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... , would absolutely not reveal such a shocked expression.

All that was left was to see how this old fellow would choose.

When they saw Huangfu Jingtian keeping silent as he held the command token, Mo Lanhai and the others couldn’t help but be slightly stunned. Isn’t it only a command token? Even if it’s the Ninedragon Command Token issued by the current Emperor Chu, what can it do to us?

But even though they thought like this, they knew the way Huangfu Jingtian behaved, and they ...

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The Yan family and the Song family have a commercial marriage.
Song Nianying’s fiancée, Yan Chuyu, is known as a vampire on earth.
She has a feminine beauty, fair skin, bright red lips, and always has a seductive fragrance on her body. She has been educated by the heirs since she was a child.
But when two people try marriage together.
It was only then that Song Nianying realized that her wife was so cute.
She would actually blush because of a small approach of hers, and would often stare at her slender neck in a daze.
When she teased her again and again, Yan Chuyu would say coldly and arrogantly, “Don’t get too close.”
Song Nianying smiled and continued to approach, Yan Chuyu stared at her with eyes like ink: “This is the first time I have warned you.”

When she received the 320th warning, Song Nianying was ready to move, and decided to overturn the warning and take her down.
But that day.
Thunder and lightning flashed in the sky.
Yan Chuyu sat at the highest point of Xuanming Pagoda, her eyes were bright red.
Beside her, a maid with a pale face and blue eyes lowered her head and asked, “Wang, what is it about the house that makes you so afraid to go back?”
She has been with the king for so long, and she has never seen her so anxious and terrified. Could it be that she is a wolf clan?
Yan Chuyu raised his left hand and caught a bolt of lightning, forming an electric ball, and slowly replied: “My wife.”

Content tags: under the year, blood race, ability, whimsical, fantasy, mutual attack
Search keywords: Protagonist: Song Nianying, Yan Chuyu┃Supporting role: ┃Others:

- Description from novelbuddy

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[Warning: Mature Content]

“Master, are we going to keep what happened last night a secret between us?”

“For how loud you moaned and cried, Qing-er, I think the whole world has already learned all about it, and your concern is irrelevant.”

Yun Qing-er, the only disciple of the legendary immortal swordmaster Bai Ye, has been hiding her feelings for her master for years. Unaccepted by norms and morals, it is the darkest secret that she swears to bury deep within her heart.

But life has other plans. Bai Ye's desire for her burns hot beneath his solemn appearance. He will teach her not only the art of the sword, but also the pleasures of life that she never knew existed before.

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Smut starts at Chapter 17, with a teaser in Chapter 11. A bit softcore at first but will get wilder quickly as the story moves on :)

Note that this is NOT a typical cultivation romance. Immortals and spiritual power and whatnot are all plot devices… You'll see what I mean in just a few chapters!

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[Sneak Peek]

He pinned me against the poplar tree at the center of the garden. A breeze rustled past, stirring the sunlight sparkling through the autumn foliage above us, and a sprinkle of gold fell over his shoulders. “Say you want me,” he whispered.

“Bai Ye—” I breathed, but the rest of my words were replaced by moans the moment he traced his kisses along my neck and took my earlobe into his mouth.

Familiar tingles roared through me as he nibbled and suckled gently. His hand slid up my chest, and he played with my sensations with his lips and tongue and fingers until my arms trembled around him. All other thoughts vanished from my mind. The only thing I knew was the irresistible feeling of him on me, so overwhelming that my knees started growing weak. I would've fallen if he wasn't pinning me hard against the tree.

“Bai Ye …” I moaned again, clawing at his clothes. “Of course I want you … Right here, right now.”

He let out a soft puff of laughter, and his hand grazed down, gripping the folds of my dress. With a rip of fabric, he tore them away.