Ultimate Villain's Return as a Doctor in the Cultivation World-Chapter 46 - Dark Side of Cultivation World

Understanding crashed through her.

Her eyes widened. Face flushed. But—

She dropped to her knees without hesitation.

From this low angle, looking up at him—his perfect body haloed by dawn light, scales glittering, cock massive and divine even while softening—

He looked like a god demanding worship.

And she would worship.

Her trembling hands reached up, gently cupping his heavy balls, feeling their weight, their heat. Then she wrapped delicate fingers around his shaft, lifting it toward her face.

It was huge. Even soft, it dwarfed her hands. And the smell—

Musk. Sex. Power. Mixed with Lianhua’s ass and his cum.

It should have been disgusting.

Instead, it made her pussy clench with need.

She opened her mouth, tongue extending, and began to lick.

"Slllrrrpp~... mmmmh~..."

Starting at the base, she dragged her tongue up his shaft, tasting everything—the fox woman’s violation, his divine essence, the mixture of fluids that marked his dominance.

"Mmmmmph~... shlurp~... haaahhh~..."

She licked reverently, carefully, like cleaning a sacred artifact. Her tongue traced the dragon scales on his shaft, feeling their texture, worshipping every inch.

When she reached the head, she wrapped her lips around it and sucked.

"SLLLLUUUURRRPPP~!!"

"Mmmmmppphhh~!!"

Cum and juices flooded her mouth—thick, salty, overwhelming—and she swallowed obediently, eyes never leaving his face.

His hand came to rest on her head. Not forcing. Just... claiming. Possessive.

"Tell me about your family," he said conversationally, as if she wasn’t currently worshipping his cock with her mouth. "Your problems. I will solve them."

She pulled off his cock with a wet POP, gasping.

"I—my family—"

Her voice shook. The nightmare flashed through her mind. Her father’s death. Her mother’s desperation. The sect elder’s cruelty.

"The marriage—" She forced the words out while continuing to lick his shaft. "—wasn’t real~ slurp~ It was a trap~ mmmh~ To steal my father’s business~ gluck~"

Her tongue wrapped around his cock, sliding down to his balls, and she took one into her mouth, sucking gently while looking up at him with desperate, pleading eyes.

"Mmmmppphhh~ Elder Song~ slllrrpp~ planned to make me a concubine~ mmmmh~ Just another body~ haaahhh~ they are wolves."

Hearing her pleading and cries, Cang just sighed as he knew the truth of power, unlike naive people who think power doesn’t corrupt. He breathed and simply thought.

’Wujang Sect... how low are those trashy bastards...’

While far away in the distant background,

The Wujang Sect’s Grand Hall reeked of incense, alcohol, and sweat.

Red lanterns cast flickering shadows across carved pillars depicting dragons and phoenixes—symbols of righteousness and virtue that mocked everything happening beneath them.

The banquet tables were laden with delicacies: roasted spirit beast meat, wines aged for centuries, fruits that glowed with residual spiritual energy. Enough wealth to feed a mortal village for years, wasted on a single night’s debauchery.

And at the center of it all, seated on elevated thrones arranged in a semicircle, were the Elders.

Seven of them. All Mid Qi Condensation Realm cultivators. Powerful enough to rule mortal kingdoms, wealthy enough to buy cities, corrupt enough to make demons look principled.

They wore traditional cultivation robes—flowing silk in sect colors of deep purple and gold, embroidered with rank insignias. The picture of respectability.

If you ignored everything else.

Elder Song sat at the highest throne, center position just below the Patriarch’s seat. He was ancient—pushing three hundred years old, face weathered like cracked leather, long white beard stained yellow from decades of smoking spirit herb pipes. His robes hung open, exposing a skeletal chest covered in age spots.

Between his legs, a woman knelt.

She was beautiful in that broken way—maybe forty years old, wearing the remnants of what had once been expensive silk robes, now torn strategically to expose her body. Her face was a mask of defeated resignation as she performed her "duty."

The obscene sounds of her service mixed with the general din of the feast.

Around the hall, Core Disciples and Inner Disciples lounged at lower tables. Younger men, ranging from late teens to thirties, all at various cultivation levels from Qi Condensation to early Foundation Establishment.

And scattered among them—

Women.

Some wore the diaphanous silks of professional courtesans, their presence here voluntary (or at least compensated). They draped themselves over disciples, laughed at crude jokes, poured wine with practiced grace.

But others—

Others wore the haunted expressions of people who had no choice. Serving girls in torn robes. "Guest" women from merchant families who’d offended the sect. Widows of rivals. Daughters offered as "tribute" to avoid sect retribution.

The sounds that filled the hall were a symphony of depravity:

Drunken laughter. Crude jokes. Casual cruelty.

And beneath it all—muffled crying. Pleading. The wet sounds of violation happening in shadowed alcoves and behind silk screens.

"More wine!" One disciple bellowed, slamming his cup down hard enough to crack the table.

A serving girl—maybe sixteen, eyes red from crying—hurried forward with a pitcher. Her hands shook so badly she nearly spilled it.

"Clumsy bitch!" The disciple grabbed her wrist, yanking her forward. "Maybe you need a lesson in proper service—"

"Hahaha! Take her to the back rooms!"

"Make sure she learns her place!"

The other disciples at his table laughed as he dragged the sobbing girl away.

No one intervened. No one even looked twice.

This was normal here.

The Center Table

At one particular table near the elders, a scene played out that would have been shocking anywhere else.

A woman lay across the table itself, replacing the centerpiece. Completely naked, positioned on her back, limbs arranged like a serving platter.

She was young—maybe twenty-five—with the refined features and soft hands of someone who’d never known hard labor. Likely a merchant’s daughter or minor noble’s wife. Tribute to the sect. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

Disciples sat around her, eating and drinking while using her body as furniture.

One used chopsticks to pluck a piece of glazed spirit beast meat from a plate resting on her stomach. As he lifted it, he deliberately let the chopsticks drag across her skin, leaving a trail of sauce.

Another set his wine cup directly on her chest, between her breasts, laughing as she flinched from the cold porcelain.

"She’s not even that pretty," one disciple commented, using his chopsticks to poke at her breast, making the flesh jiggle. "Too thin. Sect Master Song’s new acquisition is supposed to be much better."

"Oh? The merchant girl? What’s her name again?"

"Something Zhao... Liling? Liling."

"Right, right. Heard she’s got a nice body. Perky tits, good breeding hips."

The woman on the table squeezed her eyes shut, fresh tears sliding down her temples. Listening to them discuss another woman’s upcoming fate while using her own body as a dinner plate.

One disciple, drunker than the others, used his chopsticks to spread her legs slightly, exposing her completely shaved pussy.

"Well-trained," he observed clinically, like examining livestock. "Whoever prepared her did good work."

"She’s from that courtesan house the sect ’acquired’ last month," another explained. "They know how to break them in properly."

The woman’s face showed no reaction. She’d learned that responding—even flinching—only made things worse.

So she lay there. A piece of furniture. A serving platter. Less than human.

At the highest seat, above even the elders, sat Patriarch Wu Jianlong.

Peak Foundation Establishment cultivation. Two hundred and seventy years old. Sect master for the past century, having murdered his way to the position through a combination of assassination, blackmail, and strategic alliance-breaking.

He was handsome in that ageless way powerful cultivators achieved—appearing maybe forty despite his true age, with sharp features, long black hair bound in a topknot, and cold eyes that showed no mercy.

His robes were the finest—deep purple silk embroidered with golden dragons, a symbol of his authority.

And between his legs, servicing him with mechanical efficiency—

A woman who’d once been too good for this.