The struggle of idealists in the whirlpool of power has both the majesty of imperial authority and the involuntary shackles.
It had only been three days since he became the nominal master of this vast land.
The memory fragments left by the original owner of this body were chaotic like a tidal wave, mixed with the memories of the 21st century that he had brought with him, giving him a splitting headache. There was a mountain of imperial cases in front of him, and every memorial sealed in red lacquer seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, weighing heavily on his heart. "Huainan flood", "Northern border bandits", "treasury bank is in urgent need", "frontier troops are short of pay"... Shocking words were like quenched poison ice picks, piercing his unseasoned nerves.
The gap between this and the time-traveling emperor script he imagined was more than a million miles away. There is no iron horse, happy grudges, only chicken feathers on the ground and the atmosphere of national subjugation.
"Your Majesty..." An old but energetic voice echoed in the hall. Chen Chongjing, an old assistant with white hair and beard, came out of the procession holding a jade scepter, bowed his head and said: "The top priority is the flood in Huainan! This autumn is already difficult to collect taxes, and there are also natural disasters. Millions of people are homeless, crying out for food. The grain reserves in the household department are not enough for relief. If we don't solve it quickly, there is a fear that civil unrest will spread and it will be difficult to control!"
