When Yuan Hao opened his eyes, seven thousand men outside his tent were dividing up the army's final three days of provisions.
In three months, he would lose Luoyang, his son would be captured, and a county soldier would chop off his head.
In his previous life, he spent eight years surveying ancient hydraulic engineering heritage. His research happened to focus on Yuan Hao, Chen Qingzhi's northern campaign route, and the defenses along the Mazhu River. He knew how seven thousand men in white robes had taken thirty-two cities, and he knew how that miracle had fallen apart because of poor discipline, suspicion, cut-off supplies, and a river that suddenly surged.
Now he was a Northern Wei imperial grandson who had sought refuge in Southern Liang. Beside him was Chen Qingzhi, sent by Emperor Wu of Liang to escort him back north. Before him stood Qiu Daqian's seventy thousand men and nine fortresses, the twenty thousand Imperial Guards at Kaocheng, Yang Yu's supposedly seventy thousand defenders at Xingyang, and Er Zhu Rong, who had just slaughtered two thousand nobles at Heyin.
People asked him, "With just seven thousand borrowed soldiers, do you really dare call yourself emperor?"
Yuan Hao only knew that he had to fight his way back to Luoyang to survive!
The soldiers were borrowed. Luoyang was not. And neither was the empire.
