At the End of Han Dynasty, a Refugee Became an Emperor

I had a splitting headache, my throat was as dry as burlap that had been roasted by fire, and every time I swallowed, there was a tearing pain. I opened my eyes suddenly and saw a gray sky, mixed with dust and an indescribable stench. Below me was the cold and hard mud, mixed with withered grass and unknown filth, which made my bones ache. The feeling of weakness coming from all my limbs almost overwhelmed me, my stomach was empty, and bursts of cramping pain reminded me that I was hungry, so hungry that my eyesight turned black and my limbs became weak. This isn't any place I'm familiar with. There were no high-rise buildings, no cars, no mobile phones, just an endless line of refugees, ragged clothes, sallow faces, and numbness and fear written all over their faces. Some people were hobbling forward on broken logs, and some people fell on the roadside and never got up. The people next to them just glanced numbly and continued to move, even sighing became a luxury. As for me, I was wrapped in a tattered burlap cloth, which could not protect me from the wind or the cold. It was difficult for my bony hands to even lift. Not to mention weapons, I didn't even have a stone to defend myself. The fragments of remaining memories in my mind flooded in like crazy - this was the end of the Eastern Han Dynasty, the seventh year of Guanghe Period, when the Yellow Turban Uprising broke out, and the world was in chaos, with wars and smoke rising everywhere. I was originally a farmer in Qingzhou. My hometown was invaded by the Yellow Turban rebels. Food was robbed, my house was burned, and my parents died tragically. I was dragged into the ranks of refugees by the rebels and fled westward. I was hungry and thirsty for days. I was already dying of cold and starvation, but my modern soul took over my body.