Operation Honey Trap vs The Emperor of the Apocalypse - Chapter 45: Here Be Dragons

Qingyun found herself having traveled back in time to ancient days, with a splitting headache. She hadn't activated any ancient survival skills!She couldn't compose poetry or engage in literary exchanges.Sewing and embroidery? No clue.Pleasing men? Even worse.Farming or doing business? Clueless.With no other options, she had to choose a profession that required none of the above skills....Years later, those who once served her, now ministers and generals, listened as Qingyun, who had ascended to the throne as the empress, said: 'You might not believe it, but I never intended to be the empress.'The ministers and generals replied, 'That's right, that's right. Everything you say is correct. It was us who forced you into this position.'

[Warning: The title might be named this way, but we’re actually NOT on hiatus.]I’m a third-rate writer, Yu Il-Shin.So don’t think that I’m actually a god; it’s just a name.One day, I experienced the much-anticipated awakening, but my newfound skill was… kinda weird?…In the small world connected through my mobile phone where the little, weak ants were getting killed regarded me as their god?

Mu Qing was struck by lightning and ended up traveling to the prehistory, 10,000 years in the past, where she began her days of cohabitation with ancient people ……

They were simple and thus perseverant; they were primitive but filled with affection; they were waiting for civilization but already wise beyond measure.

……………………………………………………………

Dear readers! Without any ads, maybe you will prefer .

I am Racist.…I mean, my name is Racis T.I was a stand-up comedian. The flop kind. The type who only got laughs when someone else was roasting him.One night, I was doing a gig at a shady, run-down bar—the kind where tattooed bikers drink motor oil for breakfast. I went in with my usual dark humor, but my jokes were getting the same reaction as my dating profile: complete silence.That didn’t sit right with my inner artist, who was already starving to death. So I did what any committed comedian would—I went darker.Turns out, one of my jokes (or all of them?) triggered a guy so hard that he pulled a trigger. Headshot. Instant death.But hey, look at this: A guy got triggered, so he pulled the trigger. That’s wordplay. But who cares? I’m dead anyway.All I wanted was a successful show, people laughing, and maybe a few girls swooning over my wit. I never cared about money. The millions I’d have made would have gone to charity—specifically, 0.001% of it. See? I’m generous like that.Anyway, death is death. My story should’ve ended there.But… if there is an afterlife, I had a simple wish: become a successful comedian, find a loving wife, and have just enough money to afford three meals a day… and maybe a humble little private yacht. Or a jet. But that’s it. Because, like I said, I don’t care about money.Unfortunately, wishes don’t work that way.Because, well—there was an afterlife.And it was absolutely not what I wished for.