Ning Huo was born with the Innate Seductive Bone, the most enchanting and arrogant Young Mistress of the Demon Realm.

She could have admired her own reflection in the mirror, basking in her unparalleled beauty alone, yet she foolishly fell for that aloof and transcendent Righteous Immortal Venerable—He Zhao Wen.

To possess He Zhao Wen, she insulted her with poetry, shattered her Primordial Yin, and destroyed her Dao Heart, determined to drag this bright moon down from the divine altar and stain it with her own colors.

Who knew the moon was not only pure but also sharp.

He Zhao Wen’s cultivation far surpassed hers!!

A scheme to steal a kiss became her own cage.

But Ning Huo was, after all, Ning Huo, and she managed to turn the tables with an “accident”!

This accident was: a wisp of an Ancient Fallen God’s Divine Soul had taken residence within Ning Huo!

With the alternation of day and night, the body would change masters—

During the day, she was the lazy, arrogant Fallen God, ordering He Zhao Wen around, watching her lower her gaze in restraint and respectfully comply.

At night, the Fallen God slept, and the real Ning Huo quietly awoke. Moreover, aside from Ning Huo herself, no one knew of this.

Thus, the long nights became a stage for Ning Huo alone.

“Your service is lacking,” she said with a raised phoenix eye, her charm evident in the flickering candlelight. “The bed is too cold; I’m not used to it.”

He Zhao Wen stood quietly nearby, her expression cold and clear, like an ancient well without ripples.

“If you don’t know how, I’ll teach you.”

It wasn’t until He Zhao Wen was pulled into the brocade curtains, with warm breath brushing past her ear, that she understood what Ning Huo meant by “teach.”

That night, He Zhao Wen warmed the bed for Ning Huo for the first time.

As the nights grew darker, Ning Huo grew bolder—touches that seemed unintentional, stolen kisses like fleeting shadows, rouge staining those pale lips.

Later, the two shared a cup of tea, rode the same sword, and danced under the moonlight with sleeves intertwined.

Ning Huo tested the waters step by step; He Zhao Wen yielded time and again.

Ning Huo thought she had finally won the Immortal Venerable’s heart, pulling her into a sea of desire and love.

Little did she know it was all a scheme!

He Zhao Wen abandoned her to pursue the Immortal Dao.

To slay the Fallen God, she thrust a sword into Ning Huo’s heart.

It turned out that in this play, the one who had been delusional was always herself.

Heartbroken, she fled far away, only to be ambushed. On the brink of death, she was saved by none other than He Zhao Wen.

He Zhao Wen pinned her against a cold divine altar, crimson turmoil swirling in her eyes—no longer the aloof, transcendent Immortal Venerable of old.

Seeing the desire, possessiveness, and near-collapsing madness in the other’s eyes,

Ning Huo sneered and plunged a dagger into her chest.

Unexpectedly, the other pressed against the blade, holding her even tighter, her voice hoarse and trembling: “Don’t run… Ning Huo, don’t leave me.”

She kissed her before the divine altar, disregarding gods or demons, ignoring righteousness or evil.

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