Ultimate Villain's Return as a Doctor in the Cultivation World-Chapter 197- A True Man vs A Weak one

Cang looked at him.

Not the full look. The sidelong acknowledgment — the specific, casual, unhurried noting of the man at the tree, the copper on his face, the hands on the bark, the wrong response and the right grief both visible from twelve meters in the breakthrough light.

The smirk.

The specific, small, one-corner, internal-amusement smirk of a man who had found the situation exactly as predictable as he had predicted it would be.

Then — still smirking — Cang looked back at his wife.

PAAH.

He drove.

His wife’s voice:

"—AAAHNN~!!!—"

And then Cang’s hand came to her hair.

The grip the mortal had seen used on his wife in the cedar room — the root-grip, the specific, absolute grip that the body followed — and it pulled, and his wife’s head came back, and Cang bent his mouth to her ear, and from twelve meters the mortal could hear every word:

"Look at the water," Cang said.

She looked at the water.

At her reflection.

The mortal watched his wife look at herself — the gold-white breakthrough light fading now to the settled amber of an advanced state, the face in the water the face of a woman who had been somewhere tonight that she could not take back, looking at a face that knew this.

"What do you see," Cang said.

PAAH.

"—AHN~!!!—I see—HAANN~!!!—I see—AAAHN~!!!—"

"Tell me."

"—AAAHNN~!!!— a woman—AHN~!!!— who has been—HAANN~!!!— properly—AAAHNN~!!!—properly fucked—KYAAANGHHH~!!!—for the first time—"

He heard it.

He heard his wife say it.

He heard the specific, honest, broken, unmanaged words his wife said while looking at her own face in the water.

The blood reached his chin.

PAAH PAAH PAAH PAAAH!

"—AAAHN~!!! HAANN~!!! AHN~!!! AAAHNNNN~~~~~!!!—"

He could not move.

He could not close his eyes.

His body was doing the thing it was doing and he hated it and the bark was giving under his hands and his wife was saying things he would never un-hear and the light was on the water and Cang’s eye found him again—

Flat.

Unhurried.

The specific, measured, completely unbothered look of a man who was still inside his wife and was looking at him over her back with the flat, assessor’s eye of someone who had won something that had never been a competition because the competition had never been declared.

[Evil Points: +134]

He tried to speak.

His voice: at sixty percent and falling. The specific, declining output of a nervous system that had been running at maximum and was beginning to route around non-essential functions, and speaking was currently filing as non-essential.

He thought: I will kill you.

He thought it with the specific, burning, absolute conviction of a man who had arrived at the one sentence he had left and was saying it to the only available audience.

I will kill you.

PAAAH!

"—AAAHNN~!!!—"

His wife’s body — the full, heavy, warm, final arc of her breakthrough event reaching its conclusion — the cultivation light going from the settled amber of advancement to the full, peak, white-gold of a cultivation base completing its second stage crossing of the night, Core Formation Peak, the meridians reorganizing with the specific, comprehensive, permanent finality of a structure that had been revised twice in one night and was sitting in its new configuration.

The light went up.

High.

The highest of the night.

He watched it illuminate everything.

He watched it illuminate the specific, final, worst thing.

Cang’s arms — both of them — wrapped around her from behind, the koala-hold in reverse, his chest against her back, her body held entirely against his in the specific, comprehensive, front-to-back full-contact embrace of someone who had decided this was the position and was in it — and then Cang’s hips—

PAAAH. PAAAH. PAAAH.

"—HAANN~!!! AHN~!!! AAAHN~!!!—Senior—AAAHNN~!!!—I feel it—HAANN~!!!—I feel something—AAAHN~!!!—deep—something is—AAAHNNNN~~~~~!!!—"

"—AAAHNN~!!! AAAHN~!!!—it hurts—HAANN~!!!—it HURTS—AHN~!!!—but don"t stop—KYAAANGHHH~!!!—DON"T STOP—"

The mortal frowned.

Through everything — the humiliation, the grief, the wrong response, the copper taste, the held position — through all of it he heard the word hurts and the cultivator instinct that eleven years of living beside a cultivator had built him registered it as a different category from the other sounds.

She was saying don"t stop.

But the pain in her voice was the specific, new-territory pain of something that had not been there before — the specific, particular, unmistakable pain of—

PAAAH!

"—AAAHNNNN~~~~~!!! IAAANGGGH~~!!!—"

The sound.

Not the ecstasy-sound. Not the breakthrough-sound. The specific, full-body, deep, real, involuntary sound of a woman whose body had just met a boundary it had not known it had and had exceeded it.

His wife.

The sound his wife made.

He had never heard her make a sound like that.

PAAAH. PAAH. PAAH.

"—HAANN~!!! AHN~!!!—wait—AHN~!!!—wait it’s—AAAHN~!!!—I can"t—HAANN~!!!—I can"t take—AAAHNN~!!!—it’s too—KYAAANGHHH~!!!—too deep—AAAHNNNN~~~~~!!!—"

He watched his wife try to move forward.

He watched Cang’s arm hold her in place — the flat, comprehensive, non-negotiable hold of someone who had decided the position was staying — and his wife’s hands came to the arm around her and gripped and pulled and the arm did not move.

"—AHN~!!!—let me—HAANN~!!!—let me move—AAAHN~!!!—it’s—it’s inside—it’s inside—KYAAANGHHH~!!!—"

The mortal man stood at the tree.

He understood what she was saying.

He understood the specific, anatomical meaning of inside in this context — the thing she was describing, the specific, deep, unfamiliar, new-territory event that his wife’s body was reporting through her voice — and he understood it the way a mortal man understood things about his wife’s body that he had learned over eleven years of proximity.

He had never reached that.

He had never — not once — reached the specific, deep boundary his wife’s body was currently reporting had been exceeded.

[Evil Points: +178]

Cang looked at him.

The eye contact.

Not the sidelong acknowledgment. The full, direct, front-facing eye contact — Cang looking at him over his wife’s shoulder while his wife’s hands pulled at the arm that was not moving, while his wife’s voice continued its honest, unmanaged report, while the breakthrough light continued its settled glow — looking at him with the flat, measured, completely unhurried eye of a man who was delivering a demonstration he had planned.

He looked directly at the mortal.

He drove.

PAAAH!

"—AAAHNNNN~~~~~!!!—"

His wife arched. The full, complete, vertebra-by-vertebra arc of a woman whose body had received something at the specific, deepest available location and was expressing the receiving with everything it had.

Cang looked at him and said nothing.

He did not need to say anything.

The eye contact was the sentence.

The blood ran freely from the mortal’s nose to his chin. His hands were white on the bark. His body was doing the thing he hated it for doing. His wife was making sounds he would never un-hear. The breakthrough light was the third sky-light of the night.

I will kill you.

He thought it inside his skull with the last, burning, absolute conviction of a man who had one thing left.

I will kill you, you bastard—

PAAH. PAAH. PAAH.

"—AAAHN~!!! HAANN~!!!—yours—AHN~!!!—I"m yours—AAAHN~!!!—I don"t care—HAANN~!!!—I don"t—AAAHNN~!!!—fill me—KYAAANGHHH~!!!—fill me—"

He fell.

The specific, quiet, vertical fall of a man whose legs had been on structural hold for three hours and whose blood pressure had been at maximum for the same duration and whose brain had, at some threshold he had not known existed, exceeded the capacity of the system to manage all inputs simultaneously.

His knees.

Then his side.

The grass was cool against his face.

The copper taste was there.