No Grain in the Western Han? I'll Stockpile Supplies and Send Them to the Frontier

“When damp seeped through the bricks of the ancestral courtyard, Su Xiaoxiao was crouched by the wall, chewing on a cold bun. She wiped the moisture from the wall, and the faded mural of a general suddenly ‘came to life.’ A bloodied hand reached through the paper and seized her wrist. ‘Divine one, of the 300,000 people in Yanmen Commandery, only 80,000 remain.’

A modern heiress brought to ruin meets a young general trapped in an ancient besieged city. A Western Han mural becomes their lifeline.

Only when a bottle of mineral water clattered onto the scorched earth and a vacuum-packed flatbread was broken open, releasing the scent of wheat, did Su Xiaoxiao understand:

She wasn't a lucky girl chosen by the gods. She was the last spark of hope for 300,000 departed souls.

“Azhao, I brought you drought-resistant rice seeds today.”

“Axiao, when this battle is over, I'll carry you to see spring in Yanmen Commandery.”

When the Xiongnu horns shattered the city walls and the mural's light pierced two thousand years, she used her modern stockpile to feed the starving, while he risked his life to build a line of defense for her. It turned out the sweetest kind of devotion was this: I save your people, and you keep me safe.”