I Was a National Preceptor at the End of the Eastern Han Dynasty

A modern man was thrown into the darkest decade in Chinese history. He crawled out from the pile of corpses, with a peach wood plaque numbered thirty-seven hanging around his neck. He didn't know anyone, and no one knew him. Only the historical script in his mind that was losing its effectiveness year by year reminded him that in two years, the Yellow Turbans would start. He didn't want to save the world. He just wants to work an errand where he can receive his salary on time in this city with the highest density of scammers in the world. But he knows too many things: he knows how to make water drinkable, knows how to predict a rain, knows how to pull an alley back from the hands of death in a plague, and also knows that those monsters flying all over the sky, those lying underneath are never ghosts, but people who can't survive. He had never believed in anything in his life. It wasn't until he met an old man who used fake talisman water to save a real person that he realized that some scams cost you your life. The sky is dead, and the yellow sky should stand. This time, he wants to make this irony come true for millions of people.