Within the sleeping palace, the fluctuation of Mana and a seductive aura intertwined, permeating every inch of space.
True Monarch Lan Ling lay lazily on Xu Ping's wide and sturdy chest, like a begonia flower drenched by the rain.
Her normally frost-cold ice-blue beautiful eyes were now half-open, half-closed, shimmering with an indescribable charm and weariness.
Although the Mana of her Mid-Stage Nascent Soul was unusually active, surging like a tide in spring, she no longer had the strength to speak.
The body of the usually awe-inspiring True Monarch at the Mid-Stage Nascent Soul, revered by the Valley of Ten Thousand Demons' disciples, was now as soft as boneless, every inch of her skin tinged with an alluring pink.
After quite some time, about the duration of half a cup of tea, True Monarch Lan Ling finally regained a bit of strength.
