After I Transmigrated, I Defied Fate in the New Dynasty

In 11 AD, I, Su Zhe, a history PhD specializing in the social and economic history of the Western and Eastern Han dynasties, transmigrated into Wang Mang.

The usurper who had been cursed for two thousand years, the foolish ruler whose reforms brought down his dynasty, the failure whose tongue was cut out and body hacked to pieces.

I know how to build the curved-plow, smelt iron in a blast furnace, channel water with a chain pump, and issue credit money. Any one of these would put this era to shame.

I know that in three years locusts will sweep across the Guanzhong region, in five years the Xiongnu will breach the border passes, and in twelve years the Lulin army will storm Chang'an. And I, the owner of this body, will have my head cut off on the Jian Terrace by a soldier named Du Wu.

I have no choice. Powerful clans glare at me from court, the Xiongnu batter the border, the treasury is empty, and the people's hearts are divided. The only thing I can rely on is knowledge more than two thousand years ahead of its time.

If reforming by "restoring ancient ways" won't work, then I'll head toward the future.

Curved-plows, blast-furnace steel, compulsory education, a cabinet system, credit money. I will plant the seeds of modern civilization, one by one, in the soil of the first century AD.

But every time I change history, it triggers a "backlash of time and space." The inertia of history finds ways to force the story back on track. The people I save die unexpectedly, the laws I enact are twisted into tyranny, and the subordinates I train draw their daggers at the crucial moment.

The Battle of Kunyang breaks out early. A million enemy troops surround the city, while Liu Xiu is still a student I have won over.

Standing on the Jian Terrace and looking down, I suddenly laugh.

I'm determined to walk this road against the current.

I'm determined to rewrite this damn destiny.