After a brief thought, Luo Qingchuan had already pieced together the trashy novelist’s twisted logic.
Gao Rongrong was a flirt—her entire purpose was to torment Luo Qingchuan and shatter his faith in love forever.
Put simply, Luo Qingchuan was the most reader-repelling villain in the story’s early arcs.
But *how* to repel readers? That was an art.
Not by making him worse—he was already rotten to the core.
Make him pitiful, foolish, *and* vile.
As foreshadowed, Gao Rongrong used this plotline to seduce him.
With masterful skill, she made Luo Qingchuan believe he’d found true love within weeks.
He even considered letting Su Yingsnow go, hoping to deepen things with Gao Rongrong.
Then—after swindling a hefty sum—she dumped him and set her sights on Zuo Tian, already making waves.
Seeing another girl fall for him, Zuo Tian prepared to play his usual push-and-pull game.
But scheming Gao Rongrong took charge, claiming the destined protagonist’s first night.
That very night…
Heartbroken, Luo Qingchuan took out his rage on Su Yingsnow.
Enduring humiliation for Zuo Tian’s sake, the petite girl knelt before him in a black-stockinged maid outfit, her head forced down violently.
Meanwhile, the “chosen one” Zuo Tian was entangled with someone else—quickly escalating to intimacy, utterly oblivious to Su Yingsnow’s suffering.
The scene cut sharply between both frames.
Some readers felt a stir of arousal. Others clenched their fists in rage.
“Xiao Chuan Chuan? Why so quiet?”
Under a street billboard, Luo Qingchuan snapped out of his daze, teeth grinding in fury.
*I’ll cherish my wife properly. Screw this damn future—get lost!*
He glanced at his watch. “Nothing. I’ll meet you at school later. Might as well check if the official group accidentally left me out.”
“Xiao Chuan Chuan, one more thing…”
“Go ahead.”
Su Yingsnow smiled softly. “I want to post on social media.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Luo Qingchuan asked, curious.
“I’ll say I’m in a relationship. Guys keep confessing… it’s annoying.”
Her laugh was melodious. “Young Master Luo… will you be my shield?”
Luo Qingchuan’s tone turned gentle yet firm. “Forget shield. From now on, I’ll be your strongest armor.”
A brief silence. A hint of shyness. “…Mm. I’ll wait. Bye-bye.”
The moment he hung up, Chen Yanyu approached—pale, disheveled.
Her lips trembled. “Were you… on a sweet, long call with another woman?”
She looked pitifully fragile, like a seedling about to snap in the wind.
*…Why is she still following me?*
Luo Qingchuan exhaled calmly. “That’s none of your concern.”
“Ah… right.” She lowered her head, resigned. “It isn’t.”
He noticed—no sunglasses. She hadn’t retrieved them after he tossed them. Maybe forgotten.
She wore them to hide her dragon eyes.
Dragons radiated sacred, innate dignity—a heavenly aura mortals couldn’t withstand. A single glare could shatter a soul.
But Luo Qingchuan, a cultivator sensing no malice, remained unaffected.
Even her dragon-eye arts couldn’t daunt him.
He defied fate itself—disdaining immortals, fearless of reincarnation.
How could a young dragon girl intimidate him?
After a pause, he turned. “I’m leaving.”
She stayed silent, head bowed.
He walked on. Best to avoid karmic ties.
Bleak autumn sun overhead. Lingering heat slipped away with lengthening shadows. A chill breeze stirred the withering flowerbeds.
Chen Yanyu hurried after him. Her delicate fingers gently tugged his sleeve—a hesitant grip on this demonic cultivator whose name she barely knew.
“Don’t go.”
He stopped. His deep eyes reflected her tear-streaked face.
“Miss,” he said, gaze sharp, voice stern, “I won’t argue about the unsolicited kiss… but please—show some self-respect.”
*Why cling to me? In broad daylight, if she tries forcing anything, she’d better think twice.*
“That’s not what I meant.”
She lifted reddened eyes, stubborn yet tender. “I was wondering… why I followed you. Why I chased you. Why I ended up pinned by you…”
Luo Qingchuan listened patiently. “Find your answer?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“Mm.” Her voice rang clear as a silver bell, deliberate. “Because you’re a demonic cultivator.”
He froze. His expression darkened, icy menace radiating.
“I said—I’m not a bad person.”
Chen Yanyu shook her head. “I know.”
*You’re good. You just don’t like me. I know.*
A faint, heart-wrenching smile touched her lips.
“Demonic arts are sinister. Yours… especially terrifying. If you ever lose control, innocents could suffer. Die.”
“That’s what I refuse to allow.”
Luo Qingchuan let out a wry laugh. “So you’ll kill me to prevent it?”
“You’ve done no wrong.” She paused, sincere. “But if you feel the signs… come to me. I *can* help suppress it.”
Silence stretched. “If I refuse… you’ll keep following?”
“Mm. I found you. I take responsibility.”
He knew she wasn’t lying. She never was.
Chen Yanyu—always naive, bright, fiercely just.
Alone since childhood in the vast palace.
The East Sea Dragon King secluded for years; mortal cultivator friends occasionally brought USB drives, books.
No one spoke to her. No one played with her.
The little girl sat blankly on the sofa, knees hugged, staring at the lone glowing screen in darkness—listening to laughter not hers, watching stories not hers.
Day after day. Year after year.
Breaking down, healing herself. Choosing cheer despite solitude.
Because without peace, torment never ends.
She stopped begging her father to visit the mortal realm. To have friends. To hear just three words from someone.
Denied again and again.
With spiritual energy fading, leaving the Dragon Palace Mystic Realm would slash a dragon’s lifespan—and risk heaven’s rejection.
She accepted it. Grew sensible.
Learned to believe in destiny. In serendipity.
Idol dramas shaped her: heroines naive, kind-hearted, “saintly.”
Her worldview built on that. Foolish? Maybe.
But who truly hates a kind, just heart?
Luo Qingchuan’s wry smile softened the silence.
“Alright. I agree.”
*No choice. To be under Chen Yanyu’s thumb…* He felt utterly helpless.
Only then did she smile.
This time—a genuinely beautiful one.
