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

All things in the world seemed veiled by this misty rain, casting an air of such bewitching, ethereal beauty.


The courtesan propped open her window with a bamboo pole, gazing out at the rain. She bit her crimson lips lightly, holding her lover from her dreams—the Demon Lord drenched in bloodied rain.


Peddler and palanquin-bearer alike bustled through the streets of Chang'an; under this oppressive life, rare smiles finally broke across their faces.


The misty rain was like a painting, and today's Chang'an seemed so tranquil.


However, outside the imperial palace, a deadly threat was slowly spreading.


The autumn wind was desolate, and the rain fell bleakly.


Droplets of rain struck the body, instilling a hair-raising, bone-chilling coldness.


Fang Yang continued to walk in the drizzle, his demeanor light as a cloud, unperturbed by honor or disgrace, serene amidst it all.


His shoes made a patting sound against the wet ground.


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