Ling Xiya’s breathing grew heavier and heavier.
Each time the Whip fell, it was as if a flame was being ignited in her heart.
The red welts on Isayat’s back had already layered over one another, and in some places, fine beads of blood even seeped out.
Against her pale skin, it appeared eerie and striking.
She watched her master’s spine arch slightly in pain and heard the curses mixed with gasps.
An unprecedented sense of satisfaction wrapped around her heart like a vine, tightening further and bringing an ultimate sense of pleasure.
“Master, your voice is truly beautiful,” Ling Xiya murmured, licking her dry lips.
The frenzy in her eyes nearly spilled over.
“The more you are like this, the more I feel… you belong to me.”
Ling Xiya whispered to herself, the dazed obsession in her eyes almost overflowing.
“Only I can make you reveal such a fragile yet stubborn side.”
The Whip in her hand swung faster and heavier.
Crack! Crack! Crack! The sounds echoed through the empty room, sounding exceptionally piercing.
Isayat’s body trembled violently.
The sweat, mixed with unspeakable pain, made it nearly impossible for her to remain standing.
Her “screams” had taken on a clear sobbing tone, and her angry rebukes had become intermittent, filled with “despair” and “unwillingness.”
“Let… let me go… Ling Xiya… You… you will regret this…”
Isayat’s voice was hoarse, each word squeezed out from between her teeth.
‘Regret?’
Ling Xiya sneered.
She stopped her movements and walked over to stand in front of Isayat.
She reached out, using the calloused pads of her fingers to gently stroke the strands of hair stuck to Isayat’s forehead by sweat.
Her actions actually carried a kind of twisted “tenderness.”
“Regret? Why would I regret?”
Ling Xiya leaned close to Isayat’s ear, her warm breath brushing against the sweat-dampened lobe.
“Being able to possess you like this is the greatest luck of my life. Master, do you know? Watching you suffer for me, watching you lose your composure because of me… I feel my heart beating violently. It is a… real sense of existence.”
Isayat jerked her head to the side, avoiding the touch.
Her eyes were filled with “humiliation” and “fury.”
“Get… get away! Don’t touch me!”
Instead of getting angry, Ling Xiya laughed even more joyfully.
She loved how Isayat looked—clearly in agony, yet still refusing to bow her head.
This only made her desire for conquest burn more fiercely.
She didn’t just want physical pain; she wanted a total, soul-level submission!
She raised the Whip again.
This time, the tip of the whip grazed Isayat’s cheek, leaving a faint trail of blood.
Isayat winced in pain and squeezed her eyes shut, her long eyelashes trembling from the agony.
“Master, do you still refuse to admit it?”
Ling Xiya’s voice carried a hint of seduction.
“You care about me. You can’t leave me. Otherwise, with your power, even if you really did lose your memory, it would be impossible for you to be bound by me so easily, wouldn’t it?”
Isayat’s body stiffened almost imperceptibly.
Ling Xiya keenly caught this reaction, and a wild joy surged in her heart.
‘I was right! Master really does care about me!’
This realization made her even more excited, even more crazed.
The whipping continued.
Isayat’s “screams” and “curses” gradually grew weaker, replaced by heavy, ragged breaths.
Her body had reached its limit.
Every time the Whip landed, it felt as if her soul was being pulled away along with it.
But Ling Xiya felt as if she had only just begun.
The Whip in her hand paused—not out of mercy, but because a more enticing thought was growing wildly in her mind.
Her eyes lit up instantly, and her lips curled into an even more wicked and satisfied smile.
Simple whipping didn’t seem to be enough.
It wasn’t enough to make her master “submit” to her completely, nor was it enough for her to feel that total, absolute sense of control.
She didn’t just want the emotional fluctuations caused by pain.
She wanted something deeper—a symbol, a brand, a declaration that Isayat would from now on only be her, Ling Xiya’s, master—a master who was tamed and controlled by her.
At that thought, an almost obsessed smile appeared on Ling Xiya’s face.
She slowly lowered the Whip, and it hit the floor with a clatter.
In the silent room, where only the two of them could be heard breathing, the sound was exceptionally clear.
Isayat seemed to sense something as well.
She lifted her head slightly, her damp hair clinging to her pale, stubborn face.
She looked at Ling Xiya warily.
Those eyes, which were usually full of majesty and coldness, were now slightly red from pain and anger, yet she still refused to yield in the slightest.
“What… what do you want to do?”
Her voice carried a trace of nearly unnoticeable trembling—not out of fear, but because of the physical pain and the uncertainty of Ling Xiya’s next move.
Ling Xiya didn’t answer.
She simply turned and walked toward the inconspicuous cabinet in the corner of the room.
It was an Old Cabinet she had accidentally discovered while cleaning the room earlier.
Inside were some items that seemed to have been left behind from a long time ago.
She remembered that in the deepest part of that cabinet, there seemed to be a…
She opened the cabinet door and rummaged through it.
Soon, her hand touched an Ice-cold Hard Object.
The smile on the corners of her mouth deepened as she carefully pulled the object out.