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

Inside the cave, Fang Yang had long lost his sanity.


His eyes were bloodshot, and his pupils were filled with blood vessels.


He tightly embraced Ye Qinghong into his arms.


Ye Qinghong, however, had hollow eyes, her usually cold and deep pupils were now devoid of any luster.


Like a beautifully crafted porcelain, exquisite and delicate.


And Fang Yang was about to shatter that porcelain.


The snow fell heavier, and in the cramped cave, master and disciple were embraced together, with Fang Yang on the verge of melding Ye Qinghong into his body.


A frail figure emerged from the wind and snow.


Her pretty face was pale, and her melon-seed-shaped face carried traces of worry, while her peach blossom eyes, seemingly filled with myriad spring blossoms, gazed sorrowfully at the scene inside the cave.


She coughed twice, the fresh blood at her lips shockingly vivid.


Chapter 180: The Devotion of the Wedding Night_1