The Leader of the Champion Lord

I knew that Huo Qubing would die at the age of twenty-four. There is one word written in the history books: death. So the first thing I did when I traveled through time was to make soup for him. From Monan to Mobei, from the Huotou Army to the personal bodyguard. Four years, more than 1,400 bowls of soup, countless cuts on my arms, and a whole tent's worth of medicine prepared. They all call me Zhao Ergou. Until September of that year, a cold wave swept through Chang'an. He had a fever for five days and five nights without waking up. The imperial doctor said to prepare for the funeral. Wei Qing knelt in front of the couch, holding the hot hand, his shoulders shaking so much that he could not speak. The fifteen-year-old prince came three times a day and stood in the snow crying. Emperor Wu of the Han Dynasty came in person, stood outside the tent, and asked, "Can you wake up?" I brought the bowl of soup to his mouth and said: "Wake the fuck up." Later, he really woke up. Later, the Han cavalry headed west. Later, those Europeans called this road the "Silk Road." They only know that there are silks, porcelain, and spices on this road. They don't know—— This journey starts with a bowl of soup.