Great Ming: You Were Supposed to Be a Spendthrift, but Became Regent

Die beneath the peonies, and you’ll still have lived a life of pleasure. But instead of becoming a pleasure-loving ghost, I ended up a pauper saddled with crushing debt. Three questions for my soul: Can I perform street tricks like smashing a stone on my chest or taking blows with an Iron Shirt? Can I write the eight-legged essays and pass the Ming dynasty’s absurdly difficult civil service exams? Do I know the six arts of a gentleman: music, chess, calligraphy, painting, riding, and archery? Apparently not. I really am only cut out to be a petty hoodlum. I transmigrated to the Ming dynasty, and I’m no longer an ordinary hoodlum. When the great roc rises with the wind, it soars ninety thousand miles into the sky.