Cherreads

The Arch-Enemy Must Not Become a Wife

Mysterious Pavilion
Chu Xuan transmigrated and was fortunate to be saved by an icy beauty, embarking on the path of immortality ever since.   Her cultivation was extremely high, with peerless beauty, and she was always aloof and indifferent to everyone, except for Chu Xuan, to whom she was gentle and close, like melting ice.   Until that day, she personally crippled his cultivation and ruthlessly expelled him from the sect.   "Chu Xuan, from now on you must not claim any relation to me."   Chu Xuan, with wounds all over his body, staggered away in agony.   ……   Later, Chu Xuan encountered a demoness from the Demonic Sect.   She was charming and adorable, with a somewhat proud personality, yet she always thought of him and hoped to stay with him for all eternity.   Until that day, the demoness, in front of everyone in the sect, pierced Chu Xuan’s heart with a sword.   "If I ever see you again in the future, I’ll make sure your bones are crushed to dust, and your soul scattered into oblivion!"   "Get lost!"   Chu Xuan clutched his bleeding chest in despair and turned away.   ……   From then on, Chu Xuan no longer believed in love; women only slowed down the speed at which he could draw his sword.   With such dedication, he, instead, won the affections of pure dragon maidens, celestial fairies, and other wonderful women. His cultivation also advanced rapidly, making him the first person in the cultivation world in six hundred years with the potential to ascend.   The women who once hurt Chu Xuan now all repented and came back, hoping to reconcile with him.   What, you want me to forgive you? Don’t even think about it!
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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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