The system pops up a bloody message: Popular support -100, if it does not recover for thirty days, the dynasty will collapse and the host will be buried with him.
I laughed. I am Xia Jie, the tyrant in the history books who lost his country and starved to death - banished Nanchao, and suffered a thousand years of infamy. Guan Longpang, who will be executed tomorrow, is kneeling in front of the case. The treasury is so empty that people are starving to death. Shang Tang has gathered over ten thousand people, and there are internal agents hidden in the court. His wife, Su Wan, dressed as Concubine Xi, became a disaster for beauties.
But in my mind, there is a history textbook from three thousand years later.
I know when Shang Tang will send troops, which route to take, and where the granaries are. I saw every move he made three years in advance. A severe drought? I went to the altar to pray for rain, and sang "The Mourning of Time" to become the popular sentiment. Shang Tang came to pay tribute? I imprisoned him for three days, and in exchange for three years, I turned the whole war over.
Seven prefectures were established, slaves were burned, and canals were built to collect grain; Su Wan built a salt farm in the western frontier, exchanging one jar of salt for ten stones of millet, which cut off the copper source of Shangtang.
On the eve of the decisive battle, Shang Tang's 70,000-strong army pressed on the border. He doesn't know - I hold a warehouse full of grain, 15,000 dead soldiers, and a trump card that has never appeared in history.
She said: "Are you him?"
I said, "No. He is the old king and I am the new one."
Tyrant? I admit it. Subjugation of the country? No.
I don't know destiny, but I know the people's hearts.
