I woke up to find myself a third young master in a clan on the verge of collapse amid the chaos of the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms.
My ideal plan was simple: keep my head down, survive, and coast through the turbulent times.
Reality promptly slapped me in the face: my father was assassinated, my eldest brother died in battle, the whole clan was staring at me, waiting for their next meal, and the warlord next door was sharpening his blade, ready to borrow grain from us. Borrowing it meant he'd never give it back.
They insisted on forcing me to take charge.
I only wanted to make sure everyone had enough to eat. How did my territory keep growing, and why were more and more people coming to pay their respects?
