Immortal World : MILF Dual Cultivation

The cheers of ten thousand disciples rolled across the Grand Square like a rising tide.

On the jade platform, Elder Mo — the lead judge, a Foundation Establishment expert with decades spent studying the Dao of Refining — held the Spirit-Fire Repeating Crossbow in trembling hands. To him, it felt like an artifact from another world.

He channeled a trace of spiritual energy into the chamber.

HMMMM!

The Wind-Compression Array hummed to life instantly, drawing in the ambient air. Elder Mo’s eyes went wide.

“The runes hold without a single flaw,” he murmured, tracing the cold casing with his fingers. He looked up at Madam Shen and Lin Tian, shock and admiration warring on his face. “This Segmented Craft — dividing the labor so low-level apprentices handle the casting while a single engraver carries the fine work — it breaks a bottleneck we’ve lived with for centuries. This could arm our entire Outer Sect within months.”

He turned the weapon over once more in his hands, as if still not quite believing its weight matched its power.

Madam Shen bowed, her crimson robes settling around her. “The credit belongs to Supervisor Lin Tian’s design, Elder Mo. The pavilion only carried out his vision.”

Elder Mo stroked his beard, a testing glint entering his eyes as he turned to Lin Tian.

“Your mind is a rare thing, Supervisor Lin. But as someone who has walked this Dao for eighty years, I have to ask.” His tone sharpened. “If this method is so efficient, can it mass-produce Tier 2 or Tier 3 artifacts — treasures fit for the Inner Sect?”

The square quieted. Nearby deacons and elders leaned in, waiting to hear whether this young genius had found a way to churn out high-tier treasures like common tools.

A few of the older refiners in the crowd exchanged worried glances, as if bracing for a young man’s arrogance to overreach itself.

Deacon Liu, still kneeling in his own blood, lifted his head. A last, desperate hope flickered in his eyes. Say yes, he thought. A line of apprentices can never hold the spiritual harmony a Core Formation treasure demands. Claim that, and they’ll finally see you as the fraud you are.

Lin Tian met Elder Mo’s gaze, calm and steady, without a trace of the arrogance most young inventors carried.

“No, Elder Mo,” he said clearly. “Segmented Craft has no place with high-tier artifacts. It belongs strictly to low-tier, standard-issue weapons.”

He said it without hesitation, as if the boundary had never once been in question for him.

Elder Mo’s eyes flickered with surprise, then settled into quiet approval. “Oh? Explain.”

“The Dao of Refining is bound by what fires and what hands are available,” Lin Tian said. “This crossbow’s casing can be smelted by twenty low-level apprentices — cultivators of that rank are plentiful, so the line runs wide and fast.”

He took a step forward, his voice steady. “But a Tier 3 blade needs a Core Fire hot enough to melt heavenly metals no ordinary furnace can touch. Tell me, Elder — could this sect find twenty Core Formation Grandmasters willing to stand in a furnace room all day, pouring molten metal into molds like common laborers?”

The crowd gasped. The idea alone bordered on insult — a Core Formation cultivator was a pillar of the sect, not a hand for repetitive labor.

Even Elder Mo’s fellow judges shifted in their seats, visibly relieved that the young supervisor understood such a basic truth.

“Exactly,” Lin Tian said, a faint smile touching his mouth. “High-tier hands for basic work simply don’t exist in numbers. Rare materials, volatile Qi, and the unbroken focus of a single Master Refiner — that is what high-tier forging demands. Segmented Craft can arm an army of common soldiers. But at the peak of this Dao, one master’s hand still rules.”

Mass production can equip my foot soldiers, Lin Tian thought. But it will never forge the kind of weapon that puts down something like a Nascent Soul monster. For that, I’ll need to walk the old path myself — become a true Grandmaster, not just an architect of lesser hands.

“Hahaha! Excellent!” Elder Mo’s laughter rang out, approving and loud. He studied Lin Tian like something rare. “Most young men drunk on their own invention would swear it could remake the world. You understand its edges. You respect what still belongs to the old masters. This sect is fortunate to hold a sapling like you.”

Deacon Liu’s last hope crumbled at those words. His shoulders sagged, whatever fight remained in him gone.

Elder Mo turned toward him, and his warm expression vanished, replaced by cold judgment.

“Deacon Liu.” His voice cracked across the square like thunder. “You bypassed the sect’s logistics, spent its funds on fragile imports, and mocked the true work of this pavilion — all to seize power for yourself.”

“Elder Mo, please — I only thought of the disciples!” Deacon Liu begged, his forehead striking the jade floor.

His voice cracked with a desperation no one in the crowd found convincing.

“Silence.” Elder Mo’s aura pinned him flat against the stone, forcing a pained grunt out of him. “Your imported swords broke against a weapon built in four days. Guards — strip him of his robes, seize his spatial pouch, and take him to the Disciplinary Hall. I want a full account of how much sect wealth bought those blue toys.”

“No — Head Manager Shen, save me! Ahhh!”

Two armored guards dragged him away, his shrieks trailing off behind them.

Not a single deacon in the crowd stepped forward to speak on his behalf.

The square fell quiet. A political war that had simmered for months had ended in a single morning, crushed under raw firepower and sharper thinking.

Somewhere behind the murmuring crowd, a handful of Deacon Liu’s former allies quietly slipped away, unwilling to be seen standing anywhere near his ruin.

Elder Mo turned back to Madam Shen, his expression softening into respect.

“Head Manager Shen,” he announced, loud enough for every disciple and deacon to hear. “Your pavilion has done this sect a great service today. The Inner Sect grants you full, unquestioned authority over the Outer Sect’s economy from this moment forward. No deacon will challenge you again. Production of the Spirit-Fire Repeating Crossbow becomes the sect’s highest priority.”

Madam Shen bowed low. “I won’t disappoint the Elders.”

“And Supervisor Lin Tian.” Elder Mo gave him a meaningful look. “When you reach Foundation Establishment, the Fire-Forged Peak’s doors stand open to you. Minds like yours are rare.”

“Thank you, Elder Mo,” Lin Tian replied evenly, giving nothing away.

The exhibition closed. Disciples dispersed in waves, still buzzing, still chanting the names of the Head Manager and her Supervisor.

Somewhere in the crowd, the shattered remains of the Blue-Edge swords were already being swept away like forgotten trash.

Within the hour, the jade platform sat empty.

Attendants moved quietly across the stage, clearing away the last splinters of the ruined display as if erasing every trace of Deacon Liu’s ambition from the sect’s memory.

Madam Shen stood alone with Lin Tian at the center of the square. Midday sun caught her crimson robes, outlining every curve beneath them. To the sect, she was now its undisputed ruler, holding tens of thousands of lives in her hands.

But the moment she turned to him, that Empress dissolved.

Her eyes softened into devotion, her breath quickening, a warm flush spreading down her neck.

Insight Eye.

[Ding! Target 1: Madam Shen]

[Obsession Level: 100% (Absolute devotion)]

[Status: Political threat eliminated by the Host. Target feels overwhelming gratitude, desire, and devotion. Primordial Yin surging, seeking the Host’s reward.]

“Master…” she whispered, looking toward the empty spot where Deacon Liu had knelt. “You gave me the entire Outer Sect today. Without you, I would have lost everything.”

Her voice caught slightly on the last word, as though saying it aloud made the danger she’d escaped feel real for the first time.

Lin Tian closed the distance between them, unbothered by the open square. He gripped her chin, tilting her face up toward his.

“I told you, Shen,” he murmured, his thumb brushing her lip. “Serve me well, and I will crush anyone who dares look down on you.”

“I’m yours,” she whispered, eyes closing as she leaned into his hand. “Every breath, every drop of blood, every thought belongs to you, my Sovereign.”

His eyes darkened as the heat of her Yin energy reached him.

For a moment, neither of them cared that they still stood in plain view of the emptying square.

“Don’t come to the Resource Hall tonight,” he said, his voice dropping low. “Go to your private estate. Prepare the hot spring. We have a victory to celebrate — and a reward to claim.”

Her eyes snapped open, blazing with need. She bit her lip, her breath coming heavy beneath her heavy robes, the sect and its politics already a distant memory in her mind.

“Yes, Master,” she breathed. “I’ll be waiting for you in the water.”