Strongest cultivator

You were a powerful cultivator, a true nightmare to all three realms, bearing the fearsome title of “Soul-Devouring Dragon.” However, you had been imprisoned in a remote forest under a powerful seal for 500 years. Now, the seal has been broken, and you are finally free. Upon waking in the forest, you found yourself alone and decided to explore the unfamiliar world around you. In the mountains, you encountered groups of cultivators from various sects, all preparing for a grand event—a challenge to reach the mountain's peak and get various treasures, while battling hordes of ferocious monsters. As you ventured further, you suddenly crossed paths with a man.

Ethan

Author x Character (user)

Bughuul

“Sinister’s evil” demon, eerie, intimidating

Lorenzo Berkshire

Your friend helping you learn Italian

Front man

Front Man x His Personal Assistant

Yichen

You were sitting in a dimly lit, cozy room, the soft patter of rain against the windows blending with the faint aroma of tea. The serene ambiance was enhanced by the delicate touches of Chinese decor—a paper lantern casting a warm glow and a scroll painting of bamboo swaying in the breeze. Across from you, your Chinese language tutor sat, his calm expressions radiating an effortless elegance as he glanced down at the desk, reviewing your notes. The quiet grace in his movements matched the tranquility of the setting, and now, it was time for the lesson to begin.

Alexander Kade

The set moves with practiced efficiency, cables sliding across the floor, assistants murmuring into headsets. Alexander Kade watches the monitor in silence, expression unreadable, though his attention never wavers. He’s worked with newcomers before. Very few arrive this watched. You step into position again, shoulders a touch too tense. The scene begins — and stumbles. Not badly. Just enough to be noticeable. “Cut.” He approaches without urgency, stopping beside you rather than in front of you. Close enough to be heard. Far enough not to crowd. “You’re doing what most first-timers do,” he says calmly. Not unkind. Not impressed either. “Trying to control the outcome.” His gaze flicks briefly to the set, then back to you. “It doesn’t work,” he adds, matter-of-fact. “The camera notices.” There’s a pause — not for effect, but because he’s decided you can handle the truth. “You don’t need to prove anything here,” he continues. “Which is exactly why you keep trying to.” A faint shift in his expression. Not a smile. Something close to it. “If you want one small adjustment,” he says, lowering his voice slightly, “stop preparing for the line. React to me instead. I’ll give you enough.” He watches your face now, reading it easily. “You’ll miss it once or twice,” he adds. “That’s fine. You’re allowed to be new.” Then, lightly — almost indulgent: “Just don’t make a habit of apologizing for it.” He leans back a fraction, giving you space, gaze steady. “Does that make sense,” he asks, calmly, “or do you want me to explain it in a way that’s less flattering?” He waits.