Three Kingdoms: My Stats Don't Lie

In the fourth year of Xiping, in Yingchuan.

When Chen Yan woke up, his family owed twenty-two shi of grain, the well in the courtyard was nearly dry, and his clan uncle had given him three days.

He had transmigrated.

He vaguely remembered that the realm would fall into chaos: the Yellow Turbans, the warlords, the Three Kingdoms, and finally the Sima clan would rule.

But the specific years, names, who died first and who died later, were all a blur in his mind.

He couldn't even work out whether his family would be able to plant their forty mu of land next spring.

Something had appeared in his mind.

It didn't recognize Guan Yu, remember Red Cliffs, or know where he had come from.

It could do only one thing: record, stroke by stroke, what he had seen with his own eyes and measured with his own hands.

[Insufficient samples. Recommend observing further.]

The county's land registry listed three hundred more mu than actually existed.

The commandery's annual report claimed, "A bountiful harvest," yet three waves of refugees had already passed through.

Stone classics were being engraved outside the Imperial Academy, and scholars from across the realm crowded around to copy them, while grain prices in the east had risen tenfold.

He had simply counted the numbers again.

Numbers don't lie.

People do.