I Am a Rebel

This is a patched-up world—— In the Forbidden City, Emperor Longqing coughed up blood and read the memorial, while Gao Gong and Zhang Juzheng were arguing outside the Nuan Pavilion. In the Grand View Garden, Mother Jia holds Baoyu in her arms and appreciates the couplet poems in the snow. Sister Feng is thinking about how much money she will spend for the wedding next year. A dish of eggplant requires about ten chickens. In Shuibo, Shandong, Song Jiang was kowtowing to express his gratitude to the imperial edict, and could not suppress his pride. On the official road of Runing Prefecture in Henan, a refugee who was about to starve to death lay lying in the snow. In his hands were the bones left by wild dogs, and in his ears were the cries of people changing their bodies to eat. The court's disaster relief money was cut off to build imperial tombs, the landlord's granary was piled with moldy old grain, and a crab feast in Jia's house was enough to feed a hundred families of victims for a year. No one cared about those who were dying - until the Taoist priest climbed up from the snow, clutching a bag of millet that appeared out of thin air. "Eat his mother, wear his mother, open the door to welcome Qingning, everything will be peaceful when Qingning comes." The white scarf is like snow, sweeping across the Central Plains. Qi Jiguang's camp could not stop him, and Hu Zongxian's schemes could not stop him. The heroes of Liangshan fell apart in front of him, and the four major families collapsed behind him. This is not the fall of a dynasty, but the judgment of one class against another. The extravagance of the Red Mansion, the roughness of the Water Margin, and the rage of the Yellow Turban—all were stuffed into a Ming Dynasty iron pot and boiled into a pot of boiling blood and fire. And the history graduate student who traveled through time was standing in the center of this boiling pot, holding a system that did not belong to this era in his hands, looking at a future that no one dared to imagine.