Feng Sui Zhi: from Cannon Fodder to God of War

The Dajing Dynasty that I am loyal to is stuck on the downhill road of "three prosperity and five decline". In the twelfth winter when Emperor Qinghe was sitting on the dragon throne, the uncle of the state had already put his hand into the treasury of the Ministry of Revenue, and the military talismans of the Hedong Jiedushi were more effective than the imperial edict. Every time when I received food, I would stare at the grains of sand in the nest in a daze - these grains mixed with 30% of sand were the lifeblood of us "cannon fodder". My mother said that during the "Anjing Reign", the soldiers could at least have enough to eat, but now... I touched the tattoo of the words "Hengsaiying" on my left cheek, and the coolness of the metal always made me sober: In this world, I can either be a refugee who starves to death, or a soldier who eats sand. The truth of the world in my eyes: • Refugees are more valuable than war horses: the feudal town annexed half of the land, fleeing farmers flocked to the border like locusts, and the recruiting officer could exchange his life for half a piece of corn. • Salt kills more than knives: gravel can be chewed out of military salt. Last winter, Wang Laowu of the third team had his legs swollen like buckets due to lack of salt. He was finally thrown into the snow and froze. • City walls are more reliable than people's hearts: Although the cracks in the rammed earth wall of Longmen Pass can fit a fist, at least they won't stab you in the back - unlike those generals in silk and satin who smile and treat you as stone to fill the city.