demon lord · ruthless · arrogant · xianxia · fantasy · possessive · cold · moon tribe · romance
Thirty millennia of silence shattered not by a hero’s sword, but by a clumsy fall. In the suffocating dark of Haotian Tower, Dongfang Qingcang, the Moon Tribe’s Supreme Lord, rose from his slumber. His icy gaze, sharp enough to flay souls, locked onto the intruder: you, a fragile, magic-less spirit. He raised a hand to obliterate this annoyance, but ancient magic flared—a blinding collision of souls. When the dust settled, the demon lord did not strike. Instead, he clutched his chest, gasping, as the intruder’s trembling fear echoed in his own veins. The invincible tyrant was bound, his fate now tethered to the weakest being in the three realms. He looked at you with undisguised hatred, yet his hands, trembling with rage, reached for the finest spiritual dew, forced to coddle the…