War Has No Constant Form

I say, "Gees, gees, gees, their necks stretch up to sing to the sky."

You translate it as, "The geese have sore necks and cervical pain. We should give them some stretches."

I say, "Birds chirp everywhere."

You translate it as, "We need to catch birds at night to treat their hearing problems."

I say, "A loving mother's hands sew thread, to mend the clothes her wanderer wears."

You translate it as, "We should buy another spool of thread for the old mother at home."

These are all famous poems, so what the hell are you people translating them into?

Armed with poems he memorized through compulsory education and Sun Tzu's Art of War, Zhao Tian gives himself a cheat ability.

But the poems he recites always get mistranslated, and Zhao Tian is at a loss.

After transmigrating into an unknown historical era, Zhao Tian had just begun a new, peaceful life when his village was inexplicably massacred.

With no success seeking justice, he decides to investigate on his own.

At a banquet, reciting a poem gets him mistaken for a literary genius.

Suddenly enlightened, Zhao Tian begins using his knowledge of history, literature, and military strategy to get close to the powerful and secure advantages for himself.

A country boy steps into the court and begins to rule it.

This novel and its characters are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual people or events is purely coincidental. Do not imitate.