had assessed the destination and was moving.

He pulled her.

The spring was warm.

The specific, warm, mineral-dense, ambient-qi-saturated, Herb Integration-seeded water of a hot spring that had been prepared for exactly this purpose — the flat, present, full-body warmth of water that was at the specific, optimal, meridian-support temperature and had been at that temperature since before they arrived.

Steam.

The light morning steam of a spring in a realm whose air was cooler than the spring, the flat, low-lying, warm, morning-light-catching steam that rose from the surface and moved with the specific, slow, ambient drift of air that was not hurrying.

He walked into it.

She followed.

Not pulled — following, the specific, present, decided-on-her-own follow of a woman who had watched the spring from the door and had made a decision about it before they started walking.

The water received them.

The flat, warm, comprehensive, full-body reception of a spring that was at the correct temperature — the specific, present, all-at-once warmth that arrived at every surface simultaneously when a body entered warm water, the warm, present, meridian-support sensation of a cultivator entering prepared cultivation water.

She made a sound.

"—’Aaahnn~...’—" Low. Long. The specific, involuntary, completely un-managed sound of a body receiving warmth at every surface at once after five days of clearing work.

He sat.

The flat, present, ledge-finding sit of someone who knew the spring’s floor and was using it — the submerged stone ledge at the spring’s inner edge, the specific, flat, stable surface of it.

He pulled her.

The flat, present, backward pull — her backward, toward him, the specific, settling-into-place pull of someone establishing an arrangement.

She settled.

The specific, warm, full-contact, front-to-back settling of a woman who had been pulled into a lap in warm water and whose body had filed the arrangement and had begun the specific, involuntary, forward-rolling, sinking response of a body receiving upward pressure from below.

She sank.

Slowly.

The specific, incremental, present, full-depth sinking of a woman whose body had done this before and was doing it now in water and was reporting the warm-water variation with the specific, modified, water-amplified quality of a familiar sensation in a new medium.

Her body lurched.

Not forward — the specific, full-vertical, spine-extending lurch of a woman whose internal architecture had just received information from the relevant location and was filing it at full, honest, upward volume.

"—’HAANN~!!!’—"

His hands found her hips.

Both of them — the flat, full-palm, warm-water grip of both palms at the specific, familiar, wide-and-warm geometry of her hips, and his fingers closing with the flat, present, non-negotiable hold of someone who had established the position and was keeping it.

She was crying.

He noted this.

Not the breakthrough tears — the specific, quiet, present, thin-line tears of a woman whose face had done something she had not asked her face to do.

She was looking at the water.

At the spring’s surface.

At the flat, warm, steam-carrying, morning-light-present surface of a cultivated hot spring in a realm she had not known existed this morning.

He pulled her hips.

Down.

The flat, present, full-depth pull of someone communicating the geometry.

"—’AAAHN~!!!’—"

He looked at the side of her face.

At the tears.

At the specific, amber-eyed, present, wet quality of a woman who was here and was also somewhere else simultaneously.

She was thinking about Haji.

He knew this.

The Eye of Truth did not read thoughts — it read meridian states and cultivation levels and energy configurations. But he had been alive for three thousand years in the previous cycle and he had been doing this for five days in this one and he could read a woman’s face at range without the Eye of Truth’s help.

She was thinking about eleven years.

He leaned forward.

His mouth found her neck.

The flat, warm, present, full-lip contact of someone addressing the specific, available skin of the junction below her ear — not a bite, not the marking bite, the warm, present, covering contact of someone who had decided the location was the location.

He bit her nipple.

The flat, deliberate, present bite — his hand coming forward first, the warm mass of her in his palm, and then his mouth finding the specific, present, warm, available point with the flat, teeth-and-lip, deliberate bite of someone who knew exactly where they were going.

"—’KYAAANGHHH~!!!’—"

His other hand: the specific, warm, full-palm, comprehensive hold of the other one, fingers closing, molding, the flat, present, thorough work of a hand that had five days of architecture and was applying it.

Her tears were still on her face.

He could feel them — the specific, warm, thin, present trace of tears on her cheek at the angle his face was at.

He pulled her hips again.

CLAP.

"—’HAANN~!!!’—"

"What a good—" he said.

The flat, low, present, matter-of-fact tone of a man making an observation.

He chuckled.

His hands gripped.

CLAP CLAP CLAP.

"—’AAAHN~!!! HAANN~!!! AHN~!!!’—"