Chapter 205 | Beneath the Crimson Uniform

Chapter 205: 205 | Beneath the Crimson Uniform

"Wait..."

Qing’s fingers tightened on Lin Tian’s shoulders. Her voice came out thin, stripped of the sharp edge that usually made Inner Sect disciples freeze in their tracks.

"The outer pathways are calm enough," she whispered, keeping her face turned slightly toward the dim corner of the room so she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. "You can step back now."

Lin Tian did not move.

Standing between her knees as she leaned against the edge of the ironwood table, he kept his left palm against the small of her back. Through the stiff crimson cloth of her martial uniform, he could feel every tight breath she took—and the violent, erratic pulse of the Lethal Fire-Poison still coiled around her lower Dantian.

Insight Eye.

The surface fire in her arm and shoulder meridians had indeed retreated under his initial touch. But five years of toxic accumulation had formed three dense, knotted clusters along her central spine and just below her navel. Because his Yang Qi had blocked the upper pathways, the trapped poison was now pressing downward against her lower abdomen, trying to reclaim its ground.

"Is that what you call calm, Instructor?" Lin Tian asked quietly.

He eased the flow of Yang from his left palm.

Instantly, the coiled poison in her lower abdomen lashed back. A sharp, scorching cramp twisted through her core.

"Nngh—!"

Qing’s head dropped forward against her collarbone. Her knees gave out completely, leaving her weight resting on the edge of the desk and the solid brace of his body between her thighs.

Lin Tian restored the steady stream of Primordial Yang at once, smoothing the cramp away before it could tear at her veins.

"The poison has been feeding on your cultivation for five years," Lin Tian said, his voice low against her hair. "Pushing it back from your wrist only drives it toward your spine and Dantian. If I leave it bunched there, tonight’s flare-up will be twice as bad as last night’s."

Qing bit the inside of her lip hard.

As a Peak Foundation martial master, she knew her own body’s meridians. She knew he was telling the truth. Yet the method he was using—pressing her against the table while his hands burned through her clothes—felt far more dangerous to her sanity than the poison itself.

"This robe is blocking half the transfer," Lin Tian said.

His right hand rose to the high, collar of her crimson robe.

Qing’s eyes snapped open. She caught his wrist by instinct.

"What are you doing?"

"Opening the outer layer so my palm can reach the three spinal acupoints," Lin Tian replied calmly, looking straight into her eyes. "Unless the Head Referee prefers I force five times more Yang through the robe and heat the entire room until the stewards outside smell it?"

The mention of the stewards waiting in the corridor made Qing’s face burn.

Her fingers lingered around his wrist for three tense heartbeats. Every rule she had lived by told her to shove him away and endure the agony alone.

Then the memory of five years of sleepless, burning nights collided with the intoxicating relief pouring from his palm.

Slowly, her grip loosened. Her hand dropped back to the edge of the table.

"Only... only the outer," she said, her voice barely audible. "Do not go further than the meridians require."

"Of course, Instructor."

Lin Tian’s fingers worked the brass clasps at her neck without hurry. One by one, the tight collar opened, followed by the heavy crimson belt at her waist.

When he parted the robe and slid it back off her shoulders, the cool air of the chamber met the thin, sweat-dampened white silk of her inner tunic. The fabric clung tightly to the firm, athletic lines of her waist and the full, heaving curve of her chest.

Qing crossed her arms slightly by instinct, her neck and ears crimson, before forcing her hands back to the table. She was a warrior, not a timid girl—yet under his calm golden gaze, she felt more exposed than if she had walked onto the arena stage without a sword.

"Turn around and brace your hands on the table," Lin Tian instructed. "I need the line of your back straight."

Qing hesitated for a breath, then turned her back to him and placed both palms flat on the dark ironwood, leaning forward slightly. Her high black ponytail spilled over one shoulder, leaving the pale skin of her nape bare.

Lin Tian stepped in close behind her.

He did not rush to touch her skin. Instead, he placed his right thumb at the base of her neck and his left palm at the center of her back.

Primordial Yin-Yang Imperial Sutra.

A pure, concentrated current of golden Yang heat, guided with pinpoint precision through her acupoints.

Thump.

The first knot of Fire-Poison beneath her shoulder blades met his palm and dissolved like frost under a branding iron.

"Ah...!"

A sharp, involuntary sound slipped past Qing’s lips before she could bite it back.

Her spine arched inward. The relief was so sudden and intense that it bypassed pain entirely, turning into syrupy warmth that radiated outward through her ribs and down into her chest.

Lin Tian’s hands moved lower, his thumbs pressing firmly along either side of her spine in a slow, deliberate massage.

Inch by inch, he drove the scorching Yang essence down her back, chasing the retreating poison.The thin white tunic was already damp with her sweat, offering almost no barrier to the heat of his calloused palms.

"Your muscles are tighter, Instructor," Lin Tian murmured near her ear, his chest brushing lightly against her shoulder blades as he worked the middle of her back. "If you keep bracing against me, the energy won’t settle."

"I am... not..." Qing panted, her forehead dropping low over the table.

Every time his thumbs pressed a meridian point along her lower back, a strange shock shot straight through her, making her thighs tremble inside her martial boots.

Her Divine Valkyrie Body—built for endurance and physical sensitivity—was reacting to his pure Yang with a ferocity that terrified her. The chronic ache was gone, replaced by a hollow, throbbing heat between her legs that grew wetter with every pass of his hands.

"Two left," Lin Tian said softly. "Both are settled near the front of your lower Dantian."

Before Qing could ask what he meant, both of his hands slid from her lower back around the curve of her waist.

She gasped sharply as his warm palms slipped beneath the hem of her damp white inner tunic, touching the bare, feverish skin of her stomach for the first time.

His fingers splayed wide across her flat, toned lower abdomen, just below her navel—stopping precisely at the boundary above her waistband.

Skin to skin, the transfer of Primordial Yang multiplied tenfold.

"Haaah—mmph!"

Qing clapped one hand over her own mouth to muffle the cry that tore from her throat.

Her head fell back against Lin Tian’s chest, her tall body slumping completely into his hold. With her back pressed flush against his torso and his bare hands burning against her lower stomach, the Irresistible Yang Scent wrapped around her senses until she couldn’t think straight.

Lin Tian’s thumbs moved in slow, firm circles over the acupoints beneath her navel, pressing deep waves of golden heat straight into the root of her Dantian where the Fire-Poison hid.

Inside her, the beast poison shrieked and shriveled, unable to withstand direct contact with his ancient Yang foundation.

Yet as the poison burned away, the sensitive nerves of her lower abdomen and womb absorbed the excess warmth. Her hips gave a tiny, involuntary jerk against his hands. Her breathing turned hot and erratic behind her palm, and her thighs pressed tightly together to fight the unbearable ache pooling at her core.

"Look at the strict Head Referee," Lin Tian’s low voice vibrated against her temple as his fingers worked the last knot of tension beneath her skin. "One touch on your stomach, and your legs can barely hold you up."

"Shut... shut up..." Qing breathed through her fingers, her eyes squeezed shut, her cheeks burning hotter than any furnace. "Just... finish suppressing it..."

She hated how weak her voice sounded. Worse, she hated that when his fingers brushed an inch lower along the edge of her waistband, her body didn’t want him to stop—it wanted him to push further.

Lin Tian felt the violent hammering of her pulse beneath his palms and watched the crimson runes in his vision confirm that the three major poison clusters had been driven into deep dormancy—roughly sixty percent of the surface toxicity neutralized in a single session.

He gave one final, firm press below her navel, sending a warm pulse of stabilizing Yang through her meridians, and then slowly slid his hands out from beneath her tunic.

The loss of contact hit Qing like a bucket of cold water.

She stood frozen for two breaths, leaning heavily against the table, her chest heaving beneath the damp white silk while her body trembled from the lingering aftershocks of the heat.

When the haze in her mind cleared enough for her to realize what she had just allowed—standing half-undressed in the Chamber, moaning against a representative’s chest while his bare hands massaged her stomach—she pulled her crimson robe closed as if she had been burned.

[Target 5 (Instructor Qing) Obsession Level: 43% → 48% (Deep Physical Dependence & Flustered Submission)]

Lin Tian stepped back two paces, returning to the exact spot where a respectful disciple should stand, his expression calm and unbothered.

"That will keep the Fire-Poison quiet until we reach the City," Lin Tian said evenly. "Though the deepest root is wrapped around your Dantian core. Hands alone won’t reach that part when it wakes again."

Qing kept her back to him as she fastened her belt and collar with fingers that still refused to stay completely steady.

"The... the record update is complete," she said, her voice hoarse as she tried and failed to recover her cold referee tone. "Leave. And do not speak a word of this inspection to anyone."

"Of course, Instructor Qing," Lin Tian said with a slight smile in his voice. "Rest well."

The chamber door opened and closed softly behind him.

Left alone in the quiet room, Instructor Qing slowly sank into the chair behind the table and pressed both palms over her burning face—knowing full well that the ache between her legs had nothing to do with poison anymore.