In the second year of Chongzhen, Zunhua fell.
Chen Qian opened his eyes to find himself a ninth-rank grain depot official at Zhenshuo Fort in Jizhen.
The books claimed there were three hundred shi of grain in storage. In the granary, only ten shi remained, and half a shi of it was mixed with sand.
His superior dragged over a corpse to collect a debt: “Deliver a hundred shi in ten days. If you can’t, you’ll end up like him.”
No System, no gunpowder formula.
All Chen Qian had was a chipped wild-goose-feather saber and an abacus missing a bead.
He repaired walls, organized troops, cultivated fields, and cast cannons.
He exposed the deputy commander’s secrets through falsified accounts, and drove off rebel soldiers with lime and iron caltrops.
He turned a ruined fort of eleven men into a border army stronghold commanding Jiliao.
Among his subordinates were old, wily veterans, failed scholars, Ministry of Revenue clerks, and a lame carpenter…
He dared to put anyone to use.
In the inner residence, Su Zhi understood what he needed; in the outer residence, Qing Niang managed the supply routes.
Later, when his subordinates urged him to take the throne, Chen Qian opened the old account book:
“This old account book has brought me nothing but misery.”
