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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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751 Chs

Untitled Section 2

The weaker I needed to appear, the weaker I would appear, until the young man in finery finally helped me up.

The palm of the young man was as steady as a mountain, gripping the Cold Chains so firmly in the void that no matter how the shackles struggled or roared, they couldn't move in the slightest, let alone break free.

After a long time, perhaps resigning to its fate, the Cold Chains emitted a weak sound. With a casual flick, the young man tossed it directly into the Nether River behind him.

The Nether River behind the Western Wasteland Demon Lord was not nearly as vast as the tributary of the Underworld River behind the Mountain Sea Demon Lord.

But even so, it still struck terror into the hearts, exuding a horrendous oppressive aura, because this river was red, completely forged from fresh blood.

Within the river, bright moons of purple waxed and waned unpredictably, continuously eroded by the waters of the Nether River, emitting agonizing wails of pain.