Great Ming: I Use Corpses to Guard the Realm

Qin Mo, an ordinary courier from the twenty-first century, was making a delivery when a sudden wave of dizziness made him run a red light by mistake. A speeding truck sent him flying. When he opened his eyes again, he was lying in a mass grave, wrapped in ragged hemp cloth. The stench of decay filled the air, mixed with the sound of wild dogs gnawing at corpses. He hadn’t transmigrated into the body of a prince or a noble, nor taken over a powerful minister. He wasn’t even a martial arts expert with extraordinary skills. He was just a pauper on the border of Datong Prefecture, not even worthy of a name, and liable to freeze or starve to death at any moment. In this feudal age, where human lives were worth less than weeds, the government’s crushing taxes and the landlords’ merciless exploitation weighed on people like mountains, leaving them barely able to breathe.