A bolt of lightning sent me to the late Eastern Han dynasty, where I became a proud transmigrator. No golden finger, no System, just three cases of medicine left in the trunk. I carried my medicine bag for half a day before meeting an old man so poor he couldn't afford oil for a lamp. He told me it was the sixth year of Guanghe. I did the math: the Yellow Turbans would rise soon, and the realm was about to descend into chaos. I felt the medicine in my pocket and looked at the dilapidated village. Fine, first things first: I had to survive. With this supply of medicine, maybe I could make a living in these turbulent times. If all else failed, I could seek refuge with Cao Cao.
