Transmigrated to Great Ming, We Outlived Five Emperors

In the first year of Yongle, at a relay station in Beiping. Lu Cheng, a company commander, casually wrote the Arabic numeral 7 on a requisition form for provisions. Three days later, a junior Embroidered Uniform Guard officer from Nanjing showed up at his door. The first thing he said was: “Odd functions change sign, even functions stay the same.” Lu Cheng’s hand shook. “...And the sign tells you which quadrant?!” Two kindred souls in a strange predicament: one, a history master’s graduate, transmigrated into a low-ranking clerk in the Embroidered Uniform Guard; the other, a discharged scout, transmigrated into a company commander on the frontier. Each had half of a fragmentary book, Records of the Late Ming. Only when combined could they read it, and it recorded the fate of every person in the Ming dynasty. One played it safe like a turtle: never standing out or taking sides, smiling when a blade was at his throat, then keeping accounts more meticulously than anyone else. The other lived recklessly like a firework: drilling troops, quelling rebellions, and charging into battle. Wherever danger was greatest, he was there. Before transmigrating, they had come across a news story: a Chenghua-era doucai chicken cup had sold at auction for 280 million. On the spot, they made a pact: risk their lives hoarding antiques, then return to the modern era and become billionaires! They bought a hand-warming cup for two hundred cash and used a Xuande incense burner as a cooking pot on the march. The court’s powerful men thought they were scavenging junk, but only they knew that five hundred years later, every last piece would be worth a fortune. From then on, the Ming dynasty had two oddballs... This novel and its characters are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental. Do not imitate.