I, Zhao Qiansun, was a 28-year-old low-level civil servant when I suddenly transmigrated.
When I opened my eyes again, I was a tiny baby in Meishan, Northern Song China.
Next door lived the Su family. The head of the household was Su Xun, and one day he would have a son named Su Shi.
My inner voice: This is a sure thing. My neighbor is a big shot!
I passed the jinshi examination at eighteen and thought I could lie flat.
Instead, I was sent to govern Zhongmu County: a run-down office, a mess of accounts, lazy staff, and powerful local families who wanted me dead.
The former magistrate said, “I’m done with this place. I’m getting out of here.”
Me: “...Well, thanks a lot to your whole family.”
No matter. I brought every trick in the modern civil servant’s handbook with me!
The administration was a mess? Fire the slackers! Recruit openly and introduce KPI reviews.
The accounts were chaotic? Use triple-entry bookkeeping to stamp out corruption.
The fields were parched? Build high-standard farmland.
The powerful families sent assassins? I turned around and sent their whole families into exile.
The day I was promoted, the people signed a petition begging me to stay: “Magistrate Zhao, please don’t go!”
Before Fan Zhongyan passed away, the old gentleman held my hand and said, “Be the first to worry about the world’s troubles...”
I wept buckets. “Old sir, I’ll remember!”
Ouyang Xiu clasped my hand. “I want to recommend you and Wang Anshi!”
Wang Anshi wrote to me: “Brother, your proposal is better than mine!”
Sima Guang argued with me: “The New Policies must be abolished in their entirety!”
Me: “Where’s your data? Let’s see the numbers!”
When Su Shi was jailed in the Crow Terrace Poetry Case, I submitted a memorial to the emperor: “If you’re going to kill him, kill me first!”
Caught between the Old and New Factions, I was impeached by both sides.
Right there in court, I fired back: “I don’t take sides. I stand with the country!”
From county magistrate to celebrated minister, I spent seventy years working myself to the bone in the Northern Song.
Before I died, I left behind a ten-character final wish:
“Pass down On Governing the World. Don’t let it disappear!”
