Starving Corpses from the Start, My Barbecue Stall Takes Late Ming by Storm

After transmigrating to the late Ming dynasty, Chen Yan discovered that his golden finger was a real pain:

Each month, he could only vaguely recall the contents of one or two modern books,

and overuse left him feverish and unconscious.

Worse, the body he had possessed was lying among piles of starving corpses, waiting to die.

Nine years later.

Li Zicheng’s army of two hundred thousand surrounded Tong Pass. The bookkeeper defending the city adjusted his glasses:

“I’ve done the calculations. Your provisions will last three more days.”

Hong Taiji’s cavalry of one hundred and fifty thousand broke through Shanhai Pass. The blacksmith at the pass wiped away his sweat:

“Our newly cast cannons have a range of three li. Want to test one?”

Inside the Forbidden City, the newly enthroned emperor opened the first article of the “Charter of China”:

“The emperor shall be elected once every ten years, with candidates jointly nominated by the cabinet, the military council, and the academy...”

Chen Yan set down the memorial and smiled at his old comrades:

“Back then, I said I’d make sure everyone had enough to eat.

Now, we should talk about how to keep history from repeating itself.”