In the fortieth year of Wanli, the golden age stood on the brink of collapse, and undercurrents surged beneath the surface.
Lu Zhao, a top modern criminal profiler, transmigrated into the body of a down-and-out scholar in Jiangnan. His family had fallen into ruin, his father had died unjustly, and he was thrown into prison. Yet in just three days behind bars, he solved a baffling case and sent the prefectural court into an uproar.
From then on, he wielded his pen like a blade and spun schemes like a web, advancing carefully at every turn.
In a case of “resurrection through a corpse,” he exposed a conspiracy between officials and merchants across three provinces. In an imperial-examination fraud case, he set one trap after another and brought down a serving vice minister. In a case involving enemy spies on the frontier, he used feints to turn the tables, setting the enemy nation against itself through a double-agent scheme.
He relied on neither the powerful nor the great clans, yet the officials of the entire court feared him. He said, “The art of governing the realm lies not in the halls of power, but in the hearts of the people.”
From a low-ranking Jiangnan official to the head of the Jinyiwei, from a lone man to one surrounded by disciples, Lu Zhao used modern wisdom to reshape the Great Ming. When rebels rose everywhere and the Jurchen marched south, he recruited elite troops, introduced new policies, and built an intelligence network. Though born a commoner, he took the reins of the realm.
People called him, “A commoner who can be an emperor’s teacher, a single scheme that can secure the nation and bring peace.”
He merely smiled. “I’m no madman. I simply refuse to become a silent, rotting corpse.”
Very exciting and logical