Chen Yan transmigrated into the body of a farmer’s son in another world. His family had nothing but four bare walls, and they were three dou of rice in debt.
The landlord stepped on him and sneered, “A poor wretch like you thinks you can pass the imperial exams?”
Burning with fever, he chewed on a handful of wild herbs and realized they were a mutated form of isatis root.
His ancient-world isatis root granules burst onto the scene, and his first earnings bought him half a bundle of rough paper.
He studied by the ever-burning lamp in the Temple of the Land, while scraps of paper torn to pieces drifted into the cesspit.
On the eve of the county exams, the landlord set fire to his house. Squatting in the ashes, he used charcoal to write out the exam syllabus from memory.
On the day the results were posted, the landlord who had once stepped on his face knelt in the mud, trembling.
Meanwhile, the county magistrate, seated high in the Hall of Ethics and Enlightenment, waited for him with a smile.
Pretty good, not much hydrology