Arriving in the trading hub of Clearwater City, Li Feng secured a modest room at the Jade Lotus Inn and ordered a simple meal sent up. While waiting for the food to arrive, he sat cross-legged on the narrow bed, closed his eyes, and began circulating his cultivation technique.
The spiritual energy from his surroundings flowed inward, passing through the rough, masculine skin he wore as a disguise. But the moment that energy touched the delicate, primordial yin constitution of Wu Meng Ting's body hidden beneath, a violent rejection erupted.
CRACK!
Li Feng's eyes snapped open. His internal organs convulsed as if struck by invisible hammers. A searing, tearing pain ripped through his meridians.
"Guh—!" He doubled over, clutching his abdomen. Blood surged up his throat and splattered across the wooden floor in thick, dark droplets.
Gasping for breath, Li Feng wiped his mouth with trembling fingers, staring at the crimson stain on his palm. His mind raced through the cause.
The broken yang spiritual roots embedded in my original body's skin... they're still absorbing residual yang energy from the environment. When that yang energy passes into Wu Meng Ting's primordial yin spiritual roots, the two forces collide and tear my meridians apart.
He clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. Yang and yin were not merely opposites—they were natural enemies. A cultivator could theoretically absorb spiritual energy of a different element at reduced efficiency, but yang and yin energies were fundamentally incompatible. Forcing them together was like mixing fire and ice within the same vessel.
"I can't keep wearing this male skin," Li Feng muttered, his voice rough. "If I continue like this, I'll cripple myself all over again before I even reach Foundation Establishment."
But discarding the male disguise presented an even greater problem. Beneath the skin, his true body was that of Wu Meng Ting—a woman whose beauty was so overwhelming that even a single glimpse could incite obsession, violence, and catastrophe. He could not afford to walk the world in that form.
I need a new skin. A female one, to avoid the yang conflict. But it must be plain—unremarkable enough to avoid drawing attention, yet not so ugly that it invites scorn or suspicion.
A knock sounded at the door.
"Guest, your meal is ready," a soft, pleasant voice called from the hallway.
Li Feng rose slowly, steadying himself against the bedpost. "Come in."
The door creaked open, and a young woman in simple gray servant's robes entered, carrying a wooden tray laden with steamed buns, braised vegetables, and a pot of fragrant tea. She set the tray on the small table by the window, bowing politely.
"Please enjoy your meal, honored guest. If you require anything else, simply ring the bell."
Li Feng's gaze lingered on her face.
She was... ordinary. Her features were neither striking nor plain—her eyes were a soft brown, her nose gently sloped, her lips neither full nor thin. Individually, each feature was unremarkable. But when taken together, her face possessed a subtle, understated harmony. The kind of face one might pass on the street without a second glance, yet upon longer observation, would find increasingly pleasant to look at. Her figure, too, was modest but well-proportioned—gentle curves at the hips and chest, a defined waist, and a posture that suggested quiet competence rather than allure.
Perfect.
"What is your name?" Li Feng asked, his tone casual.
The attendant blinked, slightly surprised by the question. "This servant is called Li An, honored guest."
"Li An," Li Feng repeated softly, as if testing the name. "Thank you for the meal."
Li An smiled politely and turned toward the door. "Then I shall take my leave—"
Before she could finish, Li Feng's hand shot forward. His fingers pressed against the back of her neck, and a surge of spiritual energy flooded into her body, paralyzing her nervous system in an instant.
Li An's eyes widened in shock, her mouth opening to scream—but no sound emerged. Her body went rigid, then collapsed forward into Li Feng's arms.
"Forgive me," Li Feng whispered, his expression cold and detached. "But I need what you have more than you do."
He laid her gently on the floor, then retrieved the ancient jade slip containing the forbidden Skin Transformation Art from his spatial ring. His hands moved with practiced precision, forming the intricate seals and channeling his spiritual energy into her unconscious body.
The transformation took only minutes. Li An's skin separated from her flesh in a seamless, bloodless process, leaving behind a desiccated husk that crumbled into ash. The skin itself folded neatly into Li Feng's hands—soft, warm, and disturbingly lifelike.
He stored the new skin in his spatial ring, then sat down at the table and began eating the now-cold meal with mechanical efficiency. His mind was already calculating the next steps.
I'll leave tomorrow morning. Store enough provisions for a month. Head west toward the border, then north into the colder regions where yin cultivation is the norm.
A knock interrupted his thoughts.
"Li An? Are you still in there?" a male voice called from the hallway. "The kitchen master is looking for you."
Li Feng set down his chopsticks and walked to the door, opening it slightly. A middle-aged man in an apron stood outside, frowning.
"Have you seen the attendant who brought your meal?" the man asked, his tone edged with suspicion.
"She delivered the food and left," Li Feng replied evenly. "I haven't seen her since."
The man's frown deepened. "That's strange. She was supposed to return to the kitchen immediately..."
"Perhaps she stepped out for a moment," Li Feng suggested. "I wouldn't know."
The man studied Li Feng's face for a long moment, then nodded reluctantly. "If you see her, tell her to report back."
"Of course."
The door closed.
By the next morning, whispers had spread through the inn. Li An had vanished without a trace. The staff searched the building, questioned the other guests, and eventually turned their suspicious gazes toward Li Feng—the last person known to have seen her.
But they had no proof. And more importantly, Li Feng was a cultivator. Even a crippled Foundation Establishment cultivator commanded more authority than a dozen mortal innkeepers.
When Li Feng checked out, the innkeeper's smile was strained and cold. "We hope you enjoyed your stay, honored guest."
"It was adequate," Li Feng replied, handing over a few spirit stones. "I'll be purchasing provisions before I leave the city. Have your kitchen prepare three weeks' worth of dried meat, rice, and preserved vegetables. I'll collect them within the hour."
The innkeeper's eyes flickered with barely concealed resentment, but he bowed. "As you wish."
An hour later, Li Feng departed Clearwater City in a rented carriage, his spatial ring now filled with enough food and water to sustain him for a month.
As the carriage rattled along the dirt road toward the western border, Li Feng sat in the enclosed cabin, his mind focused on the path ahead.
The world was divided into five great continents: the Southern Continent, where the Azure Cloud Sect resided; the Northern Continent, a frozen wasteland where yin cultivation techniques dominated; the Eastern and Western Continents, which served as buffer zones and trade routes; and the Central Continent, the heart of the cultivation world.
The Central Continent was a forbidden zone for anyone below the Nascent Soul stage. It was a land of unimaginable resources, ancient sects, and cultivators so powerful that a single Nascent Soul elder—who could rule the Southern Continent as a hegemon—would be nothing more than a common street vendor in the Central cities.
If I tried to cross the Central Continent at my current cultivation, I'd be killed within a day, Li Feng thought grimly. The Western Continent is the safer route. From there, I can travel north without drawing attention.
But first, he had to survive the journey.
For the next week, Li Feng remained inside the carriage, meditating and consuming the spiritual-energy pills he had accumulated over the past century. These pills were rare and expensive—far less efficient than the qi-gathering pills that sects distributed to their disciples. Qi-gathering pills enhanced the speed at which a cultivator absorbed ambient spiritual energy, while spiritual-energy pills directly infused the body with condensed energy. The latter were useful only in situations where ambient energy was scarce or incompatible with the cultivator's constitution.
In Li Feng's case, the male skin's residual yang energy made ambient absorption impossible. The pills were his only option.
By the end of the week, he had reached the sixth stage of Qi Condensation.
But the process had been... disorienting.
In his previous male body, cultivation had been straightforward. Spiritual energy flowed into his dantian, circulated through his meridians, and strengthened his muscles, bones, and organs. The sensation was warm, solid, and grounding—like forging steel in a furnace.
Now, in Wu Meng Ting's body, everything was different.
When the spiritual energy reached his dantian, a wave of intense, almost unbearable pleasure surged through his lower abdomen. His breath hitched, his thighs trembled, and a slick, involuntary wetness pooled between his legs. The sensation was so overwhelming that he had to pause his cultivation multiple times to regain control.
As the energy circulated through his meridians, his muscles didn't harden—they became supple, flexible, and impossibly responsive. His skin tightened and smoothed, growing softer and more sensitive with each cycle. His breasts, full and heavy, seemed to swell slightly with each breath, their peaks hardening into tight, aching points that rubbed constantly against his male skin. His waist narrowed further, accentuating the lush, feminine curve of his hips. And deep within his core, his womb—an organ he had never possessed before—grew colder and colder, as if a block of ancient ice had taken root inside him.
The cold didn't hurt. Instead, it sharpened his senses to an almost unbearable degree. Every brush of fabric against his skin felt like a caress. Every shift of his body sent ripples of sensation through his chest, his thighs, his most intimate places. His sense of touch, in particular, had become so acute that even the vibrations of the carriage wheels against the road felt like fingers trailing across his flesh.
This is the Supreme Yin Technique, Li Feng reminded himself, gritting his teeth as another wave of pleasure threatened to break his concentration. It condenses the purest yin spiritual energy and stores it in the cultivator's body. When released, it can freeze enemies to death in seconds, corrode weapons, and shatter terrain.
He had read about the technique's effects in ancient texts, but experiencing them firsthand was another matter entirely.
I'll get used to it, he told himself. I have to.
By the time the carriage crossed into the Western Continent, Li Feng had regained enough control to function normally—though the constant, low hum of arousal in his body never fully disappeared.
He dismissed the carriage driver at the border town, paid him generously, and retreated into a rented room at a small roadside inn.
There, alone and unobserved, Li Feng finally removed the male skin.
The moment the disguise peeled away, the oppressive weight of the yang energy vanished. His true body—Wu Meng Ting's body—breathed freely for the first time in days.
Li Feng stood before a cracked bronze mirror, staring at his reflection.
The woman looking back at him was... breathtaking.
Her skin was flawless, pale as moonlight, with a faint, ethereal glow that seemed to emanate from within. Her face was a masterpiece of delicate symmetry—high cheekbones, a small, elegant nose, full lips the color of rose petals, and eyes so deep and luminous they seemed to hold entire galaxies. Her hair, long and white as snow, cascaded down her back in silken waves. Her body was a study in impossible perfection: full, heavy breasts that defied gravity, a waist so narrow it seemed sculpted by divine hands, and hips that flared into a lush, feminine curve. Her legs were long, slender, and impossibly smooth.
Li Feng's hands trembled as he touched his own face, his own chest, his own waist.
This is me now, he thought, his heart pounding. This is what I've become.
He took a deep breath, then reached into his spatial ring and retrieved Li An's skin.
The plain, unremarkable face of the attendant stared back at him from the folded flesh.
Time to disappear again.
Li Feng pressed the skin against his body and activated the transformation technique. The skin stretched, molded, and fused seamlessly over Wu Meng Ting's divine form, concealing it beneath a mask of mundane humanity.
When the process was complete, Li Feng looked into the mirror once more.
The woman staring back was ordinary. Forgettable. Safe.
"Li An," he whispered, testing the name on his lips. "From now on, that's who I am."