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Chapter 11: Preparing to Bloom
The training field was empty again.
Yan Xue stood beneath the dull grey sky, sweat soaking his robe, breath shallow. His palm trembled as he forced one more cycle of Qi through his meridians. It stuttered. Faltered. Collapsed.
Another failure.
Another morning spent chasing a path that no longer welcomed him.
He collapsed to his knees, fists clenched against the dry earth. His body ached, but worse was the silence in his soul—no feedback from heaven, no resonance from his inner core.
He was slipping from the world.
Not dying.
Just... forgotten.
He knew it was futile.
It was a lost cause.
He had a heavenly defying physique blocked by his own manhood.
But still, the stubborn nature of the righteous clan was instilled within him.
So what if there was no hope? He shall carve his own path, no matter what.
But still—every night—beneath his pillow lay that same pamphlet, its black lotus seal unmarred, the silk-bound paper warm to the touch.
He hadn't burned it. He hadn't thrown it away.
He told himself he'd simply forgotten.
But deep down, he knew that was a lie.
---
At Night
In the solitude of his chamber, Yan Xue sat cross-legged, trying to meditate. His body was tired, but his mind wouldn't quiet.
Not from the usual self-loathing. Not from grief over Li Mei.
It was something else now.
A soft heat that stirred inside him—not violent, not eager, just... yearning.
And in that longing, an image always returned.
He.
The man from the dream.
The Heavenly Demon.
Masculine beyond mortal comprehension.
Calm as a frozen lake.
Eyes that pierced past the soul—into the core of being.
Yan Xue had never desired men.
But this… wasn't desire in any way he understood.
It was need.
Not to touch, but to be touched.
Not to claim, but to be claimed.
And that thought—gods help him—sent a shudder through his spine.
---
He opened his robe.
Just to breathe easier, he told himself.
But his hands wandered, brushing across his chest—his nipples, tight and sensitive in the cold air.
He inhaled sharply.
Why were they… this sensitive?
He touched again. Slower. Lighter. Imagining—just for a moment—that the Heavenly Demon's fingers were tracing the same path.
He leaned back, panting.
The shame bloomed instantly, but he didn't stop.
Instead, his other hand slid downward, between his legs, then to his behind.
He paused.
His breath trembled.
"No. This is…"
"This is wrong."
But he tilted his hips slightly, brushing gently with his fingertips.
Not pushing. Just… testing.
And in his mind, he saw it:
The Demon's hand pressing his lower back.
The soft order to lift his hips.
To obey. To open.
He moaned—quiet and ashamed.
---
Afterward, he lay on his side, curled tightly, robe clinging to sweat-slick skin.
"I'm not… like that," he whispered.
"I'm not a femboy. I'm not weak."
And yet, even as he said it, he knew he wasn't convincing anyone—not even himself.
Because he hadn't been thinking of Li Mei.
Or vengeance.
Or strength.
He had been thinking of belonging.
Of being held down.
Of being told he was beautiful.
Of being used—not cruelly, but like something precious. Desired. Owned.
He cried. Silently.
But the pamphlet pulsed beneath his pillow.
Waiting.
---
That night, he dreamt again.
But not of flowers. Not of voices.
This time, he was naked, kneeling in a vast garden of moonlit black petals. Soft winds brushed his hair. He was breathing heavily, hands on his thighs, head bowed.
He was waiting.
And then—he came.
The Heavenly Demon.
He wore flowing robes of black and crimson, his chest bare, a chain of jade thorns coiled around his wrist.
His presence silenced all sound.
He said nothing—until he stood behind Yan Xue, so close his breath touched the back of his neck.
"You begin to understand," he said.
Yan Xue whimpered.
"Your body has always known. Even now, it prepares without your permission. But your mind still clings."
He felt the Demon's hand trail down his back.
Stop at his waist.
Then press—gently—against his lower back.
Yan Xue arched instinctively.
"You were never meant to walk among righteous men. Your path is one of surrender. Of worship."
"And in surrender… you shall find perfection."
He leaned close.
"You are not becoming weak, Yan Xue.
You are becoming mine."
Yan Xue gasped—
And woke.
---
🌘
Drenched in sweat. Robe tangled around his legs. Breathing fast.
He sat up, trembling, hand reflexively reaching under his pillow.
The pamphlet was still there.
Waiting. Patient.
He didn't open it.
But he clutched it.
Like a lifeline.
His heart beat not with fear.
But with aching need.
Not for women.
Not for justice.
But for a man—a god—who saw him in ways no one else had.
And somewhere deep inside…
A dominating voice whispered.
"once you decide, Just utter my name- Ryu Yeon Hwa ."
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[End of Chapter 11]