The Sword Saint Took Off His Archrival's Clothes After Being Poisoned

The peerless Sword Saint Lou Wangchen was struck by a strange poison and fled deep into the mountains on his sword. But at the brink of despair, he ran into the most troublesome nemesis of his life: Leng Qianyu.

A deadly poison burned through him, threatening to shatter his reason.

Behind him, blades closed in, his nemesis at his heels.

But the young man who was always saying he would take his life became, at the most crucial moment, his lifesaving remedy through a moment of carelessness.

As their burning breaths mingled, even the cold blades grew hot.

Alas, this peerless, pure-hearted cultivator fell into the world of mortal desires in a single night, never again able to live untouched by worldly pleasures.

--- Upcoming Novel ---

"I Only Meant to Use You as an Antidote"

[Well-behaved but wild, dimwitted disciple x sharp-tongued yet soft-hearted immortal master]

Ling Shuang was a big shot in the cultivation world. His face was the stuff of immortals, and his temper was as sharp as a blade.

And yet this very man took on a foolish disciple.

The whole martial world lamented the choice.

Ling Shuang thought it was pretty good. The boy had clear, honest eyes, worked hard without complaint, and, most importantly, was just the right kind of stupid.

Why had he taken him in?

Every month, on the fifteenth, his heart was torn by pain. If he couldn't endure it, he could use his disciple to get through the ordeal.

He was the "medicine" he'd saved for himself.

Then, on the night of the fifteenth, the pain was at its worst.

The door opened, and his disciple came in.

His eyes bloodshot, he yanked the boy over and pinned him beneath himself. His voice was so hoarse it was nearly inaudible. "Hold me."

The disciple froze for a second, then wrapped his arms around him.

Everyone in the martial world said Mo Li was lucky to have been taken in as a personal disciple by Master Ling.

Only Mo Li knew that every month, on the fifteenth, his master came out of seclusion with lips as pale as paper, still forcing himself to tell him, "Get lost."

Afterward, the tips of his ears would turn red in secret.

That night, in the pouring rain, Mo Li brought medicine and knocked on the door.

His jade crown had fallen to the floor, his dark hair spread across the pillow.

He said "Get lost" in a hoarse, enticing voice.

Mo Li didn't back away.

The next moment, the world spun, and he was shoved hard onto the bed.

The man's breath was hot as a branding iron. His eyes were a startling red, yet he still gritted out, "Do you have a death wish?"

Mo Li didn't answer. He simply wound his arms around the man's neck.

Theme: Break free of the shackles of identity and the past, and rebuild yourself in the face of despair.