Chapter Text
It’s a bright April day in Yueyang City, the first truly warm day of spring. The streets are lined with blossoming trees, wispy white and soft pink. Wen Kexing is just sitting down to enjoy a mild oolong tea at the Ruyi Inn. From his private room, he can peer out the window and see bustling passerby below, shopping and munching on treats in the busy town square.
Wen Kexing pours himself another cup of tea and sighs contentedly, the warm scent of the floral blend filling the air. He closes his eyes, about to take another sip when Cao Weining of the Gentle Wind Sword Sect bursts into his room abruptly. Wen Kexing looks up in distaste, his lips poised above the cup. He sets the tea down.
“Hello, Master Wen!” Cao Weining greets him with a courteous bow. “My apologies—I hope I’m not interrupting your tea.” He smiles good naturedly. Wen Kexing looks back at him with a vexed stare, wondering which servant let him in. Someone will be getting an earful about this later.
Cao Weining is a silly, pampered boy with the kind of mellow, handsome face that maidens easily fall for. He dresses well—his sect robes are the color of the sky, as clear and pure as his smile, and their fabric is smooth and unwrinkled. His long hair is fixed with a tasteful silver guan. He exudes the feeling of a spring breeze or a calm day at sea. The moment Gu Xiang introduced him at Fengyang Pub, Wen Kexing immediately disliked him.
“What business do you have with me?” Wen Kexing demands, pointedly not inviting Cao Weining to sit and join him.
“I’ve come to ask for your permission, Master Wen, with regards to Lady Gu Xiang.” Cao Weining smiles bashfully, unaware that Wen Kexing is not amused.
“Oh? How interesting. You didn’t seem to require my permission when you propositioned her so boldly at the restaurant—and then dashed off without paying for her meal.”
The smile falls clean off Cao Weining’s face. “Ahh—Master Wen, please don’t misunderstand,” he says, flustered. “That all happened in the spur of the moment. My purse was compromised by the Nine-Clawed Fox, same as you. Please forgive me.” He bows again. “I would like to ask your permission properly now with great respect for your wishes.”
“If you had great respect for my wishes, you would leave A-Xiang alone,” Wen Kexing points out.
Cao Weining lets out a small nervous laugh and then stops abruptly, noticing Wen Kexing’s stony expression. He’s not joking.
“Please sir,” He bows again. “My feelings are sincere. I will treat your maid well and bring her home promptly, as you wish.”
Wen Kexing sighs deeply. How troublesome. He gets up and begins to pace ominously around the room, fanning himself.
“Let me make one thing perfectly clear, boy. A-Xiang is not merely my maid. She is like a precious disciple to me. And you should know that if you want to date my disciple, you will also be subject to my discipline, as if you were a disciple of my own.”
“Of course, Master Wen,” Cao Weining agrees readily. He feels as though Wen Kexing is circling in on him, like a falcon surveying a field mouse.
How perfectly vexing, Wen Kexing thinks to himself, that the lout won’t take a hint. Or perhaps he’s too dim-witted to understand the thinly-veiled threat. Wen Kexing decides to make himself more explicit.
“Oh? You agree? You’ll submit to castigation, however I like? If we are to move forward then, I would need to know—what are your intentions?” Wen Kexing asks, his eyes narrowing as he peers at Cao Weining from behind his fan. Cao Weining’s cheeks go a bit pink.
“To court her, sir, as a gentleman should, with the hope of marriage—should she-—and you!” he adds after seeing the incredulous look on Wen Kexing’s face, “accept.”
“How very upstanding!” Wen Kexing scoffs, his voice laced with sarcasm. He considers reciting a proverb, but decides it would be a waste on this silly boy. Well! Mentioning marriage outright...the little cur has some nerve. But it makes no difference. Wen Kexing knows well that young men will say anything for the chance to go for a roll in the hay with a pretty maiden. He supposes he will have to dissuade Cao Weining’s efforts in his own wicked way, by setting terms that no sane young man would agree to.
“You must receive my permission every time you wish to take her out on a date,” Wen Kexing says gravely. “If you try to sneak around me, I’ll have you horsewhipped.”
“Ah, of course!” Cao Weining nods nervously.
“And if you hurt her even once, I’ll break both of your legs. I’ll slice out your tongue so you can never kiss a maiden again. And then I’ll cut off both of your arms and throw them in the lake.” With each new threat, the timbre of Wen Kexing’s voice grows increasingly unhinged.
“I understand,” Cao Weining agrees, although his handsome face is looking a bit pale.
“Well then, I’m glad we are agreed,” Master Wen smiles in a deeply sinister way and snaps his fan shut. “Now, come over here. I wish to punish you.”
“But Master Wen, I haven’t done anything wrong...?”
“You’ve been quite audacious to even suggest that you can court my dear A-Xiang. That in itself is deserving of penalty. Besides, I think it’s best to set the tone of our relationship going forward.” Cao Weining gulps.
“Y-yes, sir.”
Wen Kexing considers for a moment. Cao Weining must be a lovestruck fool to agree to a beating so earnestly on such ridiculous terms. Or perhaps the daft boy believes Wen Kexing will be gentle with him? Wen Kexing dearly longs to dissuade him of that notion.
Wen Kexing almost wants to laugh, but he maintains his stern image and turns to retrieve a long, elegant paddle from the chest of drawers. It’s made of lacquered wood with intricate floral engravings. A red beaded tassel hangs from the handle, clearly an artisan piece. Wen Kexing handles it with an eerie fondness.
Cao Weining’s eyes widen in surprise when he sees the formidable implement, but he approaches Wen Kexing nonetheless.
“Remove your outer robes and bend over,” Wen Kexing orders, his eyes trained sharply on Cao Weining. Cao Weining’s cheeks go scarlet.
“Huh? Sir, why must I remove them?”
“Do you want to court A-Xiang or not?” Wen Kexing snaps impatiently. “Undress and bend over or I’ll dismiss you. What’s the point of discipline if you can’t even feel it through your clothing?”
“Understood!” Cao Weining says, obediently working at his belt. Glancing at the fearsome paddle, he very much suspects he would feel the blows through his clothing, but he doesn’t question Wen Kexing’s demand.
Cao Weining’s ears glow a bright red as he removes his outer robes, carefully folding them and placing the fine, embroidered fabric on a nearby table. He looks up at Wen Kexing for guidance, shielding himself rather modestly in his linen undershirt and trousers.
“Bend over here.” Wen Kexing uses the paddle to gesture to a bench. “Tch... do you really not know what to do? Does the Gentle Wind Sword Sect have no discipline? No wonder you’re so spoiled.”
Cao Weining prickles, but says nothing as he gets into position, bending at the waist with his hands braced on the bench and his ass in the air. The truth is that he’s a respectful student who obeys the sect rules and rarely gets thrashed. Of course, like all of the disciples in the Gentle Wind Sword Sect, he’s had the odd beating from his shixiong, Wei Xu, for his missteps. Any young boy from a martial arts sect could say the same.
Cao Weining chews his lip, recalling a particularly nasty run-in with Elder Fan Huai Kong’s cane from his younger days. He and a group of other boys had skipped lessons on a hot day to go swimming in the lake. They were punished together, squeezing each other’s hands as the shishu lashed their wet bottoms and admonished them. But that was many years ago. Cao Weining is older and more experienced now—it’s been many years since he submitted to a proper whipping. He hopes it won’t be too painful.
On the other hand, Wen Kexing is more accustomed to punishing Gu Xiang, for whom spanking is a routine occurrence. Far from needing guidance, she gets into the expected position like it’s second nature, complaining all the while. In fact, Wen Kexing hauled her across his lap for a seeing-to just the other day after she forgot to buy provisions from the market. Gu Xiang might kick and whine and make a great fuss, but at least she knows what’s expected of her when she’s being punished.
Wen Kexing adjusts Cao Weining how he sees fit, using the paddle to nudge the young man’s feet apart. Wen Kexing then slips his hand into the waistband of Cao Weining’s light trousers, pulling them down to his knees. He allows himself a moment to survey Cao Weining’s exposed bottom. The lad is sturdily built and his ass is round and plump. Wen Kexing sneers derisively. What a waste of a nice rump on such a simple boy.
Cao Weining shifts awkwardly in the silence, uncomfortable at being nude from the waist down. He hardly has a moment to dwell on it though. Without warning, Wen Kexing quickly swings the paddle with his full strength and brings it down hard, right on the center of Cao Weining’s ass. A loud crack echoes through the room.
Cao Weining’s gasps, his body thrust forward from the force of the impact. Wen Kexing takes a brief moment to admire the blushing mark on Cao Weining’s pale bottom before raising his arm and hitting him again, equally as hard in the same place. This time, a quiet, pained noise escapes Cao Weining’s lips. He shuts his mouth and manages to endure the next five stinging whacks in dignified silence. Until, that is, Wen Kexing begins to target his left side repeatedly.
Cao Weining hisses and a particularly loud smack has him yell. “Oh! Ouch!” He cries earnestly, his feet tapping a bit in frustration, trying to stamp out the burning.
“Stop that foolish dancing,” Wen Kexing scolds, bracing his left hand on Cao Weining’s lower back and lifting the paddle again to deliver five hard whacks in quick succession.
“OHH!” Cao Weining gasps, forcing himself to stay still. It feels like his hindquarters are being set on fire. Heat blooms and swirls on the surface of his bottom, the harsh blows spreading the smarting right through him. The pain is intense and inescapable.
Again and again, the hits continue. Wen Kexing is like an artist, painting Cao Weining’s backside with various shades of crimson. He takes great care to do it expressively and evenly. It isn’t long before the entire surface of Cao Weining’s bottom is stained with a rosy glow, with deeper ruby tones throbbing through his hot flesh where the paddle strikes with particular force.
Wen Kexing takes his time, too, never developing a predictable rhythm. He delivers a stroke and then paces, watching the sting set in before approaching again and enjoying the way Cao Weining flinches when he raises his arm suddenly, anticipating the blow.
Once or twice, Wen Kexing approaches him with great dramatics. Cao Weining can feel the master behind him, raising his arm and winding up as if to hit him. He braces himself and then flinches hard when the implement swooshes through the air. But Wen Kexing fakes him out, smiling maliciously at the way Cao Weining shudders and jumps at nothing. Then, when Wen Kexing actually does hit him, it’s quiet and out of nowhere. It’s agonizing; Cao Weining is unable to predict when and where he’ll strike next, unable to prepare himself for the next strike.
Cao Weining tries his best to stay still and take the punishment dutifully, but he’s not used to such rough treatment. Silence long forgotten, he yelps and hollers involuntarily as each new whack scalds his bottom.
“Tell me, Cao Weining, how are you feeling?” Wen Kexing inquires, pacing behind the boy.
“It hurts, sir,” Cao Weining admits shakily and Wen Kexing is pleased to note that his round cheeks are wet with tears.
“Quite right,” Wen Kexing says before spinning the paddle in his hand and smacking it down on the boy’s ass with force.
“Aaahh!!” The rosy flesh of Cao Weining’s buttocks wobbles from the impact. Wen Kexing smiles—the young disciple’s cries of pain are music to his ears. Another hit and Cao Weining is arching his back with a low whine. Wen Kexing catches a glimpse of Cao Weining’s scrotum between his thighs and briefly imagines how easily he could slice it off.
Wen Kexing pauses, taking stock of Cao Weining’s trembling and the tears streaming down his face. His legs are shaking badly, knees threatening to give out. He’s trying very hard not to full-on bawl, but he can’t keep himself from whimpering gently. Wen Kexing sighs and rests his arm for a moment, taking a seat on the bench next to Cao Weining. He runs a hand over the surface of the paddle and finds it is warm from the repeated friction.
“Cao Weining,” he says, “come here.” He places his large hands on the boy’s hips, guiding him over his lap. Cao Weining yields to the officious steering, his eyes snapped shut in pain and humiliation. Before guiding him face down, Wen Kexing notices, with some irritation, the impressively large manhood hanging between Cao Weining’s legs.
Maybe the hits will be a bit lighter now, Cao Weining hopes. He settles into the placement, with a good view of the wooden floor and the long fabric of Wen Kexing’s jewel-like teal hanfu. He nearly shrieks when Wen Kexing whacks him again, the wooden paddle whistling through the air at great speed before it crashes into him. In this new position, Wen Kexing can feel all of Cao Weining’s hurt fidgeting and twisting intimately. He places his left hand on Cao Weining’s back to hold him down firmly.
Cao Weining’s ears turn a deeper shade of red from the touch and he bites his bottom lip. Wen Kexing continues raising the paddle into the air again and again, thrashing the boy across his lap with great force. Cao Weining’s whole body tenses up, his knees bending involuntarily. He feels himself rapidly reaching his limit, not sure how much more he can endure.
“P-please sir,” Cao Weining begins to weep openly, breaking down. “Have mercy! Please, a bit lighter, sir... I’m nearly beaten through.” Wen Kexing sets the paddle down immediately and Cao Weining exhales in relief, his muscles relaxing.
“Certainly. We can end this conversation right now if you’ve changed your mind about A-Xiang. I will stop thrashing you and you’re welcome to walk out and never return,” Wen Kexing tells him, dead serious. Cao Weining gasps.
“Oh...!” he wipes his eyes with his sleeve and fidgets uncomfortably over Master Wen’s lap, wishing very dearly to rub his abused buttocks. Wen Kexing watches him deliberate, like a cat watching a cornered quarry. “No, sir,” Cao Weining finally relents, woefully. “I have not changed my mind. My feelings for Lady Gu Xiang are sincere. Please, go ahead.”
The boy’s got some courage, Wen Kexing will give him that. Wen Kexing picks up the paddle once again and brings it down hard on Cao Weining’s already blistered ass with a deafening crack. Cao Weining whimpers pitifully, but does not move from his position.
Wen Kexing slaps him again three times in quick succession, in the exact same place, leaving a bright oblong mark across the crown of Cao Weining’s buttocks. The young man makes a wounded sound, his hips bumping against Wen Kexing’s lap in an effort to resist the paddle’s persistent, awful sting. Wen Kexing smirks. It really is a pleasure to see a boy like this, reduced to tears by Wen Kexing’s skilled work with a paddle. He knows Cao Weining won’t ever forget this and he wants him to remember it every time he’s on a date with Gu Xiang.
Even so, Wen Kexing reminds himself that he has no intention of breaking the boy’s skin. It would probably be most prudent to stop entirely, but because Wen Kexing can’t resist, he sets the paddle down and slaps Cao Weining hard with the flat of his hand. Once, and then again, and then again, and again. Rapid fire swats hail down onto Cao Weining’s thoroughly abused bottom. The boy wails pitifully, clearly embarrassed by Wen Kexing’s choice.
As patronizing as it is to be set across a master’s knee and spanked by his bare hand like a willful child, it’s not much relief from the pain. Unfortunately for Cao Weining, Wen Kexing’s hand is both large in surface area and fearsomely strong. Wen Kexing relentlessly swats his charge’s throbbing bottom for the next several minutes. Cao Weining weeps pitifully, but submits to spanking with grace.
“Alright, get up,” Wen Kexing says finally and Cao Weining hurries to his feet, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. His hands tremble as he hurriedly pulls his trousers up, shuddering as the fabric brushes his wrecked bottom. A pitiful tear runs down his cheek and he is quick to wipe it away. Wen Kexing sighs and stands up. He reaches for Cao Weining’s outer robes, helping his arms into them and tying the waist ties securely. Cao Weining sniffles, welcoming this small act of comfort, although he’s deeply chastised and aching.
“Now,” Wen Kexing says, drawing himself up to his full height and tilting Cao Weining’s chin up to look at him directly. The young man’s eyes are large and filled with tears. He looks quite the picture of a contrite disciple after a telling-off. “That was just a gentle conversation. If I hear you’ve been causing trouble for my A-Xiang, I won’t be so gentle.”
“Yes, Master Wen!” Cao Weining sniffs, lowering his head demurely. He can’t believe that this thrashing could ever be considered gentle and he shudders to consider what a truly harsh beating would be like in Master Wen’s view.
“Good boy. I’m so glad we are understood.” Wen Kexing pats Cao Weining’s tear-stained cheek. “Now,” He flips Cao Weining around, holding the boy’s arm up, and gives his clothed hindquarters a stern smack with the flat of his hand, eliciting a pained whimper, before pushing him away. “Get out of here. And rest yourself well if you don’t want to be walking with a limp on your first date!”
“Th-thank you, Master Wen!” Cao Weining bows and takes his hurried exit, wincing and indeed limping a bit.
“Tch,” Wen Kexing crosses his arms and huffs a short laugh. Cao Weining may want to insist on a walking date. A sit-down meal would certainly be too much for him at the moment.