I Got Cheated On and Ended Up in A Beast World

The mountain air outside the private residential sectors of the Leopard Sect was thick with a heavy, freezing mist.

As night fell over the peaks, the grand victory from the afternoon feast did nothing to warm the dark corners of the secondary courtyard belonging to Elder Shen’s lineage.

Inside the main room of the estate, the floor was covered in the broken pieces of a valuable jade tea set.

"How could he do this to me? How dare he call me trash in front of the entire council of elders!"

Shen Mao screamed, her voice sharp and filled with a wild, uncontrollable rage as she slammed her palm against a carved wooden wardrobe.

Her long silver hair, usually groomed to absolute perfection, hung around her face in messy strands. Her eyes were red from crying, but there were no tears of sorrow on her cheeks, only the burning, poisonous fire of a deep, wounded vanity.

"I am the most beautiful female in the entire inner sect! Young masters from three different territories have crawled on their knees just to offer me their clan treasures! But he... he didn’t even look at my face for more than a second before he threatened to wash the hall with my blood!"

Elder Shen sat in a heavy stone chair near the cold hearth, his old face looking incredibly worn, grey, and entirely hollowed out by fear.

His hands were tucked so deeply into his long grey sleeves that his knuckles were turning white from the pressure. He didn’t even look up at his granddaughter’s frantic pacing.

His mind was still completely stuck on the terrifying image of the Patriarch sitting calmly on the high stone throne, grounding the supreme masters of the Roc Clan with a single, lazy glance.

"Shut your mouth, you foolish girl," Elder Shen finally rasped, his voice sounding like dry autumn leaves scraping against a grave.

"You still do not understand the absolute reality of what we are dealing with. That man is not a young master who can be swayed by a soft smile or a pretty dress. He is the living first Patriarch. His soul has existed since the very creation of our lineage. To him, you are nothing but a common insect crawling in the mud."

"I don’t care who he was in his past life!" Shen Mao hissed, her fingers curling into tight claws as she stepped closer to her grandfather, her voice dropping into a desperate, furious whisper. "Grandpa, you promised me! You said that if I used the facial structure of that dead lower-realm female, he would naturally feel a deep, irresistible pull toward me the moment his bloodline woke up! You said his core would be turbulent and he would need a water-spirit female to soothe his heat! But your plan failed completely! He looked at me with pure disgust!"

Elder Shen let out a low, turbid sigh, his shoulders drooping under the heavy weight of his failure. "The lower-realm array was tampered with by the Heavenly Dao before the extraction was complete. The seal on his memory is absolute, but his instincts are far too sharp. His soul rejected your inner essence because you lack the unique signature of the original woman. He might have a blank space in his mind, but his heart can instantly tell the difference between a real treasure and a piece of cheap glass."

"Then what am I supposed to do?!" Shen Mao shrieked, her chest heaving as a wave of intense, dark jealousy completely consumed her mind.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the cold, flawless, godlike figure of Wang sitting on the high throne.

She had never desired a male so intensely in her entire life. It wasn’t just about his handsome face; it was about the absolute, unmatched sovereignty that radiated from his every breath.

To be his primary female meant ruling over the entire Ancient Divine leopard tribe. She could not accept being pushed into the shadows while some nameless, dead woman from a weak lower world held the keys to his ancient heart.

"If he won’t look at me willingly, then I will force the entire sect to lock our names together," Shen Mao whispered, a slow, malicious light blooming deep within her dark eyes.

"Mao’er, what are you planning?" Elder Shen asked, his eyes narrowing as a sudden spike of alarm hit his chest. "The Patriarch’s surveillance is everywhere. The four old sages are actively scanning the mountain borders. If you make a clumsy move now, you will drag our entire lineage into a bottomless pit of execution!"

"They are scanning the borders for external enemies, Grandpa, not the inner disciples," Shen Mao said, her voice turning completely calm and smooth as she adjusted her heavy silver-fox collar.

"Tonight, the Patriarch is staying in the Cold Bamboo Courtyard to consolidate his core after the feast. I still possess the special, invisible mist-powder you obtained from the northern markets. I don’t need to fight his pressure. I only need to slip into his private room while he is deep in meditation, leave my scented silk ribbons on his bed, and ensure the outer attendants see me walking out of his courtyard at sunrise."

She leaned closer, her lips curving into a sharp, triumphant smile that made her face look incredibly twisted. "In the Upper Realm, the ancient laws of modesty are strict. Once a female’s private scent is locked inside the Patriarch’s sleeping quarters for an entire night, the clan council must recognize her status as an official concubine to protect the lineage’s honor. Even if he hates me, he will be forced to give me a place at his side. And once I am inside his palace... I will find a way to make him forget that lower realm ghost forever."

Without waiting for her grandfather’s reply, Shen Mao turned on her heel and glided out of the room, her long lavender silk skirts sweeping across the broken jade pieces with a soft, rustling sound.

The Cold Bamboo Courtyard was located on the highest, most isolated ridge of the Leopard Sect’s territory. It was a place of absolute, freezing tranquility, surrounded by thousands of tall, black bamboo stalks that groaned softly under the weight of the mountain snow.

In the center of the clearing stood a simple, elegant pavilion built from dark spiritual stones.

No guards were posted at the gates, because no ordinary cultivator in their right mind would ever dare to disturb the private sanctuary of a living god.

Wang sat cross-legged on a simple jade mat in the center of the dark bedroom. He wore nothing but his loose black robes, his broad chest rising and falling in a slow, perfectly measured rhythm.

The air around his body was humming with a faint, crimson light, the supreme energy of his awakened core slowly circulating through his meridian pathways to repair the minor cracks left by his chaotic journey through the void.

His mind was completely silent, yet deep within the darkness of his spirit ocean, that massive, hollow ache remained entirely active.

It was like a constant, heavy weight pulling at his soul, pointing directly toward the southwest horizon where the lower world resided.

Suddenly, the cold wind blowing through the bamboo stalks outside shifted slightly.

Wang did not open his eyes.

His long, silver tipped ears merely twitched for a fraction of a second. His instincts, far sharper than any high-grade detection array, instantly registered a faint, foreign disturbance entering the outer perimeter of his courtyard.

It was a soft, frantic rustling of silk against the snow, accompanied by the artificial, cloying sweet scent of a premium mist-powder meant to mask a cultivator’s biological aura.

To an ordinary elder, the intruder would have been completely invisible. But to Wang, the movement was as loud and clumsy as a wild bull crashing through a glass greenhouse.

Outside the pavilion doors, Shen Mao was crouching behind a frozen stone lantern, her face pale with a mixture of intense excitement and terror.

She held a small, silver bottle in her hand, slowly releasing a cloud of invisible, scentless powder into the air to neutralize the defensive runes on the wooden door frames.

Seeing that the ancient symbols remained dark, she let out a silent, triumphant breath.

’He is deep in his core consolidation,’ she thought, her heart pounding frantically against her ribs as she slipped through the gap in the double doors, her lavender skirts trailing tightly behind her. ’Grandpa was wrong. Even a Patriarch cannot defend against schemes when his mind is turned inward.’

She stepped into the dark bedroom, her eyes adjusting to the dim moonlight streaming through the open window.

She saw the magnificent, sculpted figure of Wang sitting on the jade mat just ten paces away. His handsome face looked completely serene, illuminated by the silver light of the stars.

Shen Mao’s mouth went dry with an intense, greedy desire.

She reached into her sleeve, pulling out a long, beautifully embroidered pink silk ribbon that carried her personal, high-grade spiritual scent.

She took three slow, silent steps forward, intending to drape the ribbon casually over the edge of his wooden bedframe before retreating into the shadows.

"Your soul is incredibly filthy," a voice suddenly spoke.