Zhang Yun transmigrated to an imaginary dynasty.
The good news: he had more than just a bowl to his name from the start, and he had a System to back him up.
The bad news: the System had a little problem. It could only summon extraordinary people.
Such as an adviser who only cared about making money, Qingcaozong, a master of C, and Zhao Zhongcheng, who constantly talked about making the common people suffer for the greater good.
Looking at this ragtag bunch of subordinates, Zhang Yun painfully closed his eyes. There was nothing for it; he would just have to grit his teeth and get on with it.
As the saying goes, every one of eight hundred people has their own way of fighting. Even extraordinary people have their uses. Three mediocre craftsmen can match a Zhuge Liang, after all. If he put them in the right places, they might prove extremely useful.
Looking at the towering city walls before him and the defenders hunkered down inside, Zhang Yun glanced at the generals beside him.
“Ma Guocheng, go challenge them.”
“Yes, sir!”
Ma Guocheng shook his head, drew a breath, and bellowed like a bell.
“XXX, I CXX!!!”
