I Became the Demon King of Lust - Chapter 8: Humiliation (3)

Ashlock awoke in the courtyard of a demonic sect… as a tree.

A tree that eats people.

And one that grows stronger over time due to a daily sign-in system and cultivation.

Zhang Xuan traverses into a foreign world and becomes an honorable teacher. A mysterious library appears in his mind. As long as it is something he has seen, regardless of whether it is a human or an object, a book on its weakness would be automatically compiled. Thus, he became formidable.

“Emperor Haotian, why don’t you like to wear underwear? To think that you’re still an emperor, can you pay more attention to your image?”

“Fairy Linglong, if you continue to suffer from insomnia, you can always look for me. I have a way with lullabies!”

“You as well, Qiankun Demon Lord, can you cut down on the garlic? Do you want to stink me to death?”

…

This is an incredible story about the heritage between teacher and students, cultivating and guiding the world’s strongest experts.

“My pants are already off. Stopping now would be a bit redundant, don’t you think?”

Everyone knew the cool, aristocratic Chairman Li was sick, but only Rong Yan knew the man was problematic and sick in the head. That day, she was accosted at the bedroom entrance. Long arms held her against her will as the man leaned into her ear and whispered, “Marry me.” Rong Yan struggled to no avail. Frustrated, she said, “I have a boyfriend of five years.”

“You mean my son is your boyfriend?”

For her baby boy, she was willing to secretly marry this billionaire chairman. From then on, he held the knife for her kills, and poured the gasoline as she set fires. Everyone knew the chairman was possessive and paranoid—and Rong Yan was his bottom line. The five-year-old Li Duidui was at a loss. When Daddy and Mommy fought, was he supposed to help clear up the misunderstanding or close the door on them…

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Vincent van Gogh, the painter who refused to be an accessory Of power and painted with his soul at the tip of a brush, was not understood by anyone and had to die like a madman, and he woke up in 21st century Korea.

Like a wheat field melted with gold, like a sunflower that swallowed the sun, a dazzling painter once again takes the brush.