The Peculiar Sect: Ling Xue Gui Ge

Outside the main hall, hundreds of controlled female disciples remained immobilized. They couldn't see what was happening inside, nor did they know the fate of their sect leader. All they could do was strain their ears to discern the sounds from outside, their hearts filled with terror and unease. The demonic cult's subordinates, following the Fifth Elder's orders, moved with methodical precision. One by one, they unfastened the female disciples from their restraints, removing the steel wires that had bound them and the wooden sticks from their backs. However, these disciples lacked even the strength to lift their arms – they had been force-fed a potent muscle-relaxant by the cult, leaving their bodies limp and powerless. They could barely stand without the cult members’ support, utterly at the mercy of their captors. Next, the cult members produced specially prepared ropes – reinforced with sinew and interwoven with metal threads, they were incredibly strong and difficult to break. They forced the disciples into position and began a meticulous binding process. First, their arms were forcibly twisted behind their backs. The upper arms and forearms were wrapped tightly, layer upon layer, leaving no gaps. The ropes were then extended upwards, securely connecting to the bindings on their backs, rendering their arms completely immobile. Following this, their hands were forced together in a prayer-like position. A sticky paste, thicker than any medicinal plaster, was then applied, sealing their hands together, preventing even a single finger from moving. The clasped position was rigidly fixed. The ordeal was far from over. The cult members then proceeded to bind the disciples' upper bodies, wrapping ropes from their shoulders to their waists in dense layers with immense force. The ropes dug deep into their clothing. Some of the more sadistic cult members deliberately tightened the ropes around their crotches, creating a makeshift rope-based undergarment. This subjected the female disciples to a dual torment of physical pain and profound humiliation. Their faces contorted with anguish and shame, but with their lips sealed and their bodies weak, they couldn't even utter a cry of pain. After securing their upper bodies, the cult members removed the white cloth shoes from the disciples' feet and began binding their legs. From their thighs to their calves, down to their ankles, even their feet were ensnared in a dense, spiderweb-like pattern of ropes, leaving no room for movement. Their big toes were bound together with thin, specialized cords, preventing even the slightest flexion. With each tightening of the ropes, the disciples' bodies trembled subtly, and despair flickered in their eyes. Their lips had already been sealed with adhesive, rendering them mute. As if this weren't enough, the cult members produced strips of cloth and wrapped them around their mouths, layer upon layer, before tying them securely at the back of their heads. This constricted their mouths and noses, muffling their already faint whimpers into even more indistinct sounds, leaving only the guttural groans of agony emanating from their throats. The cult members worked swiftly yet with unnerving meticulousness, binding each disciple in this terrifyingly dense manner before dragging them aside to lie on the ground. The gates of Lingxue Pavilion were now firmly under the cult's control. Even with the disciples bound and helpless, the cult members felt no fear of them escaping. Such bindings rendered them utterly incapable of breaking free, even if they had their full strength. Hundreds of female disciples watched in horror as their companions were bound in increasingly terrifying and restrictive ways, then dragged aside to lie on the ground. Their fear and despair intensified with each passing moment. Yet, they themselves were trapped, their bodies devoid of strength. All they could do was shake their heads desperately and emit muffled cries of pain, powerless to resist as their sect was overrun and their comrades were violated. Tears of humiliation and helplessness streamed silently down their faces. The perspective shifts back to the interior of Lingxue Pavilion's main hall. The heavy doors shut out all external sounds. The candlelight flickered within, casting their figures in an alternating play of light and shadow. Su Qingwan was pinned firmly to a long bench in the hall, her body weak and limp. A sharp pain coursed through her internal organs, her meridians in disarray, leaving her without the strength to even lift a hand. Yet, a sharp defiance and unwillingness burned in her eyes. She looked up at the Fifth Elder before her, her voice weak but still carrying a trace of pride: "You can't possibly escape back to the demonic cult with these hundreds of female disciples. Moreover, the cult's main force has already been wiped out by us. You are now fighting a lone battle. Surrender quickly, and there's still time!" Before she could regain her composure, the Fifth Elder leaned down, lifted her hand, and slowly removed the elegant patterned cloth shoes from her feet. Her gaze fell upon Su Qingwan's slender feet, clad in black silk with gilded patterns, which she wantonly toyed with and examined, her actions both frivolous and malicious. Su Qingwan, having always held a high position and possessed an unyielding spirit, had always been dignified and self-possessed, never having endured such a degrading and intimate humiliation. Shame and anger surged within her, her body instinctively twitching and recoiling as she tried to draw her feet back and break free. However, her limbs were weak and unresponsive, her body unable to obey her commands. She could only watch helplessly as the elder acted with impunity, utterly incapable of moving even an inch. Seeing her struggles were in vain, the Fifth Elder not only ceased but intensified her torment, her fingertips lightly tracing the soles of her feet, deliberately provoking and mocking her. The sect leader, who usually exuded an aura of cold elegance, unyielding pride, and imposing authority, could no longer withstand such an intimate touch. Despite her inner humiliation and unwillingness, she couldn't suppress the involuntary physiological response and let out a soft giggle. Even with her profound cultivation, extraordinary self-control, and a disposition far beyond that of ordinary people, the primal instincts of flesh and blood could never be completely suppressed by sheer force of will. After toying with her in this manner for a long time, the Fifth Elder finally stopped, her expression turning grim once more as she finally began the main task. She slowly rose and retrieved an exquisitely carved handcuff from a red and gold treasure chest beside her. The handcuff was adorned with intricate dark patterns, highlighted with gilded accents, exuding an exquisite yet chilling sense of restraint. She stepped forward, forcefully twisting Su Qingwan's arms behind her back, aligning her wrists, and securely locking them with the carved handcuff. With a click, it fastened, rendering her arms completely immobile and unable to bend. After locking Su Qingwan's wrists, the Fifth Elder took out an ancient-looking gourd from the treasure chest, its surface also etched with peculiar patterns. She uncorked it, and a strange aroma wafted out. Then, she slowly poured a viscous, glue-like liquid from the gourd onto Su Qingwan's small hands, which were covered in black silk. The liquid slowly spread along the patterns of the silk, covering her entire palms. Subsequently, she forcefully held Su Qingwan's hands, compelling her to clench her fists, leaving no gaps. In just a moment, Su Qingwan felt a tightening sensation in her hands. The viscous liquid gradually solidified, firmly bonding her fingers together. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't open her palms, forced to maintain a clenched fist, unable to move even her fingertips. Even so, the Fifth Elder remained unsatisfied. She scooped out more of the viscous liquid and carefully applied it to the outer sides of Su Qingwan's small, silk-clad hands, pressing the two clenched fists together and firmly pressing them down a few times to ensure they were completely adhered. Thus, Su Qingwan's two small, clenched fists were firmly joined, unable to be separated, completely losing their ability to move, leaving her entirely at the mercy of the Fifth Elder. The restraint did not end there. The Fifth Elder turned and retrieved a leather strip with interlocking clasps from the bottom of the treasure chest. The strip was made of tough material, embroidered with fine dark patterns on its surface, its edges inlaid with tiny metal beads. More importantly, the strip was coated with a layer of highly adhesive gel, comparable to the glue used to seal her lips earlier. It was clear from its appearance that the material was of superior quality and had a special purpose. She picked up the strip and began to tightly wrap it around Su Qingwan's wrists, encircling the two adhered, clenched fists and wrists. The force was immense, and with each wrap, she pulled tighter, allowing the strip to deeply embed itself into the black silk. The strong adhesive gel within firmly bonded to the silk and skin, leaving no room for looseness, completely restricting even the rotation of her wrists, rendering them utterly immobile. After finishing the wrapping, she took out a smooth, spherical metal casing from the bottom of the treasure chest. The casing had grooves that perfectly matched the patterns on the handcuff, its edges polished to a smooth finish, yet exuding a chilling metallic texture. She carefully placed Su Qingwan's wrapped fists into the metal sphere. With a gentle press, a soft click was heard as the metal sphere closed precisely, firmly securing the fists, fitting perfectly without any gaps. Next, she pressed down on a protrusion on the side of the metal sphere and gave it a slight twist. With another crisp click, the metal sphere seamlessly connected and firmly locked with the carved handcuff that had previously secured Su Qingwan's wrists, through a pre-set mechanism. This formed a complete restraint device, fixing her hands and wrists into a single, immobile unit. The Fifth Elder leaned close to Su Qingwan, her voice filled with pride and triumph, patiently and mockingly introducing, "Sect Leader Su, do not underestimate these items. This leather strip is tanned from the hide of a thousand-year-old spirit fox, reinforced with metal threads. It cannot be cut by a knife or torn by force. This metal sphere is forged from rare cold iron mixed with fine gold, making it incredibly hard. Combined with the mechanism linked to the handcuff, not only are you currently severely injured and your internal energy depleted, but even if you were to recover to your full strength and exert all your power, you would absolutely not be able to break free." The Fifth Elder, holding the peculiar white rope, slowly approached Su Qingwan. Disregarding her struggles and curses, she bent down and began to bind her. She started by wrapping the rope around the base of Su Qingwan's upper arms, each loop tighter than the last, with immense force. The rope dug deeply into the black silk sleeves and her skin. It then descended, wrapping around her elbows, then her forearms, each coil cinched so tightly there was no room for slack. Su Qingwan felt a piercing pain in her arms. The rope seemed alive, constricting ever tighter, as if her bones were about to snap. Even her meridians throbbed with pain. Though she had practiced martial arts since childhood and possessed a physique far superior to ordinary people, she couldn't help but furrow her brows and tremble slightly. She distinctly felt her arms were about to be dislocated, a dull ache and numbness spreading from her arms throughout her body, even her fingertips growing numb and completely losing sensation. She struggled desperately, only to feel the restraints tighten further, leaving her no possibility of movement. What made it even more agonizing was that her arms, from the very base of her shoulders, were firmly secured behind her by this strange rope. Even the slightest movement was incredibly difficult, let alone her fingers, which were bound so tightly they had lost all feeling. At this moment, her entire arms were as stiff as straight wooden sticks, with only the slightest bend possible at the shoulders. Yet, even this minute movement would pull at the constricted meridians and muscles, sending waves of excruciating pain through her, causing fine beads of cold sweat to form on her forehead and her body to tremble uncontrollably. Su Qingwan secretly felt fortunate. Having practiced martial arts since childhood, her physique far surpassed ordinary women, her bones and sinews tough. For any other woman, such extreme binding and pulling would have completely ruined her arms, severed her meridians, and left her permanently immobile. Yet, even so, the bone-piercing pain was almost unbearable. The sharpness in her eyes gradually gave way to agony, but she gritted her teeth, refusing to show any sign of surrender. The Fifth Elder, watching her painful but forced composure, smirked playfully. "Sect Leader Su," she began, "it's a shame you can't see it, as the rope is tied behind your back. But let me tell you, this rope is no ordinary thing." As soon as she spoke, Su Qingwan felt a faint warmth behind her. Then, the knots on her arms began to slowly melt. The distinct coils of the rope gradually merged together, leaving no gap. Simultaneously, the surface of the rope began to secrete a viscous fluid, sticking firmly to her black silk sleeves and skin. It was cold and sticky, impossible to shake off. The Fifth Elder leaned close to her ear, her voice full of boastfulness. "This rope is called the 'Spirit-Locking Coil.' It's forged from secret materials of the Demonic Cult, incredibly tough and impervious to water and fire. Once it binds you, it adheres tightly to your skin and cannot be removed on its own. Unless you use our Demonic Cult's special rope-loosening tool, even if you were at your full strength and struggled with all your might, you wouldn't be able to untie it. You would only tighten it further, causing you more pain." As she finished speaking, the Fifth Elder produced another special item from the crimson and gold treasure chest – a single-sleeved glove. Its material resembled fine stockings, thin yet incredibly resilient, unlike ordinary fabric. This single-sleeved glove was much longer than a normal one, not just covering the hand but extending from the fingertips all the way up, sufficient to encase her entire forearm, upper arm, and even reach her shoulder. Ignoring Su Qingwan's struggles and curses, she forcefully pulled the stocking-like glove onto Su Qingwan's bound arms, slowly drawing it up from the fingertips. She ensured the glove fit snugly against her skin and black silk sleeves, without a single wrinkle or gap. The moment it was fully on, the opening of the glove began to rapidly shrink and fuse, the edges instantly sealing together to form a complete tube, tightly encasing her arm from fingertip to shoulder, leaving no room for looseness. Su Qingwan felt an even stronger sense of constriction in her arms, heavier than the previous triple restraints. Her arms were secured even more firmly, rendering even the slightest movement impossible. What was even more unbearable was that the inside of this single-sleeved glove began to secrete a large amount of viscous liquid. It slowly seeped through the black silk sleeves, completely filling and bonding all the gaps between the glove and her skin, the glove and the previous rope, and the metal sphere. She could never have imagined such an outrageous sequence of actions. First, the carved handcuffs locking her wrists, then the metal sphere encasing her fists, followed by the leather straps and the Spirit-Locking Coil's multiple bindings, and now this single-sleeved stocking glove secreting viscous fluid. These four layers of restraint, stacked one upon another, were far more severe than she had ever imagined. Under this quadruple restraint, her hands were completely rendered "useless," forced to remain behind her, utterly immobile. Even the slightest bend of a finger became an impossible luxury. Su Qingwan had always been strong, never easily showing weakness even when severely injured or in dire straits. But now, the intense pain and pressure from the quadruple restraint made it impossible for her to maintain her composure. Her face was flushed red, cold sweat trickling down her cheeks, dampening her temples. Her body trembled uncontrollably. The suppressed pain finally erupted into involuntary moans of agony, escaping her throat. The sharpness and stubbornness in her eyes gradually gave way to an undeniable pain. The Fifth Elder, observing her agonizing state, flashed a sinister, wicked smile. She slowly reached out, her fingertips gently caressing Su Qingwan's arm, firmly encased by the single-sleeved glove. Her movements were soft, but her tone was filled with mockery and cruelty. As she caressed, she drawled, "Sect Leader Su, don't underestimate this seemingly delicate single-sleeved glove. Its material is extraordinary. Though it appears as thin and soft as a stocking on the outside, it is incredibly tough, impervious to knives and fire. It cannot be easily removed, nor can it be easily damaged. Even if you were at your full strength, you wouldn't be able to tear it even a little." The Fifth Elder's smile deepened, and she nodded slowly. She patted Qian Mian's shoulder, her tone full of satisfaction. "Well done." She then looked at Su Qingwan, who was still struggling futilely on the ground. A flicker of amusement crossed her eyes as she instructed Qian Mian, "Since everything outside is handled, escort our 'former sect leader' to the back hall. Keep a close watch on her, ensure she has no chance to move, and prevent anyone from discovering her." Qian Mian respectfully replied, "Yes," and turned to face Su Qingwan. She bent down and grabbed Su Qingwan's fists, which were encased in metal shells. The fists were tightly bound, stiff as rods. Qian Mian, gripping the cold metal, effortlessly dragged Su Qingwan up from the ground. Su Qingwan was bound in layers, her legs fused together, rendering her unable to stand. She could only be dragged by Qian Mian, her feet scraping against the cold floor with a harsh friction. The former sect leader of Lingxue Pavilion, once a formidable force who commanded respect throughout the martial arts world, a legendary figure who single-handedly defeated the four elders of the Demonic Cult, was now being dragged like a lifeless piece of cargo by an imposter, utterly devoid of dignity. She twisted her body desperately, emitting muffled groans from her throat, filled with unwillingness and rage, yet lacking the strength to resist. She could only be dragged by Qian Mian towards the back hall behind the main hall. With every drag, the ropes chafed her skin, causing piercing pain. Humiliation and despair washed over her once more. As Qian Mian dragged Su Qingwan into the shadows of the back hall, the Fifth Elder adjusted her red and black robes. The amusement on her face faded, replaced by a look of determination. She turned towards the heavy main hall doors. She raised her hand and pushed the doors open. As soon as a crack appeared, a cacophony of whimpers assaulted her ears. The scene that unfolded before her startled even herself, and she instinctively stopped. On the Lingxue Pavilion's plaza, the usual elegance was gone. Hundreds of Lingxue Pavilion female disciples were bound by the Demonic Cult's subordinates, stiff as human logs, densely packed across the entire plaza, stretching as far as the eye could see. The scene was spectacular, yet eerily unsettling. They were tightly wrapped in ropes, wires, and viscous fluids. Their arms were bound behind their backs, and their legs were fused together, making even the slightest bend impossible. They were as rigid as wooden sticks, only able to wriggle and struggle clumsily on the ground. Some disciples desperately twisted their torsos, only managing to roll slowly on the ground. Others forcefully kicked their fused legs, only to futilely rub in place, emitting faint scraping sounds. Still others desperately shook their heads, their throats producing muffled, desperate whimpers, their eyes filled with fear and helplessness. Hundreds of them wriggled and struggled in unison, their dense forms rising and falling across the plaza, like tightly bound segments of meat, pathetic and tragic. The chaotic whimpers and the sounds of their struggles mingled, echoing throughout Lingxue Pavilion. The Fifth Elder steadied herself, the shock in her eyes gradually receding, replaced by an indescribable sense of the bizarre. As the Fifth Elder of the Demonic Cult, she had spent her life in battle, participating in countless wars between righteous and demonic forces. She had witnessed fields strewn with corpses and rivers of blood, and had never feared any cruel scene. Yet, the sight before her sent an inexplicable chill down her spine. This was not the tragic grandeur of a battlefield, but something bone-chillingly strange. The ground was covered with the graceful figures of Lingxue Pavilion's female disciples. They, who should have been elegant and capable disciples of the righteous path, were now bound like stiff logs. Dressed in the sect's standard white tunics and black silk stockings, they were tightly wrapped in ropes, wires, and fluids. They could only wriggle clumsily on the ground, like a swarm of meat-worms, directionless and at the mercy of others. Their eyes were filled with defiance, and every movement was a desperate struggle, clearly an all-out effort to break free from their restraints, to escape this purgatory. However, it was impossible for the two to escape without punishment. Compared to the other imprisoned female disciples in the courtyard, Qingyao and Yurou were subjected to even tighter restraints, serving as a warning to anyone who dared to resist or flee. The demonic cult's subordinates stepped forward, roughly forcing the two onto the ground. They first bent their thighs and calves forcefully, binding them tightly together with thick ropes, rendering their legs completely unable to straighten. Immediately after, they bound their thighs to their torsos, wrapping layer upon layer of rope, constricting their bodies with immense tightness. In a moment, the two were bound into two "humanoid balls," their entire bodies completely encased in ropes, leaving not an inch of room for movement. They could no longer make any wriggling motions. The only parts that could perhaps be slightly moved were their toes, tightly bound together, and their hands behind their backs, bundled into a small ball and only able to sway slightly – those hands, wrapped in layers of leather and rope, had long lost their ability to move, and any swaying was futile. This restraint was even more severe than before. They had completely become immobile "humanoid balls," lacking even the strength to struggle, left entirely to the mercy of others, enveloped by utter humiliation and despair. Qingyao and Yurou exchanged glances. Without a word, they knew how painful their current physical sensations were. The ropes on their bodies bit into their skin, the cotton in their mouths made breathing difficult, and the soreness and humiliation intertwined, making every second an agony. But they were firmly bound, their lips resealed, unable to utter even a word of comfort. They could only convey their helplessness and unwillingness through the meeting of their eyes. Tears welled up uncontrollably, sliding down their cheeks and wetting their faces. The other imprisoned sisters in the courtyard, though bound and gagged, had clearly heard the curses and struggles of the two just now and understood their fate. These two junior sisters had finally managed to crawl down the mountain, on the verge of successfully seeking help, only to be captured and brought back. All their efforts had been in vain. In an instant, all the sisters deflated like punctured balloons. The faint light in their eyes completely dimmed. Their already numb expressions were now tinged with even more despair. Low whimpers emanated from their throats, filled with regret and powerlessness. Just then, the clear sound of a carriage was heard from outside, approaching from afar and soon stopping at the courtyard entrance. Everyone knew in their hearts that this was the demonic cult coming to deliver "food" again. Indeed, not long after, several demonic cult subordinates entered, carrying cans of tasteless nutritional porridge. The porridge was thick and odorless, exactly like what they had drunk before. This courtyard in the back mountain of Lingxue Pavilion, originally the most elegant place in the sect, still retained its former appearance, breathtakingly beautiful. The bluestone-paved ground was clean and tidy, surrounded by vibrant flowers and plants. Roses adorned the branches, and climbing roses wound their way up the rockery. A gentle breeze rustled, causing petals to fall lightly, and the air was filled with a sweet floral fragrance. In the center of the courtyard, a rockery with a pond flowed with gentle murmurs, koi fish swam freely in the water, and birds chirped on the branches. Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the ground, creating a scene of birdsong, fragrant flowers, and peaceful tranquility. But this beautiful scenery, seen by the female disciples in the courtyard, appeared exceptionally ironic and glaring. The courtyard was densely packed with Lingxue Pavilion's female disciples, bound layer upon layer. Some were tied into humanoid balls, others into human logs, their bodies tightly encased in ropes and sticky fluids. Thick black stockings clung to their skin, their lips sealed with glue. They could only writhe laboriously on the cold ground, like a group of uncontrollable insects. Each movement was accompanied by the friction of ropes and the stinging of their skin. Muffled, despairing whimpers escaped their throats, leaving them disheveled and utterly devoid of dignity. They were supposed to be the mistresses of Lingxue Pavilion, the guardians of this courtyard, righteous disciples who could scale walls and move with grace and competence. They were meant to practice martial arts, sip tea, and spar in this courtyard filled with birdsong and fragrant flowers, enjoying their own free time. But now, they were like caged birds imprisoned in their own home, manipulated and bullied at will by the demonic cult, their struggles appearing pale and powerless. The beautiful courtyard remained filled with birdsong and fragrant flowers, but its mistresses were trapped in layers of restraint, writhing and struggling on the cold ground. This extreme beauty and extreme predicament contrasted sharply. Every floral scent, every birdsong, seemed to silently mock their fate, mocking this absurd and cruel reality. Looking at the cold nutritional porridge, Qingyao, Yurou, and all the disciples in the courtyard knew clearly that they would likely endure long, long periods of torment in this dark and hopeless captivity. The hope of regaining freedom and rescuing their sect leader had become a distant, uncertain prospect. Perhaps fearing that their arms would be injured from prolonged binding, affecting subsequent "training," the sect distributed qi-invigorating and bruise-reducing pills to each person, to be taken at fixed times daily, ensuring their arms wouldn't be truly damaged by poor blood circulation. However, the pills could only alleviate physical damage, not the tangible pain – the stiffness from their bound arms, the stinging sensation where the ropes chafed their skin, the aching soreness from swinging swords backward, tormenting them day and night, making every second feel exceptionally long. Lin Wanqing looked at her arms, bound behind her back. The black, thigh-high gloves were misshapen by the ropes, and her skin, trapped between the gloves and the cords, throbbed with a numb ache. Her heart was filled with grievance and unwillingness. She tried to gently move her arms, but only felt the tautness of the ropes, not even a hint of looseness. The five or six dense ropes were like shackles, locking her arms firmly in place, making even the simplest act of raising her hand a distant hope. Daily tasks like dressing, washing, and using the restroom were impossible to accomplish alone. They had to rely on fellow disciples, also bound, to help and care for each other. When dressing, the two would awkwardly lean together, struggling to pull their clothes with their bound arms. When using the restroom, they had to assist each other with undressing and adjusting their garments. Even eating required cooperation: one would lower their head, while the other, using their bound arm, would awkwardly pass food, their posture a picture of distress and difficulty. Every small task demanded immense effort and inflicted unspeakable shame. Thus, with their arms tightly bound and unable to be unbound day or night, they practiced swinging swords backward, day after day. The pills had a negligible effect, their physical pain grew with each passing day, and their doubts deepened. Was this bizarre and agonizing training truly the sect's unique secret technique? They increasingly felt it wasn't cultivation at all, but an endless torment. Yet, as new recruits, they dared not question, only enduring in silence, allowing the pain and unease to slowly spread within their hearts. Even so, not a single one chose to quit. Lingxue Pavilion was, after all, a renowned major sect among the righteous path, a place they had once yearned to join. Moreover, they had already endured so much pain here, invested countless hours and energy. The sunk cost made them reluctant to give up easily. No matter how painful or bizarre the training, no matter how their bodies were tormented, they gritted their teeth and persevered. No one wanted to give up halfway, no one wanted their previous suffering to be in vain. They had initially believed that by persevering, this painful training would eventually end. However, their efforts did not lead to the termination of the training; instead, they ushered in even more terrifying and bizarre exercises. The "senior sister" in charge of their discipline reappeared on the training grounds, her tone as cold as ever, announcing new training directives: the binding of their arms was not to be loosened, and on top of that, they were to undergo new "balance training." As soon as she finished speaking, several demon sect subordinates stepped forward and led each female disciple to the stands in the center of the training area. They remained in their state of arms bound behind their backs, secured by five or six ropes from shoulders to ankles. The black thigh-high gloves were pressed tightly against their skin, rendering even their fingers immobile. Next, the subordinates began to attend to their legs. One of their black, thigh-high stocking-clad legs was forcibly bent and folded, the knee pressed tightly against the thigh crease. Then, thick ropes were wound around and around, firmly securing the folded leg and leaving no room for extension. The stockings were stretched taut by the ropes, outlining the leg's contours, but also causing waves of stinging pain. After one leg was dealt with, the subordinates then attached ropes from the stands to the disciples' waists and slowly lifted them off the ground. In an instant, dozens of female disciples hung in the air, their arms bound behind them, one stocking-clad leg folded and secured, while the other, also clad in a black thigh-high stocking, was left to extend as best it could, supporting them in a "golden rooster stands on one leg" pose. They swayed gently in mid-air, with no point of leverage whatsoever. "This is also a special cultivation method of our sect," the "senior sister" stated, standing to the side and watching the female disciples struggling to maintain their balance in the air with a detached gaze. She explained in a flat tone, "Training while suspended like this not only hones your sense of balance but also improves your Qinggong and agility. Persevere, and your cultivation will surely increase greatly." As despair completely engulfed everyone, and their strength to struggle was almost depleted, the room door was pushed open again. The footsteps became heavy and dense. Dozens of Black Robe cult subordinates poured in, each with a ferocious expression and cold eyes. Behind them were several large carriages with sealed compartments, their interiors hidden, exuding an oppressive aura. Without any unnecessary words, they went straight to the writhing girls on the ground, stooped down roughly yet carefully, and picked them up one by one. They were bound by spiritual silk garments, unable to struggle, like lifeless objects, casually lifted by the cult subordinates and stuffed into the carriage compartments. When Lin Wanqing was lifted by a cult subordinate, her entire body stiffly resisted. The spiritual silk garment clung tightly to her skin, the heat and stinging sensation intensifying. The cotton in her mouth made it difficult to breathe, and the tape sealing her mouth prevented any sound. She could only glare fiercely at the cult subordinate before her, her eyes filled with anger and unwillingness. The carriage compartment was dark and cramped, filled with her senior and junior sisters, their bodies pressed tightly together. The stickiness of the spiritual silk garments and the smell of nutrient solution mingled, making it even more suffocating. The carriage began to move, jolting violently. Each sway sent a piercing pain through the joints of their bodies, leaving them at the mercy of the carriage as it carried them to an unknown destination. After an unknown duration of travel, the carriage finally stopped, and the cult subordinates stepped forward again, carrying them out one by one. When Lin Wanqing's feet touched the ground again, a fresh scent of grass and wood rushed towards her, making her instinctively squint her eyes. The scene before her stunned her instantly. This was not a sinister prison, but a vast courtyard behind the mountain, surrounded by green hills, filled with birdsong and fragrant flowers. A clear stream gurgled, its water tinkling. The banks were covered with unknown exotic flowers and plants. A gentle breeze swept through, carrying the fragrance of flowers, complemented by the layered green mountains in the distance. It was as beautiful as a paradise. If one were to ignore the pain and restraint on their bodies, this would undoubtedly be an excellent place for leisure and recuperation. However, this beautiful scenery, in their eyes, only brought endless sorrow and irony. They were casually placed on stone tables and the grass by the cult subordinates, their bodies still tightly bound by the spiritual silk garments. The heat, stinging, and suffocation remained undiminished. Their mouths were sealed with tape, preventing them from appreciating the scenery. They could only watch the heavenly realm before them while feeling the purgatory on their bodies. The extreme contrast intensified the despair in their hearts. As soon as they regained their footing, they discovered that the courtyard was no longer empty. On stone benches not far away, and by the paths, sat and lay many girls, similarly bound. Clearly, they were not the first to fall into the trap. Recently, Lingxue Pavilion had been recruiting disciples, and girls with dreams of becoming heroines had been arriving continuously. Naturally, they were not the only batch to be ensnared. What made their hearts sink further was that the hairstyles of the previous batch of imprisoned girls were completely different from theirs. Their buns were meticulously styled and secured with small hairpins, exuding a deliberately crafted elegance. The previous batch of girls, however, had their hair tied into neat ponytails, without extra adornments, simple yet tight, clearly also deliberately styled by the cult. It was obvious that these scoundrels were using hairstyles to distinguish their batches, just like distinguishing different batches of products, without any humanity, treating them merely as objects to be placed and admired at will. This humiliation of being objectified was more unbearable than the physical restraint. Most of the girls from the previous batch had lost the strength to struggle. Some leaned against tree trunks, their eyes vacant. Others curled up on the grass, their shoulders trembling slightly. They looked at the newly arrived Lin Wanqing and the others with no ripple in their eyes, only a bottomless despair. Clearly, they had long accepted their fate of imprisonment and understood that no matter how much they struggled, they could not escape this paradise-like cage. The more beautiful the scenery, the more it highlighted their tragic predicament. Not long after they were casually placed in various parts of the courtyard, a loud "clang" echoed from behind them. The heavy courtyard gate was firmly closed from the outside by the cult subordinates, the sound of the lock clearly audible, completely extinguishing any thoughts of escape. Everyone instinctively turned their heads to look, only to find that after placing them down, the cult subordinates had driven their carriages and left. In the vast courtyard, not a single guard was left behind. This point surprised everyone. They had expected strict guards and cold reprimands, but instead, they found themselves in this "unguarded" courtyard. However, this surprise was quickly replaced by a deeper despair. They instinctively looked at the courtyard walls, which were over two meters high, smooth, and offered no handholds. Then they looked at their own bodies, tightly bound by the spiritual silk garments, their arms unable to lift, their legs unable to bend flexibly, even standing felt stiff and wobbly. In such a constrained state, let alone climbing a two-meter-high wall, even simple climbing movements were impossible. Even without guards, they had no chance of escape. What plunged them into even greater despair was that the cotton in their mouths was saturated with nutrient solution, enough to sustain their lives, requiring no frequent feeding or specialized care. Thus, this courtyard became a completely unguarded prison. Yet, this "unguarded" nature made it even more secure than having guards. The spiritual silk garments on their bodies, the tape on their mouths, and the hairpins securing their buns were like custom-made private prisons, binding them tightly. No matter where they went, they could not break free. Even if the courtyard was spacious and beautiful, it was merely an enlarged cage, and they were prisoners confined within their own bodies. Lin Wanqing was unwilling to be trapped like this. She mustered all her strength, relying on the slight force from her waist and legs, and hopped forward like a clumsy puppet. Her body swayed slightly. With each hop, the spiritual silk garment clung tighter to her skin, intensifying the heat and stinging sensation. The cotton in her mouth also shifted, making her throat tighten, yet she couldn't even let out a muffled groan. But as she slowly moved forward, the scene before her made her pupils contract sharply – the number of beautiful women in the courtyard was increasing, far more than just their batch and the previous one. Along the paths, on the stone benches, by the stream, and even in the shadows of the corners, there were girls bound by the spiritual silk garments. They were in various postures: some curled up on the ground, some leaning against the walls, some still weakly wriggling and hopping. Roughly estimated, there were over a hundred of them. Lin Wanqing's heart sank, and she instantly understood. It seemed that for the past few years, every batch of new disciples recruited by Lingxue Pavilion had fallen into the cult's trap and were all placed in this courtyard, becoming "objects" to be manipulated at will. Shen Qingchen helped Su Qingwan to her feet. Although the metal restraints on Su Qingwan's wrists and the dark iron cords on her toes were still in place, she could now walk with some effort, albeit slowly. The two followed Wutong towards the exit of the cabin. Just as they reached the doorway, Mo Yan's voice, laced with a subtle, knowing undertone, called out from behind them: "My dear ladies, please don't think me overly cautious, but this is merely a contingency." Their steps faltered, and they turned to see Mo Yan standing in the center of the cabin, his gaze fixed on Shen Qingchen. He continued, "However, the next time you stand before me in those white, form-fitting suits, the situation might not be so… accommodating." With that, Mo Yan turned and disappeared deeper into the cabin without another word. Shen Qingchen and Su Qingwan exchanged a glance. Though the deeper meaning of Mo Yan's words eluded them, they asked no further questions. They followed Wutong onto the covered boat, which glided smoothly towards the shore. Before long, the boat docked at an abandoned pier. Stepping onto the moss-covered stone steps, they slowly disembarked, their feet finally finding solid ground. A collective sigh of relief escaped them, their eyes filled with a profound sense of release. "Junior Sister, we can finally stretch our limbs," Su Qingwan said, rotating her shoulders with a lightness in her voice. Though her hands were still secured behind her back by the metal contraptions, and her toes were bound by the dark iron cords, preventing them from splaying fully, she felt infinitely more comfortable than when she had been ensnared by the spirit-locking vines and demon glue. Even her breathing felt easier. Shen Qingchen quickly stepped forward to support her, smiling. "Senior Sister, move slowly, don't rush. Now that you don't have to rely on me to carry you, you can walk on your own. Take this chance to truly savor the taste of freedom." As she spoke, Su Qingwan tentatively lifted a foot. Despite the dark iron cords tightly binding her big toes, preventing her feet from separating, she managed to exert a slight force, using the ball of her foot to hop forward a few steps. A childlike joy bloomed on her face, her usual cool demeanor softening, replaced by the exhilaration of survival. Watching her, Shen Qingchen couldn't resist a teasing remark. "Senior Sister, you used to be so proud, your nose practically in the air, always maintaining that distant, aloof demeanor. Who would have thought you had such a lively side? It seems these past two years have truly taken their toll, finally grinding down that arrogance." Su Qingwan's smile faltered for a moment, then a hint of regret flickered across her face. "You're right, Junior Sister," she admitted, her voice tinged with self-reproach. "I was indeed too arrogant. It was that arrogance that made me careless, that lowered my guard against the Demonic Cult, allowing them to seize their opportunity. Not only was I imprisoned and tormented for years, but I also implicated the entire sect, and countless junior sisters. Ultimately, this is all my fault. I truly need to reflect on my actions." Seeing her dejected expression, Shen Qingchen softened her tone, gently patting her back to comfort her. "Senior Sister, what's done is done. Don't blame yourself anymore. No one could have predicted the Demonic Cult's cunning and ruthlessness. You were merely momentarily careless. Now that you've broken free from most of your restraints, we still have a chance to rescue our junior sisters and reclaim Lingxue Pavilion. The most important thing now is to rest well and regain your strength." But as these words of comfort left her lips, the lightness on both their faces vanished instantly, replaced by a deep solemnity. The challenges ahead remained formidable. They had initially hoped for complete freedom for Su Qingwan, but even with most restraints removed, her limbs were still far from functional. Their joy was inevitably diminished. Shen Qingchen's brow furrowed, her voice laced with anxiety. "Senior Sister, even if you slowly recover your strength, with your feet bound by the dark iron cords, unable to separate, and your hands fixed behind your back by those metal contraptions, unable to even raise your arms, how will you practice martial arts and regain your former skills?" Su Qingwan also slowly stopped, looking down at her bound hands and feet. The joy in her eyes completely dissipated, leaving only a profound sense of helplessness. She tried to lift her hand slightly, and the metal restraint at her wrist instantly tightened, sending a sharp pain through her. Even minor movements were incredibly difficult. She exerted force, trying to spread her toes, but the dark iron cords dug into her skin, causing pain without budging. "Yes," she said, her voice hoarse with frustration. "In my current state, even if my dantian slowly recovers and my internal energy grows, I have no way to practice martial arts. I can't even perform the most basic moves, let alone fight the Demonic Cult and rescue our junior sisters in the future." For a moment, they were plunged back into a dilemma. The joy of their partial liberation was completely overshadowed by this sudden predicament. Shen Qingchen supported Su Qingwan, standing on the mossy stone steps of the abandoned pier, gazing out at the vast expanse of the lake, her mind a blank. Su Qingwan, head bowed, looked at her uncooperative limbs, her heart filled with anxiety. They stood there in silence, unable to conjure any solution, once again stumped by a new obstacle. Just then, Su Qingwan's eyes suddenly lit up. Though her voice remained hoarse, it carried a new certainty and confidence. "That's right," she exclaimed. "I can speak now! I was the sect leader of Lingxue Pavilion for so many years for a reason. I have numerous cultivation techniques and many secret sect martial arts manuals stored in my mind. I can simply pass them on to you!" He gestured to the white-silk puppet beside him to open the cell door. The moment the door swung open, the scene within was revealed. Mo Yan's eyes widened in shock: the cell was densely packed with women, each tightly bound by specially made spirit-binding silks. These were all disciples of the Lingxue Pavilion, their eyes now filled with fear and bewilderment. Seeing the unfamiliar Mo Yan and the white-silk puppet, they instinctively recoiled, their bodies trembling, their struggles appearing utterly feeble. There were no visible knots on their bodies; a strange demonic adhesive had firmly bonded the spirit-binding silks to their skin. The viscous liquid was still slowly oozing, trickling down their skin and spreading damp, glistening patches on their thin garments. Their hands were clumped together by the thick adhesive, rendering them unable to stretch. Their mouths and noses were either covered by a smooth, artificial membrane or sealed shut with heavy tape, allowing only the barest sliver of air to pass through the gaps. Their legs were encased in thick, opaque black stockings, stretching from ankle to thigh. The taut threads showed no sign of loosening, and the openings of the stockings were completely sealed by the adhesive. The sticky substance within had fused their skin to the stockings, making even the slightest flex of their limbs an impossibility. Many of the female disciples' leg skin had already turned bruised and purple from the constriction, with faint, intricate ligature marks visible. The spirit silks entwined around them were exquisitely intricate on the surface, etched with fine patterns. Even their black-stocking-clad legs were wrapped with patterned spirit silks, appearing remarkably delicate. The only parts of their faces exposed were their small countenances, meticulously adorned with beautiful makeup. Their hair was neatly styled, tied into elegant buns. They looked like meticulously crafted works of art, yet beneath this refinement lay endless pain and despair. Mo Yan stood at the cell entrance, his gaze slowly sweeping over each female disciple, carefully observing their appearance and condition. A playful curve touched his lips as he murmured, "These beauties, they look like they're wearing a full-body suit that doesn't allow for limbs. Wrapped so tightly, you can barely see any signs of restraint if you don't look closely." As soon as he spoke, he saw the female disciples in the cell struggling to move their bodies. They couldn't stand and could only wriggle like grubs on the cold floor, their movements clumsy yet persistent, each movement carrying an undeniable pain. Some with slightly better balance managed to hop a few times, their movements stiff and comical. A flicker of understanding crossed Mo Yan's eyes, and he thought to himself, "It seems they've been imprisoned for too long and have been forced to adapt to these confined bodies, their methods of struggle becoming this bizarre." The young attendant beside him, seeing the densely packed beautiful disciples, beamed with excitement. He quickly leaned towards Mo Yan, bowed, and fawned, "Congratulations, my lord! So many beautiful disciples. If you could turn them all into your puppets, wouldn't we have an endless supply of manpower and be invincible in the future?" Mo Yan let out a scoff, his tone filled with exasperation and mockery. He glanced at the attendant and said, "How is that possible? You're thinking too simply. Firstly, the white-silk蛊虫服 I use to control people requires extremely precious蛊虫 and materials, and they are not easy to refine. How could I possibly make so many?" He paused, his tone growing even more placid as he slowly explained, "Furthermore, this type of white-silk control suit is only suitable for use on beautiful women with high martial arts skills to maximize its effect and make them my capable assistants. These are merely ordinary disciples of the Lingxue Pavilion. I imagine some of them haven't even been here long and were imprisoned by the demonic cult before they even mastered their martial arts. What use would controlling them be to me?" "Moreover, they've all been tormented into this state, wrapped in spirit-binding silks and adhesive, their limbs barely able to move. How am I supposed to know which among them is skilled in martial arts and which is a beginner? I can't possibly unbind their restraints one by one to test them, can I?" Mo Yan waved his hand, his tone dismissive, "Ultimately, they have no value to me." Upon hearing this, the attendant, Xiao Long, lost his excited expression and looked hesitant. He cautiously leaned forward and whispered, "My lord, surely not? Even if they have no value, it's not appropriate to kill them. It would be such a waste to dispose of so many beauties." As soon as Xiao Long finished speaking, the beautiful disciples in the cell were instantly terrified. Their already weak wriggling became more frantic. Each one desperately crawled and struggled on the ground. The membranes and tape over their mouths and noses couldn't completely stifle their pained whimpers, the faint, desperate sounds intertwining to shroud the entire cell in fear. Their bodies trembled, their eyes wide with terror, fearing that Mo Yan would order their execution the next moment. Their struggles became panicked and feeble. Mo Yan rolled his eyes at this, his tone full of exasperation. He glared fiercely at Xiao Long, "When did I say I was going to kill them? You little brat, you're just talking nonsense and misinterpreting my intentions." He paused, his tone softening slightly, and slowly said, "Keep them alive. I'll have use for them later. Why the rush?" “We were both shocked and terrified at the time. We wanted to ask them what had actually happened and how long they’d been held captive, but they were either gagged or had been tortured to the point of numbness—they simply couldn’t communicate with us. ” Liu Shuyao’s voice was filled with helplessness, and a faint mist of tears welled up in her eyes. “We could only watch them helplessly, crammed together with them in that terrifying canyon, enduring the scorching sun and the physical torment, with no idea when such days would ever end.” Mo Yan furrowed his brow as he listened, his gaze growing increasingly intense. Before Liu Shuyao had even finished speaking, he impatiently pressed her: “What about the senior disciples who were captured before you? What happened to them afterward? After the canyon, where did they go? Don’t leave out any details!” Urged on by his urgent tone, Liu Shuyao quickly gathered her thoughts and struggled to recall fragments of those days. Her voice carried a hint of uncertainty as she spoke slowly, “ “After we were transferred out of the canyon, at first those senior disciples were, just like us, briefly confined in the same set of cells. Although they were still bound, we could occasionally catch a glimpse of them.” “But not long after, something unexpected happened.” She paused, her brow furrowing slightly; clearly, that part of her memory was a bit hazy. “One night, members of the Demon Cult suddenly mobilized in large numbers and took all the senior disciples away. They moved so quickly that we didn’t even have time to see which direction they were being taken—we only vaguely saw them being dragged deeper into the back mountains, closer to the foot of the mountain.” Liu Shuyao tried hard to recall the details and added, “I suspect they were most likely hidden in caves at the foot of the mountain or some other secluded spot—after all, the area at the foot of the back mountain is mostly dense forest and abandoned caves, which are ideal for hiding people. Besides, I did a rough count—there were about two hundred senior disciples, every one of them tightly bound and moving very slowly, dragged along the entire way by the Demon Cult’s followers.” Upon hearing this, a gleam flashed in Mo Yan’s eyes. He made up his mind instantly, without the slightest hesitation. He immediately shot a sharp glance at the young boy beside him and issued a command in a hurried yet unquestionable tone: “ “Quickly, take two of the controlled white-silk puppets and head immediately to the foot of the rear mountain. Search every cave and hidden nook thoroughly. You must find those senior disciples—bring one back, or better yet, bring them all back. There must be no mishaps!” The young boy dared not show the slightest slackness; he hurriedly bowed to accept the order: “Yes, Master! ” No sooner had the words left his mouth than he turned and strode quickly out of the hall. He selected two white-silk puppet beauties—both with upright postures and fierce auras—and hurried off toward the foot of the rear mountain. The two white-silk puppets moved swiftly, keeping close behind the young boy. Their expressions were solemn, and they remained constantly prepared to respond to any unexpected situation. Only after watching the figures of the young boy and the puppet beauties disappear at the end of the corridor did Mo Yan slowly withdraw his gaze. He turned once more to Liu Shuyao, who lay limp on the ground, furrowed his brow slightly, and, with a tone laced with inquiry and probing, pressed her: “ “You’ve been imprisoned for so long—surely you haven’t just been sitting around waiting to die? Haven’t any of you imprisoned disciples ever thought of a way to break free, or to take the opportunity to escape?” Upon hearing the words “break free” and “escape,” Liu Shuyao’s body stiffened suddenly, and the resignation in her eyes was instantly replaced by an even deeper despair. She slowly closed her eyes as memories of past futile struggles and escape attempts flooded her mind like a tidal wave. Her voice was so hoarse it was barely audible, tinged with endless sorrow: “It’s impossible, Your Excellency. We have absolutely no chance of escaping or breaking free.” “Back then, there were quite a few sisters with fiery tempers who refused to accept being imprisoned like this and tried to escape many times,” Liu Shuyao slowly opened her eyes, her gaze filled with numbness and pain as she recalled those harrowing memories. “But we were completely wrapped in these eerie garments; our limbs were bound together, leaving us no choice but to wriggle across the ground like insects, moving pitifully slowly. On top of that, these robes were far too ornate—with their bright colors and intricate patterns—so even hidden in the dense forest, we stood out like a sore thumb. We hadn’t gone far before we’d be spotted by the Demon Cult. Once recaptured, we’d face even more brutal torture.” When it came to breaking free, Liu Shuyao couldn’t help but shake her head, her tone filled with despair and helplessness, her voice choked with emotion: “As for breaking free—that’s even more impossible. These cursed robes are practically impenetrable. We’ve tried smashing them with rocks and scratching them with branches—we’ve exhausted every possible method—but all we’ve managed is to leave a faint mark on the surface; we can’t tear open even the slightest slit. Not to mention, our hands and feet are wrapped up so tightly that we don’t even have anywhere to apply force. Even if there were a weak spot in the garment, we simply wouldn’t have the strength to break free.” “We’ve also tried rubbing against each other, hoping to use our combined strength to wear away the restraints,” A look of humiliation and embarrassment flashed across Liu Shuyao’s face as her body instinctively shifted slightly, feeling the sticky film on her skin. “But in the end, either we’d rub against each other for ages without even the slightest loosening; or our bodies had been altered by the Demon Cult to be so hypersensitive that even the slightest friction would send unbearable sensations throughout our bodies—we’d reach our limit first and simply couldn’t keep going.” As she spoke, a look of obvious discomfort crossed her face. She struggled to shift her bound body slightly, her fingertips curling ever so slightly, her voice tinged with physical revulsion: “ “I can still clearly feel that my entire body is covered in sticky mucus—it’s never dried completely. It clings to my skin, making me itch and feel suffocated; every movement is excruciatingly painful. The person from the Demon Cult who put this garment on me back then said that once I’d finished putting it on, the garment’s only opening would fuse shut on its own, completely transforming into a seamless prison—and there would be no way to take it off.” Liu Shuyao took a breath; a deeper sense of desolation crept into her eyes as she added in a hoarse voice: “ “The only part of us that gets a moment of freedom is our mouths—in recent months, every single month, they’ve opened our mouths once to remove the old cotton soaked in nutrient solution and replace it with fresh cotton, then immediately sealed our mouths shut again.” “We only have those few seconds when our mouths are briefly free—not even enough time to catch our breath or exhale the stale air, let alone speak or communicate.” Her voice was filled with resignation, and her eyes reddened. “Usually, with our mouths sealed, we can’t even utter a complete sentence. We can only communicate with our eyes, barely managing to look at each other’s despair—yet there’s nothing we can do. We can’t even offer a word of comfort to the sisters beside us.” At this point, Liu Shuyao could no longer hold back. Her body began to writhe violently, her tone filled with humble supplication as tears streamed down her cheeks and dripped onto the adhesive coating her body: “ “My Lord, I’ve truly told you everything I know and everything I should say—without holding anything back. I beg you, I beg you, please save us! We’ve been imprisoned for so long—we’ve had enough of this life that’s worse than death. Even if you just untie us so we can move normally and speak freely, I’d be eternally grateful!” Mo Yan spoke again, his tone laced with even greater sarcasm, "Indeed, without my special concoction, no one can awaken them. Give up on that idea, and surrender obediently. Perhaps I'll spare your life – after all, I'm not as ruthless and heartless as your demonic sect." "Dream on!" Chu Xieling trembled with rage, her alluring face contorted into a ferocious mask. She raised her legs again, kicking fiercely at Mo Yan, determined to fight back with all her might. But the moment she lifted her legs, she felt a tightening sensation around her thighs. The crimson binding threads, which had previously only coiled around her torso and upper limbs, had inexplicably spread to her legs. The fine red ropes intertwined, binding her thighs tightly, making even movement difficult. The sudden restraint caused her to lose her balance, nearly falling to the ground. Fortunately, her reflexes were sharp, and she stumbled a few steps using the strength of her calves to regain a semblance of stability. Chu Xieling looked down at the red ropes wrapped around her thighs, her body trembling with fury, her eyes burning with escalating anger and unwillingness. Her heart was filled with a suffocating frustration. If she had been bound by iron chains or metal wires, she would have accepted her inability to break free. But it was these bizarre crimson binding threads – seemingly fragile, as if many could be snapped with a mere struggle, yet every time one broke, more red ropes would surge forth in the next second, densely coiling around her. It was as if they were toying with her, gradually draining her strength and will. This sense of powerlessness infuriated her more than any forceful restraint. At this point, the crimson binding threads had spread over most of Chu Xieling's body. Her upper limbs were already completely bound, rendering any movement impossible. Her thighs were crisscrossed with red ropes, leaving only her calves with any semblance of mobility. Her body was stiff, and even standing still was an immense effort. Her legs trembled, and every slight movement required tremendous exertion. Forget attacking Mo Yan and the children; even maintaining a stable stance had become a luxury. But how could the defiant Chu Xieling surrender so easily? A glint of ferocity flashed in her eyes, and a single thought occupied her mind – escape through the window! Even if only her calves could move, even if the hope was slim, she refused to be toyed with and manipulated by these people. Gritting her teeth, she used the meager strength in her calves to stagger towards the window of the side room. Each step was precarious, her body threatening to topple at any moment, her alluring face etched with stubbornness and resentment. Outside the window, several children, who had scattered in fear earlier, were now peeking inside. Seeing Chu Xieling's disheveled state – her body wrapped in dense red ropes, only her calves able to move, struggling even to stand – their previous fear vanished instantly, replaced by mocking smiles. In their eyes, this once fierce and ruthless demonic sect sorceress was now no different from a lamb awaiting slaughter, posing no threat whatsoever. One of the scrawny children, whom Chu Xieling would normally have dismissed as utterly weak, boldly hopped through the window. He walked up to Chu Xieling, scrutinizing her from head to toe. Seeing her difficulty in even standing steady, he mustered his courage and gently extended his hand, giving her shoulder a light push. The push was incredibly gentle. In normal circumstances, it would have been impossible to even make Chu Xieling sway, let alone push her over. But at this moment, Chu Xieling was utterly drained of strength, her balance already precarious. With that light push, she instantly lost her footing and fell heavily to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust. The force of the fall caused the crimson binding threads to spread further, constricting her even more tightly. Chu Xieling trembled with rage, her alluring makeup smudged. The fury in her eyes threatened to consume her. Gritting her teeth, she exerted all her might, using the strength in her calves to try and push herself up. But as she struggled to lift herself even a little, another child quickly stepped forward and gave another gentle push. She fell heavily to the ground again, her forehead hitting the floor with a sharp sting. Thus, she repeatedly struggled to stand, only to be easily pushed down by the children. Seeing this, the children grew bolder. Some even leaned in, laughing as they pressed down on her back and thighs. Several children piled on top of her, rendering her completely immobile. Chu Xieling desperately twisted her calves, trying to break free, but her body was firmly pinned by the red ropes and the children, unable to move even an inch. The anger and humiliation in her heart reached their peak. She, Chu Xieling, held a respected position in the demonic sect, always the one to oppress others. When had she ever been so humiliated by these children, whom she normally wouldn't even deign to look at, so pathetically weak and easily defeated? Yet, she was utterly powerless. Her formidable inner strength was suppressed by the crimson binding threads, her body securely bound. She could only watch helplessly as these children acted with impunity upon her, could only witness the crimson binding threads multiplying, gradually enveloping her entire body, until even her last movable calves were eventually entwined by the red ropes, completely reducing her to a plaything at their mercy. Mo Yan stood to the side, arms crossed, watching the scene with a cold, impassive expression, as if observing an inconsequential play. To him, Chu Xieling's struggles and anger were merely a futile spectacle. The effect of the crimson binding threads was exactly as he had anticipated – effortlessly bringing the defiant demonic sect sorceress firmly under his control. However, he was unaware that Chu Xieling had never truly given up on resisting.