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My Female Disciples All Have Sinister Intentions

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...

Lady Qiao in Spring · Eastern
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484 Chs

Chapter 115: Whoever Harms My Disciple, Dies (Please Subscribe)_1

Translator: 549690339

Facing Fang Yang's cold gaze and domineering tone,

Ye Qinghong's body trembled.

Her eyes were filled with desolation.

Could it be...

Was the fourth sister right?

The so-called change by her master was worthless.

Had it been a lie from the very beginning?

For a moment, her sword spirit stirred, and the Green Shadow Sword behind her buzzed with tremors.

It seemed unable to restrain itself any longer.

But in the end, she still forcibly held back.

She closed her eyes and, before her master, she knelt down gracefully.

Her broad green robe rustled in the wind, clinging tightly to her jade-like skin, perfectly revealing her figure.

Although Ye Qinghong had a cold personality, her figure was anything but.

It had only been constrained before due to sword practice.

Now, as she bent over, her black hair hanging down to her hips, she outlined the full and round curve, taut and firm.

Her chest heaved slightly.

Making Fang Yang's breathing even more labored.