The Empire’s Turmoil: Reincarnation on the Iron-Blooded Throne

“Mother, I want to join the army,” Zhao Xin blurted out.

The flatbread fell from his mother's hands with a slap. She hurriedly picked it up, brushed off the dirt, and said in a trembling voice, “What nonsense are you talking about? People die in the army! Your father was…”

“Father died of illness, not in battle,” Zhao Xin interrupted, his voice carrying the stubbornness peculiar to boys his age. “Besides, even if I die on the battlefield, that's better than starving to death at home. Look at Wang Erzhu. He joined the army the year before last, and by last year he'd been promoted to Gongshi. His family got two mu of good land, and he even found himself a wife.”

His mother's eyes reddened. She knew he was telling the truth. The Guanzhong region had suffered drought for years, and the harvest grew worse with every passing year, while the government's taxes only went up. Many families had sold their children or fled in search of food. Staying here might truly mean there was no way out but death.

“But…but the battlefield is too dangerous.” She wiped away her tears, her voice choked with sobs. “You're the only son I have.”

Zhao Xin went over and put an arm around his mother's shoulders. His own shoulders were still thin, but he tried his best to support her. “Don't worry, Mother. I've got a strong life in me. Once I earn merit and rise in rank, I'll bring you to live in the city. You'll never have to toil in this wretched field again.”

His words were like a pebble dropped into his mother's heart, sending ripples spreading outward. She gazed at her son's young, resolute face and suddenly felt that perhaps this really was the only way forward.