Transmigrating to the Ming Dynasty: Bringing Dawn to the People

August, Year Seven of the Tianqi reign.

He was a grassroots official sent to the countryside to help alleviate poverty. He returned to his village to warn the locals to flee a landslide, then was swept away by a flash flood and never came back.

When he opened his eyes again, he was kneeling on the golden bricks of Qianqing Palace. The dying emperor clutched his hand, his breath faint:

"Come, my younger brother should be another Yao or Shun."

He had become Prince Xin, Zhu Youjian, the future ruler who would reach a dead end on Coal Hill as the last emperor of a fallen dynasty.

He had no System, nor any air of a destined ruler.

He was simply a man who had crawled out of the mud. His mother had taught him to read great books. He had built roads in the mountains and fought alongside poor villagers to make a living. His beliefs were simple: first, get the accounts in order; warm people's hearts; put down roots among those who suffered most.

He knew better than anyone that ascending the throne did not mean holding power. Without a sword in his hand, sitting on the dragon throne meant certain death. He also knew better than anyone that the nobles, civil officials, and eunuchs at court all drank from the same bowl of the people's hard-earned wealth.

So he would not rush. First, survive and take hold of the blades at his side. Then, step by step, hold up this collapsing sky for the suffering people.

In this life, he went from wanting only to stay alive, to watching his trusted allies die before his eyes, and finally to resolving to follow this path to the bitter end.

This time, he would not continue the Zhu family's reign. He would give the nameless people from five hundred years ago the fate they should have had: one in which they were treated well.