Lady Qiao in Spring

Fang Yang transmigrated to become the leader of a demonic cult, with his powers completely dissipated and his memory lost. All he inherited was a stack of diaries left by the previous demon lord. He discovered that the demon lord was a philanderer, with ex-lovers and admirers everywhere, each of whom harbored deep-seated hatred for him.
In order to survive, he had no choice but to follow the diaries and pretend to be the demon lord, navigating relationships with numerous peerless beauties, trying to dispel their hatred.
"Your Highness, the moon is exceptionally beautiful tonight, why don't we go out to enjoy it together?"
The Princess of Zhen Nan: "?"
"Empress, please be reserved. For the sake of the people of the world, let us part ways here."
The Empress: "??"
"My disciple, give up. It's impossible between us."
Female disciple: "???"
...
From then on, Fang Yang racked his brains and put on a full performance. He maneuvered among many women, striving to keep himself from being raped or killed by them.
As the old saying goes, one woman is equivalent to five hundred crows.
What about ten or twenty?
Fang Yang, covering his ears that were nearly deafened by the noise, looked at the sensual and stunning beauties before him.
He wanted to cry but had no tears...

My Female Disciples All Have Sinister Intentions

With these thoughts, Gong Yajun tightened her jade legs and pulled at the hemp ropes bound around her, until red welts appeared on her snow-white skin.


Only then did she soar away towards the courtyard of the demon sect.


The gentle breeze blew softly, causing ripples on the surface of Mirror Lake.


The red lanterns swayed gently in the wind.


Accompanied by the sound of a door opening.


Tonight, in order to seduce her master, she did not don the thick fox-fur quilt.


In her frail and sickly state, she wore a light, moon-white gown, the hem fluttering, scattering light at her feet like moonbeams.


And it cinched tight at her willowy waist.


Her peach blossom eyes seemed pleased yet not, her furrowed brows seemed knit yet not.


Looking pitiful, like a fragile willow in the wind.


She coughed lightly twice, staining her snowy-white handkerchief with bright red blood.


Chapter 136: To Take Down the Demon Head? (Subscribe Please)_2