The Female Psychology PhD Who Time Traveled to the Royal Harem - Chapter 505

Emperor Zi Yu used 5 strikes of his axe to split mountains and unify everyone underneath the heavens. He partitioned the land into 9 areas, thus establishing the Nine Cauldrons which eventually became known as the 9 prefectures.

This book, alternatively titled “The Heavenly Court of Great Qin,” unfolds the tale of Qin Jun, who finds himself transported to a realm where he assumes the role of a demoted prince. Despite the challenging circumstances, destiny has more in store for Qin Jun than despair—enter the Mythology System!Under this system's influence, any character from mythology can be summoned into existence - The awe-inspiring might of the Supreme Heaven Great Sage, Sun Wukong, capable of shaking mountains and rivers with a single strike of his staff; The Thousand-Mile Eye and Favorable Wind Ears, acquiring profound perception of everything in the world.The Tathāgata Buddha, holding the Buddha Land within the palm of his hand, becomes an indomitable force from which no one can escape. Amidst this divine realm of Gods and Demons, Qin Jun solemnly pledges to rise as the preeminent Divine Emperor, determined to carve his path to unparalleled strength.

For the wine to be drunk on her wedding night to actually have been a cup of poison and for the one to poison her to be her husband, who would believe it?

war, blood, and betrayal carved him into something else. A legend. A killer. A mercenary whose name struck fear into both criminals and so-called heroes alike.But now, the world had changed. Lines blurred between right and wrong, between justice and vengeance. Should he step into the light, wear the mask of a hero, and fight for a cause greater than himself? Or should he embrace the darkness that had always been his home, a place where morality was just another illusion?“Don’t box me in with your shallow ideas of good and evil,” he muttered, his voice calm but edged with danger. “I do what I want, when I want.”The air was thick with tension as he moved like a shadow through the dimly lit room. The writer had no time to react—one moment, he was scribbling nonsense about legends and myths; the next, a cold barrel pressed against the back of his head.The figure smirked beneath his mask, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and menace.“You wanna write fiction?” he whispered. “Then let me show you how real legends are made.”A single gunshot shattered the silence.As the writer’s body slumped over the desk, the man holstered his weapon, stepping into the faint glow of a flickering neon light.“It’s that simple,” he said, his voice unwavering. “I’m Deathstroke.”