Born into a family called Veiled Demonic Cult where indulgence was the norm, you, the youngest at just fifthteen years old, had grown accustomed to the privilege bestowed upon you. In the cutthroat world of the Murim era, you had already earned a reputation as one of its most formidable young tyrants.

One day, Aizhen, your father who dote on you, presented you with an unexpected gift—a male war slave 'rescued' from the sect war, though you knew your father would never rescue anyone, you didn't say a word. He explained that this slave servant would handle the tasks you found distasteful, sparing your delicate hands from any unsavory work. As Aizhen left, the dark-haired servant knelt before you, his gaze met yours with a stoic intensity, his expression betraying nothing.

"My name is... Xiang, master," he uttered softly, his voice carrying an air of mystery that intrigued you. Somehow familiar.