The old mystic divined Lou Zhao's destined calamity. At last, his dull days were over, and tormenting that little menace became his favorite pastime.
“Meng Jingtang, go back and fight.” He loved egging her on, even though she never listened.
He had always been cold-hearted. From the first time Meng Jingtang saw his pale eyes, she had wondered what they would look like if they held some other color. She tried every trick to seduce him: jewels, power, beautiful people. Nothing moved him. She began to doubt her own charms, then turned to someone else to put them to the test.
She had only just managed to seduce the man when she turned and saw him behind her, dressed in white beneath the moonlight, gentle as jade.
“Why are you so mischievous?” His icy fingertips brushed her smooth neck, loosely encircling it as he gently stroked her carotid artery. She suspected he was about to strangle her. Just as she wished, beneath the pale moonlight she saw confusion welling in his crimson eyes, as if veiled by a fog that would not lift.
The Heavenly Emperor was gravely ill, throwing the heavens into turmoil. The demons of the Four Continents had long eyed the realm hungrily, and at last they could no longer conceal their ambitions.
She really did go back to fight, but not for revenge.
Lou Zhao couldn't sit still. Even with his cultivation greatly diminished, he forced himself to stay by her side.
She was surrounded by countless corpse demons, and his usually composed expression finally broke.
“Lou Zhao, forget me.” Her voice was calm as she took one last look at the man she loved.
Since he loved this world, she was willing to protect it for him. Love should be armor.
No one could forget the proud, aloof Demon Lord who could handle anything with effortless ease, clutching the body of his dead beloved and weeping like a child who couldn't find the way home.
A proud Demon Lord, cold as a scholar but with the heart of a demon × a brilliant War God who's a little clueless
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