In the first year of Zhongping, the Yellow Turban Rebellion broke out. Thirty-six rebel groups rose up at once, shaking the realm.
Chen Ji transmigrated into the body of a tenant farmer in Julu Commandery who managed the army’s provisions. The moment he opened his eyes, he saw the rebel commander slap a knife down on the table: “At midnight tonight, we take the county seat!”
He knew the history: the walls stood twenty feet high, and two hundred commandery troops were waiting with crossbows. Attacking tonight would be suicide.
He moved his finger away from the county seat and pointed elsewhere on the map. “Thirty li to the southeast, Mount Yao. There’s a stronghold on the mountain, and grain inside. Give me three hundred men, and the gates will open from within before dawn.”
From a bandit stronghold on Mount Yao to an armed force of three hundred thousand refugees in Qingzhou; from the scattered remnants after the Yellow Turbans’ defeat to founding a kingdom atop Mount Tai.
Zhang Jue said the heavens had fallen. Chen Ji said, “The heavens have not fallen. If Heaven will not save us, we will save ourselves.”
The only regret is that it is too short and the plot is not continued. Otherwise, there should be at least six to seven hundred chapters and the score would be perfect.