After he left, Juliana leaned against the counter, her chest heaving like she'd just run a marathon—or, more accurately, like she'd just been emotionally steamrolled by a walking libido.

She was sweating like crazy, her dress sticking to her curves in ways that made her curse her traitorous body.

"What the fuck just happened?!"

She whispered, her voice high-pitched and shaky.

Her hands instinctively brushed against her ass, where something wet and sticky was slowly oozing down the fabric of her dress.

Alarmed, she swiped a finger across it and held it up to inspect. The white substance glistened under the light, and without thinking, she brought it to her lips.

"Mmhmmm…" she murmured, her brows furrowing. "I-it's tasty? But why does it taste like…honeyed milk?"

Her cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of crimson, and she quickly shook her head, muttering to herself.

"This kid is gonna be the death of me…"

She grumbled, stomping off to clean herself up, though the sticky heat in her core refused to dissipate.

...

Meanwhile, back in Artis's room, he set the empty tea cup on the table with a satisfied smirk and climbed onto his bed.

With practiced ease, he folded himself into a lotus position, his toned body radiating calmness that belied his earlier antics.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, steadying his thoughts. Soon, a soft golden light began emanating from his palms and…his dick. Yes, his dick.

The pulsating glow of spiritual energy looked almost majestic as it coursed through him before being absorbed back into his body.

This wasn't just any energy—it was Yin energy, the potent essence he'd subtly siphoned from Juliana during their little encounter.

"Ah."

He exhaled, feeling the surge of power settle into his core.

"Her Yin is strong—almost as strong as her thighs."

A sly grin spread across his face as his cultivation advanced ever so slightly.

How could he suddenly do that? Well, one of the juiciest tidbits in the divine scripture—practically bolded and highlighted with "READ THIS, PERVERT" energy—explained the art of harnessing Yin and Yang energy from other living beings.

Be it humans, beastkins, or those snooty spiritual animals that probably thought they were above such shenanigans, they all had Yin and Yang to offer.

As a dude, Artis was already loaded with Yang energy—like a factory perpetually cranking out cock-powered sunshine.

But the thing was, to refine his Yang and balance it with Yin, he needed to borrow some Yin energy from women. And not just a sprinkle or a sniff; no, the scripture explicitly stated that the more a woman came, the more Yin energy he could absorb. In essence, every orgasm was a step closer to divine power.

"Make her cum, make her run—straight into immortality."

He chuckled to himself, remembering the scripture's borderline pornographic phrasing.

Right now, Artis didn't have a proper cultivation core—a spiritual anchor for all this kinky energy he was hoarding. He needed to build one ASAP if he wanted to level up.

Currently, he was at the Qi Gathering stage, third level. Basically, a spiritual toddler. The previous Artis—bless his clueless soul—had at least perfected the Body Tempering stage, so Artis had the foundational durability of a well-trained gigolo.

Artis meditated intensely, the kind of focus that could put a monk to shame if said monk had a raging boner from Yin energy overload.

For hours, he sat there, absorbing every last drop of Juliana's Yin essence. He felt the refined Qi energy swirling through him like an overexcited toddler with a sugar rush, bouncing off the walls of his inner world.

'Fuck, I can't let this energy just freestyle in my body.'

He thought, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead.

'If this shit runs wild, it's gonna wreck me like a horny bull in a pottery shop. I need meridians to store it, at least until I cook up a proper core.'

He took a deep breath, his mind laser-focused on the task. Visualizing his body, he mapped out the critical energy points where the rogue Qi was doing its chaotic dance.

His shoulders, elbows, wrists, palms—each point glowed like a stoplight on the road to cultivation town.

Then there was his dick. Yes, his cock had a meridian too, because of course it did. The scripture hadn't exactly been subtle about emphasizing its importance, practically labeling it the Grand Dickinary of Yin Storage.

'Alright, let's do this shit.'

He thought, commanding the energy like a general whipping unruly soldiers into formation. Slowly but surely, the wild Qi began to settle, flowing into the key meridian points across his body.

From his forehead to his throat, his chest, navel, and yes, even his divine dong.

As the strands of energy linked up, connecting each meridian like a spiritual orgy of power, Artis felt a surge within him.

The breakthrough hit him like a cosmic climax, and he officially ascended to the fourth stage of Qi Gathering.

Artis opened his eyes, sweat pouring off him like he'd just run a marathon in hell's hottest sauna.

"Damn, I'm fucking roasting! My body feels like someone cranked the furnace up to fuck you levels."

He groaned, wiping a thick stream of sweat off his forehead.

Still, a wicked grin crept onto his face.

"This... this power. Holy shit, it's coursing through me like I just snorted a line of cosmic cocaine. Fuck, it's so potent, it's like I've got the universe's Viagra pulsing in my veins."

Raising his hand, he stared at his palm with all the menacing flair of a wannabe villain rehearsing for his big monologue. Slowly, he extended his arm toward the open window, the full moon glowing like some celestial spotlight.

"Alright, let's fucking do this."

He muttered, his eyes narrowing in intense focus.

Minutes passed. Nothing. More minutes passed. Still nothing.

"Goddammit!"

He hissed through gritted teeth. But just as he was about to give up and scream at the heavens, a faint glow sparked in his palm. The tiniest bead of blue-white light flickered to life.

"HOLY SHIT!"

He yelled, nearly jumping out of his skin.

"I FUCKING DID IT! Two days, and I'm already a goddamn prodigy!"

Unfortunately, his celebration broke his concentration, and the tiny glowing bead of energy decided it had enough of his nonsense.

With a sudden lunge, it shot out of his hand and zoomed straight for the window like it had a dinner reservation with disaster.

"FUCK!"

Artis shrieked, jumping up from his bed like a soldier avoiding shrapnel.

A split second later, there was a flash of light outside the window, followed by a boom so loud it rattled the room.

Then, a high-pitched, offended "MEOW!" pierced the night as a cat bolted away like it had just seen the devil.

Artis peeked over the edge of the bed, wide-eyed.

"Oh shit. Did I just blow up someone's fucking cat?"

He flopped back onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling.

"Well... at least I didn't hit a person. Baby steps, Artis. Baby steps."

Artis shook his head, sending a silent rest in peace, kitty into the universe before hopping down from the bed.

"Alright, time to scrub this sweaty ass. I smell like a brothel after peak hours," he muttered, wiping his chest dramatically.

Grabbing the edges of his robe, he shrugged one arm out, then the other, letting the fabric hang loosely around his waist. His chiseled chest glistened like some over-the-top romance novel cover, the sweat giving it an almost ridiculous sparkle.

He reached for the knot at his waist, ready to let it all hang out, when suddenly he froze.

Click-slide.

The sound of the front door opening and closing echoed through the house.

His first thought was Chen.

'The big guy's back.'

But then he noticed the silence. No thundering footsteps, no ground-shaking stomps that screamed "hulking meathead incoming."

'Hmmm... no stomps means... shopping trip's over. Jackpot.'

A grin spread across his face, wicked and mischievous.

"Bath can wait. Time for some good old-fashioned fun."

With a quick stretch and an unnecessarily dramatic neck crack, he slid open his door, his bare chest leading the way like a beacon of shamelessness.

He moved with exaggerated stealth, tiptoeing toward the source of the sound like a thief with a PhD in melodrama.

His grin widened.