Wen Yao

page views:1 Publication date:2023-06-11 13:55:46

As the saying goes, there are mountains beyond mountains, and heavens beyond heavens. In the vast universe, the stars in the Ganges River are ever-changing and
endless. In the Shushan region of Sichuan, China, the mountains rise and fall, and the sea of clouds swirls and surges, inspiring the imagination that
the spiritual energy of heaven and earth gathers between the rivers and mountains. Legend
has it that there are immortal beings in these mountains who can absorb the spiritual energy, transcend the mortal body, fly on swords, chase the wind and the moon, and traverse the starry sea. They cultivate immortality here, hoping
to comprehend the eternal mysteries of heaven and earth, and achieve a state of unity with the universe.

The story begins in the Shushan region of Sichuan. During the reign of Emperor Xuanzong of the Tang Dynasty, a remarkable person emerged.
His imagination was exceptionally rich when he composed poems, like a celestial horse soaring through the sky. His verses overflowed with beautiful romanticism. This
person was Li Bai. Before he entered officialdom or became an immortal, he lived in seclusion
in a thatched hut on a large mountain near the west gate of Shitou Town, Sichuan (a fabricated story). Li Bai loved composing poetry and working the land, often comparing himself to Zhuangzi.
Amidst the misty clouds on the mountain, one could often see lean, vigorous peaks rising abruptly, piercing the sky, with several peaks
seemingly floating in mid-air, inevitably evoking the image of an immortal's abode.

More than a thousand years later, the world had changed drastically, and people rarely flocked to such places to cultivate immortality or practice alchemy. In
2019 AD, however, a man claiming to be a descendant of Li Bai appeared there, named Wen Yao. His original surname was Li
, his given name was Hou, and he called himself Shitou Jushi (Stone Hermit). Envious of Li Bai's title of "Poet Immortal," he adopted the character "Yao" as his pen name
. This change was quite significant. At the time, he felt his name, Li Yao, was somewhat inappropriate, and because of his love for literary
theory, he simply changed his surname to "Wen" (文). Thus, he called himself "Wen Yao" (文妖). "Wen Yao" means "literary genius,"
all because he read so much, especially history, which he considered omniscient and proficient in. He would talk about history
with everyone he met, even when they were working in the fields, insisting they sit down and listen to his discussions of ancient times and
philosophical theories. He often spoke with great pride and high spirits, wishing he could govern the country and bring peace to the world, possessing the talent of Qin Shi Huang and Emperor Wu of Han, yet constantly
complaining about not getting an official position.

People found him too pedantic and often laughed at and scolded him, but he didn't care. Wen Yao wasn't only good at history
; later, he also developed a career in literary theory. From then on, his reputation spread far and wide; everyone in the vicinity
knew of the village's Wen Yao, who often said: "He speaks of literature through classical Chinese phrases." He was only in his thirties and originally
from Jiangnan. He had read a few lines of poetry and literature in his youth, but his writing was poorly choreographed, so
he failed the civil service exam for six or seven years. He felt that teaching would lower his social standing, and after repeated persuasion from his family, he
laughed at himself, thinking that with his vast knowledge of astronomy and geography,
obtaining a teaching certificate would be a piece of cake. However, on the day the results were released, he rushed to see them, only to return dejected. He couldn't understand
why he had failed. He didn't doubt his writing ability, convinced that others were jealous of him; regardless
, it was a significant blow.

Later, the principal of a nearby school took pity on him and offered him a substitute teaching position. He was furious
, thinking it was an insult and a deliberate attempt to embarrass him. It took repeated persuasion from his family before he
finally agreed to teach for a month. The principal, of course, readily agreed.

It was springtime. After the winter break, the students heard that a learned old scholar had come to the school.
They were curious to know who he was, how he was so famous that the principal had to personally invite him. On the first day of school, a large crowd of
students gathered at the school gate, staring at him like he was a monkey, chattering noisily. Wen Yao, unaware of their curiosity, assumed it was because of his own
fame. As he drew closer, the students noticed his deep wrinkles,
abundant white hair, and, most importantly, his eyes—mostly white with little black. According to the elders, this was a sign of lewdness. The students
were greatly disappointed and scattered.

Wen Yao hadn't even had a chance to wave to the leader; all
the words he had prepared for his speech the night before were wasted. He hardened his heart and decided to regain face in class. "You won't listen to me?
Fine, I'll force it on you. You have to listen whether you want to or not." Wen Yao thought to himself, grinning broadly
. But then he saw the principal running towards him from afar, sweat dripping down his forehead. He didn't even have time to wipe it away before hurriedly
apologizing to Wen Yao.

What was going on? Wen Yao was also confused. The principal told him that the students thought he was too old and useless
. He was furious, but immediately an idea came to him. He needed to
save face. He spoke politely, but his face was very serious. He carefully said, "Principal, I'm sorry to trouble you, making
you come all this way. I'll go and say hello to them before I leave. I can't go back just because they think I'm old.
I want them to know I'm capable. So what if I'm old? My knowledge is something no one can buy. These kids
are too superficial. They'll regret not listening to my literary theories. That's why I'm here today, no matter what,
I'm going to teach them a lesson."

The principal almost laughed out loud at his boastful words, but seeing his serious expression, he didn't think he was lying. Despite
this, the principal still didn't want him to go over, because the students said they didn't want to see an old scholar, fearing it would ruin their appetite. The principal
couldn't simply repeat the students' words; he spoke tactfully, but he'd forgotten what kind of person Wen Yao was
. He couldn't stop Wen Yao. Wen Yao muttered as he walked forward. Wen Yao strode with an air of arrogance
, head held high, his body stretched to its limit. The principal knew he wouldn't give him a
chance to speak, so he followed behind him, hurrying towards the classroom. As they walked, the principal explained
that he shouldn't misunderstand, that this was an unexpected accident. This only made things worse; Wen Yao's thoughts wandered too much.
He immediately thought it was a trap, a deliberate prank. The more he investigated, the angrier he became. It turned out
the principal and the students had put on a show to vent his previous dissatisfaction with the principal's arrogance.

The principal weakly tried to salvage his dignity. He felt he hadn't done anything wrong, so why should he speak so weakly
? Wouldn't that just confirm his guilty conscience? No, he couldn't let it be like this, the principal thought to himself, raising his head
to look intently at Wen Yao's hurried steps. He caught up with her, "I didn't expect things to turn out this way. Do n't
worry, I'll offer some compensation."

"Thank you, but I can't accept that."

"Listen to me, your name certainly brings honor to our school," he said, then noticed Wen Yao had stopped
and turned to ask, "Is that so?"

"Haha, of course!" the principal's tone had never been so humorous. In truth, he
didn't approve of Wen Yao. That Wen Yao was no simpleton either; he desperately needed to instill his theories, honed over a decade, into
the lab rats for experiments. Before the principal could finish speaking, he strode confidently into the classroom. However, the classroom doorway was too
narrow, the threshold too low, forcing him to bend over. At that moment, several students were playing on the teacher's platform, and
Wen Yao's bend appeared to them as a bow. Immediately, the students on the platform
returned his bow.

Wen Yao was filled with shame and indignation. He hadn't come here to be a nice guy; the anger simmering in his chest
surged to his forehead, giving him an opportunity to humiliate others.

He hurriedly went up to the podium, and in the process, sent the students off. He felt satisfied, but
not quite completely. The profound principles he had envisioned were still weighing on his mind, like
phlegm stuck in his throat, unbearably itchy. Thinking of this metaphor, Wen Yao felt truly brilliant, even his metaphor
was so elegant and refined. He deliberately cleared his throat, unexpectedly coughing up the thick phlegm from his nose
. The sound was heard by the entire class, including the principal outside the door.

The students watched his every move, wondering what he would do next. Would he swallow the phlegm?
That would be disgusting. Spitting it out in front of the students was also unseemly. What was
the best choice? The students began a new round of whispers. But Wen Yao was no ordinary person. He had been well-versed in classical Chinese literature since childhood, and
believed that one's body and hair were gifts from one's parents, and one should not damage them. Not only was he reluctant to cut his hair, but
he also only washed his body once a month to remove the grime. (This is too far-fetched, too much fantasy. Haha.)
So what if it was just a wad of phlegm? He swallowed it immediately. Even the principal felt as if he had unknowingly
swallowed a mouthful of phlegm himself, which was utterly disgusting. He frantically tried to clear his throat at the classroom door.

Ignoring what others thought, Wen Yao noticed the students whispering below the stage. He picked up his board and slammed it down
, the sound deafening, instantly silencing the classroom.

Ignoring everything else, Wen Yao began talking to himself about his self-created literary theory. He shamelessly
gave this outdated theory a name: "Wen Yao's Literary Criticism Lecture."

The content was as follows:

The first point was that anyone who couldn't use his (garbage) allusions and (nauseating) rhetoric
wouldn't improve even if they read a lot of books. It's your loss if you don't want me.

Secondly, he argued that if students didn't thoroughly understand his literary theories, they wouldn't be able to create good articles (compositions)
. Furthermore, he wanted to advise students that because nowadays anyone can write articles (compositions), his
lectures on literary theory had become worthless. He felt his precious status as a writer had been diminished
, attributed to the work of mere mediocre writers—a low-quality writing he didn't want to see. He knew these words would offend those
mediocre writers.

Having finished these two theories, Wen Yao was extremely pleased with himself. Just before leaving the classroom, he coughed forcefully
, trying to suck up the phlegm he had swallowed earlier. He cleared his throat and spat it out
in the classroom. He was very happy, feeling immensely pleased to have published his research, which he had suppressed for over a decade
. He also felt he had vented his anger, and spitting on those who disliked literary theory wasn't unreasonable.

After Wen Yao left, the students erupted in excitement. They admired this eccentric Wen Yao;
could an ordinary person really spit in public? They swarmed around the thick sputum, examining it closely
. The sputum was crystal clear, especially the central part, which shone like jade. Some students even
took photos as souvenirs. Later, the students begged the principal to bring him back to teach literary theory and criticism. Wen Yao,
knowing the whole story, naturally hadn't expected such an effect. So he readily accepted.

In the days that followed, he frequently instilled his own "Wen Yao" literary theory and criticism knowledge into his students,
some of which was quite bizarre. He often criticized those who didn't understand literary theory for their arguments over "terminology." Sometimes
, in high spirits, he would discuss the distinction between high and low art, and even encouraged his students to collect other people's essays for
him to critique, which he would then distribute to his students in later classes as models for literary theory and criticism.

Several years passed in this way. Wen Yao grew somewhat weary of his position. He felt his students' literary skills
were too poor; after years of teaching, none of them could understand or master his painstakingly written textbooks on literary theory and criticism. He
was both smug about his profound knowledge and saddened by others' lack of understanding. He felt disheartened, but fortunately, his own
level was rising steadily, while his students' incomprehension was appalling. Over the years, he had almost exhausted his knowledge
. So he submitted his resignation to the principal and, without waiting for a reply, hastily packed some belongings and traveled
throughout the country. He went to many places, and like Confucius, he preached and spread his influence wherever
he went. Gradually, he had countless students. In his old age,
looking back on his life, he felt a sense of injustice at how few people understood him, but then he thought of Einstein when he created the theory of relativity
, when only a dozen or so people worldwide understood it, and he felt satisfied. Looking back on

his life, he realized it had been a truly magnificent journey.

He remembered his travels on Devil's Island, a place where flowers bloomed and weeds grew rampant. Rumor had it that the inhabitants lived a primitive
life, barely clothed, and occasionally cannibalistic. Even more shockingly, they had no sense of shame, engaging in promiscuous
acts with family and friends. The island's history was a blank slate; they had practiced slash-and-burn agriculture for tens of thousands
of years without inventing writing. Wen Yao was naturally excited to arrive, but the backwardness of their civilization was accompanied
by barbarity. Once, Wen Yao was captured and asked where he came from. He had no idea
what they were saying, and it was like talking to a brick wall; they argued for a long time without reaching a conclusion.
Enraged, the people of Devil's Island punished Wen Yao by forcing him to mate with their domesticated pigs. Poor
Wen Yao, he never imagined he would one day be involved with beasts and abuse animals. At that moment, Wen Yao was somewhat distraught, thinking...
He thought he was going to die, but he survived and was rescued by the women of Devil's Island.

However, Wen Yao was a petty man; he repaid kindness with enmity and raped the woman. Actually, "rape"
isn't quite accurate, since the people of Devil's Island didn't consider sex a big deal. They thought sex was wonderful.
As a result, Wen Yao ruined his health. He vowed to write a historical novel exposing the barbarity of the island.

He was a prolific writer and quickly finished it, recounting his interactions with the people of Devil's Island. He dared not write about
being captured and forced to have sex with pigs; instead, he used subtle language, portraying himself
as getting along well with the pigs and teaching them how to make Dongpo pork. When necessary, he was direct, depicting the people of Devil's Island as having insatiable sexual desires
, no concept of family, and no understanding of incest. They could mate anytime, anywhere;
when their libido was aroused, they would do it, regardless of gender. Strangely, none of the people there had contracted AIDS
.

Wen Yao was completely baffled. Finally, he ventured deeper into the tiger's den to investigate. Led by the girl he'd met before
, they arrived at a large, lush mountain. Wen Yao asked her, "Mingmo, this mountain seems more
majestic than others. What is its name?" (Note: The girl's name was Mingmo.) Wen Yao usually spoke in a very literary style
, sometimes to the point of being addicted to classical Chinese, which even Mingmo laughed at for being pedantic. So, whenever he touched a sore
spot, Mingmo would be subjected to his rough treatment. Having previously performed anal sex on a wild boar, he had also developed a taste for this kind of lewd act
.

At that moment, he ripped off the belt below Mingmo's waist. The primitive man's pajamas were meant to
protect the private parts from the wind and sun. After Wen Yao tore it off, Mingmo's round, smooth buttocks were immediately revealed before his eyes. He
swallowed hard and hurriedly pulled out his own ugly penis. Bathed in sunlight, the thing
looked exceptionally ferocious, its head held high, thrusting towards Mingmo's pale purple anus
. A series of crackling sounds echoed throughout the forest. Beads of sweat on Mingmo's skin shone brighter

than everything around her in the sunlight . "Oh... Brother Wen... Ahh... You, ah... How could you... Oh... Do this to me, ah... Your thing... is too big... Oh oh,... I can't take it anymore,... My asshole is about to... be ruined by you." Wen Yao enjoyed this process of conquest, especially the woman's pleas for pleasure beneath him. He gripped Ming Mo 's waist and thrust slowly, his breathing becoming rapid and heavy. He slowed down, pulled his thing out, and with the lubricant of her vaginal fluid, it regained its virility. Ming Mo was enjoying her orgasm, blissfully intoxicated, when suddenly that incredibly pleasurable thing disappeared. Her vagina was unbearably itchy, and her emptiness had nowhere to go, so she turned her head to Wen Yao, "Brother Wen , what's wrong with you? You're making me feel so uncomfortable ╯﹏╰." " Feeling uncomfortable so quickly? It seems you people from Devil Island are truly devoted to desire, as if there's nothing desire can't solve." "Wen Yao, supporting Ming Mo's slender waist, watched his penis thrust into her small, bun-like honey hole. 'I'll fuck you to death.' As soon as it entered, Ming Mo couldn't help but moan, ' So beautiful. Brother Wen... move harder. Oh... ahhh... umm... so good... ah... um ... um...' Under Ming Mo's teasing words, Wen Yao's penis, dripping with the honeyed fluid from her cunt, made their point of contact glisten, his heart burning even hotter, and he involuntarily uttered lewd words. 'Ah, ah, ahhhhhh.' ' 2 ' 'Oh, oh, oh oh oh oh!' ' Um, um, um um um um um um?'" Amidst the moans and groans, Wen Yao finally brought Ming Mo to orgasm. Afterwards, Ming Mo looked at this foreigner she both loved and hated with pity. He knew so many tricks—what was single-leg sex, what was two-legged sheep sex, tsk tsk tsk, Ming Mo watched this enigmatic man fall for him. Since that time he had fucked her, she had abandoned herself. Ming Mo still longed to make love with him. He not only taught her how to make love, how to moan comfortably, but also taught Ming Mo, this girl, to write erotic words, such as the character "且" (qie), which represents a man's penis. It was the script of Wen Yao's ancestors. Then Wen Yao used very vivid language and actions to communicate physically with Ming Mo. For a time, Ming Mo felt somewhat inferior, feeling that her culture was backward. Now, when Wen Yao finally had the opportunity to ask him for advice, she was overjoyed. Ming Mo replied: "This ridge is called Chonghuan Mountain, the largest ridge in Ningjie." " I've heard the scenery up there is beautiful. I've passed by several times but never gone up. I've heard that strange beasts often roam there, and today, my lord is in high spirits and wants to go up and see. I'd be happy to accompany you." Wen Yao heard the name "Chong Huan" and felt it sounded familiar. He suddenly remembered and said, "Could this be the birthplace of that idiot I wrote the History of Ming? Then I must see for myself to verify the accuracy of my masterpiece." The two of them helped each other up the mountain. Against the backdrop of the clouds and mist, their progress was effortless. The mountain itself was unremarkable , but there were many birds and beasts, not unlike what Wen Yao had seen before. Just then, a strange beast emerged from a distant mountain peak. It resembled a pig, six feet long and four feet tall, its entire body blue. It had two large ears, and four long tusks protruding from its mouth, like ivory. Wen Yao was quite surprised and asked Ming Mo, "This beast with such long tusks is quite rare. Do you know its name, Ming Mo?" "Mingmo said, 'I've heard my clansmen mention this before. This beast is called Dangkang. Its cry is its own name. This creature is very dependent on fate ; it first reveals its form, and now it has appeared, which means it has met its destined owner.' Having said this, she looked at Wenyao, who was puzzled . Suddenly, they heard a cry: 'Dangkang!' It cried a few times and danced away. Wenyao then remembered the hidden meaning in Mingmo's words and couldn't help but smile. He looked in the direction Dangkang had run and saw a large tree there. The tree was tall and large, and the fruit on it was red and large, like apples, but the leaves didn't look like them. Wenyao was curious, but more urgently , they were getting tired, and their stomachs were rumbling. So he decided to go there to rest for a while."

He casually picked some fruit to fill his stomach.

Next episode preview:

Wen Yao picked fruit there, then caught and ate an animal, triggering his attack. His penis transformed into a pair of pants and
a giant python. He became completely powerless, then transformed into a giant monster, fucking Ming Mo to death. Later, the drug's effects wore off
, leaving only one...

Shame on me, the two stories about Ji Xiaolan haven't appeared yet.

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