Late Ming: My Soldiers Use Rifles

[Transmigration + logical wish fulfillment + farming + modern firearms + defeating the Tartars + founding a nation + one million words]

Wu Qian transmigrates to the final years of the Chongzhen era.

In this age of chaos, he has three rings, each containing a 300 × 300 × 300 space with no gravity or passage of time. He can hardly imagine how much they hold, but they are packed with enough to change the era.

An M1 Garand rifle, with an eight-round magazine and an effective range of four hundred meters.

An MG3 general-purpose machine gun, capable of firing twelve hundred rounds per minute.

An 81-millimeter mortar. One shell leaves nothing standing within a radius of twenty-five meters.

When eight hundred bandits armed with broadswords charge into the valley, Wu Qian is leaning against a tree, munching on a biscuit.

"Open fire."

Three minutes later, all that remains in the valley is gunsmoke.

But fighting isn't all he can do.

He builds paved roads and brick houses, puts up wind turbines, brings electric lights to the streets, and opens night markets.

The people get land and new homes. At night, they can go out without groping around in the dark.

A poor mountain village becomes a paradise, and a rundown county town becomes the richest place for a hundred miles.

From one village, to one county, to one province, to the whole realm.

The peasant rebels come, and he destroys them. The Qing army comes, and he destroys them. The court refuses to yield? Then...

The people of this land will never have to live on their knees again.