I'm Just a Fake County Magistrate. Selling Some Machine Guns Is Reasonable, Right?

In 1925, warlords clashed across Sichuan, and the land was engulfed in flames.

Remote and impoverished Qingya County had lost three county magistrates in a row, earning itself a reputation as a “death zone.”

Pei Shouzhuo, a modern military-industry researcher, transmigrated there by accident.

Faced with a complete mess, he had no golden finger and no System to back him up.

But the industrial knowledge in his mind, a century ahead of its time, was his greatest asset.

He fired bricks, smelted iron, laid power lines, and hand-built Maxim machine guns.

Under his management, impoverished Qingya County quietly became an impregnable steel fortress.

Then one day, Marshal Shen, the overlord of the Southwest, arrived incognito, disguised as a salt merchant.

Seeing the never-before-seen flush toilets, dazzling neon lights, and the gleaming machine guns in the hands of the militia, the marshal began to question everything he knew.

Pei Shouzhuo, meanwhile, remained blissfully unaware. With an earnest expression, he pulled out a “shady” confidentiality agreement and slid it across to the marshal.

“Mr. Shen, sign this and the machine gun is yours!”