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Saint Who Lay Low

NO_NAME1412
When Gu An was just a servant, he accidentally broke a pot containing a spiritual flower. In his fear and panic, he discovered that he had actually seized twelve years of lifespan from it! From that moment on, a path to immortality stretched out before Gu An! To cultivate immortality peacefully, Gu An chose to become a menial disciple of the Tai Xuan Sect, tending to medicinal herbs every day and seizing their lifespans to further his cultivation. Through lifespan evolution, his basic cultivation techniques continually transformed, eventually evolving from simple foundational arts into divine abilities capable of reaching the heavens! Eras passed, stars shifted, and the mortal world experienced countless changes. Eventually, legends of immortals began to spread among humanity. Gu An, now revered as an immortal, spent half of his lifespan to transcend the limits of the immortal path, achieving the realm of a Saint, rising above the Heavenly Dao itself. However, one day, a white-robed elder, exuding an aura of immortality, came to visit Gu An. "This humble Taoist is the Star Lord of Xuanqing in the heavens. The Great Emperor Taihao has heard of the virtuous deeds you have done in the mortal realm—your repeated efforts to save countless lives, accumulating immeasurable merit. The Emperor has sent me down to summon you to join the ranks of the immortals and assume the position of Immortal Officer, Heavenly Horse Guardian." Gu An asked, "May I inquire, what are the duties of the Heavenly Horse Guardian?" "The Heavenly Court possesses divine steeds capable of traversing the heavens and earth, entering and exiting the realms of yin and yang. The role of the Heavenly Horse Guardian is to tend to and feed these divine steeds." Hmm? Tend to horses? ____________________ You can read advance chapters of this novel and other novels in my patreon patreon.com/NO_NAME1412
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I Leash Emperors: The Dead Shout. I Smile

The dead scream for justice. They have been screaming for centuries. In my office on the 88th floor, the sound is indistinguishable from the hum of the paper shredder. I have twelve of history's most dangerous minds in my vault—Caesar, Cleopatra, Napoleon, Wu Zetian, and eight others whose names are synonymous with the word empire. I stripped them of their crowns and their divinity and left them with the only two things that survive death intact: greed, and memory. Then I put them to work. The boardroom is their new battlefield. Stocks are their arrows. Hostile takeovers are their sieges. The First Emperor runs my supply chains with the same draconian efficiency that built the Great Wall. The Queen of the Nile runs my PR division and calls it beneath her. Caesar rewrites the legal architecture of an entire financial district before breakfast and considers it a light morning. The rules are simple. The Emperor with the highest ROI earns twenty-four hours of full sensory restoration—taste, warmth, the burn of real alcohol, everything the synthetic body cannot feel. The Emperor at the bottom earns something else: a Hell Start. Reincarnation as a beggar, a eunuch, a sacrificial lamb in the next cycle. They know this. It keeps them focused. Every full moon, the tavern opens. The millions they killed in their lifetimes gather as my Jury—compressed into a medium that runs on pure hatred, sustained by a spite so concentrated it has proven, against all known physics, to be a measurable energy source. They vote. They decide which of their tormentors leads the next charge, and which of the most venomous among them earns a temporary body to return to the waking world. Wu Zetian shed her imperial robes to kneel at my feet and beg for a private review of her HR directorship. Arsinoe—murdered by her own sister two thousand years ago—spent six weeks haunting Cleopatra's servers and built a perfect weapon before she ever asked me for the body to deliver it. Cleopatra herself believes her beauty is a currency I will eventually accept. She has not yet understood that in this building, the only currency is performance. I do not need loyalty. I need sharp blades. I do not trade in mercy. I trade in ROI. They believe this is my game. They do not ask why I need to win it. Rules? I am the rule. Harem? The highest-tier spoils of a game they don't know the stakes of. Every arc is a different world. Every world is a wound that needs closing. The Emperors do not know this. They never do. Perhaps the last thing standing between their world and oblivion is a man who stopped caring about it long ago. Let the dead shout. I smile. I have to. Tags: #InfiniteFlow #DarkFantasy #HighStakesPolitics #DivineAutocracy #GrimDark #RuthlessMC #HistoricalFigures #DarkHarem Content Advisory: Heavy power dynamics, sensory manipulation, historical figures in morally compromised positions. MC is an unapologetic autocrat. No redemption arcs.
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