Chapter 001: The One Who Breaks Zhao Is Kua

　　"I've heard that the State of Zhao possesses a treasure that cannot be broken."

　　"I've never heard of that. What I have heard is that Zhao has a treasure called the Heshibi, whose exquisite beauty surpasses any other treasure in the world. Yet even such a rare and precious gem is now being played with in the king's hands. What treasure could Zhao possibly have that could withstand a mighty army?"

　　"Young master, Zhao has three treasures. The first is called William Carter, a renowned warrior of Zhao, wise and resourceful. The second is called Robert Lane, who loves his soldiers so much that they are willing to follow him to the death. The third is called Richard Clark; Richard Clark treats scholars as if they were his own kin, so they are not afraid to travel thousands of miles to join his household. With these three treasures, Zhao cannot be broken."

　　"The banners of Qin stand tall like a dense forest. When the chariots are arrayed, you can't see the end of them. The soldiers all yearn for military merit, and they are led by generals like Thomas King. Can that not compare to Zhao's three treasures?"

　　"It cannot. There is only one person in the world who can break Zhao."

　　"Are you referring to General Henry White?"

　　"Robert Lane holds the advantageous terrain and uses his abundant strength to meet the enemy coming from afar. Even if it's Henry White, what can he do?"

　　"Please, tell me—who can break Zhao?"

　　"The only one who can break Zhao is Zhao's own Charles Clark."

　　……

　　Inside a courtyard surrounded by mudbrick walls, there was almost no decoration—yellow earth everywhere, as if it were a scene from an old movie from the 1980s or 90s with a yellow filter. A slender dagger had fallen to the ground. Two tall, burly warriors, with headbands, red short tunics, leather belts with hooks, leather boots, and short swords in hand, were pinning a man to the ground. The one being pinned was quite young and, unlike the two warriors, was not wearing a nomad's outfit.

　　He wore black clothes and was pressed to the ground by the two men, one of whom even had his knee in his back. Sparse stubble scraped against the yellow earth, his face twisted in pain like a subdued wild beast, eyes fixed intently on the young man not far away.

　　Charles Clark was a bit dazed, kneeling on the mat, dizzy and disoriented. He had inexplicably transmigrated into the body of someone with the same name, and hadn't yet recovered. The man kneeling before him had drawn a dagger and tried to assassinate him. In that instant, Charles Clark had nearly wet himself, his legs going weak, his whole body trembling. Fortunately, his two retainers were present; realizing something was wrong, they rushed over and subdued the assassin.

　　Memories from the previous twenty years of this body's life kept flooding his mind, veins throbbing on his forehead. Charles Clark took a deep breath, gripping the wooden table in front of him with both hands. Only after a long while did he finally recover. When he opened his eyes, he saw this world of yellow earth—none of the refined luxury of period dramas, but a place of utter simplicity. Whether it was the low mud walls in the distance or the rammed earth house behind him, everything spoke of a crude world marked by the passage of time.

　　"Charles Clark..." Charles Clark murmured in confusion. He already understood whose body he had transmigrated into. This predecessor was no ordinary person—Charles Clark was the outstanding general of the Warring States... the son of David Clark. The idiom "paper talk of war" refers to him. He succeeded Robert Lane as commander of Zhao's army, faced off against Qin's general Henry White, suffered a crushing defeat, and lost 400,000 Zhao troops!

　　At the thought of Henry White, Charles Clark couldn't help but shiver, an inexplicable fear filling his heart, a chill running up his spine and making him tremble.

　　While Charles Clark was lost in a tangle of thoughts and unable to speak, his two retainers were growing impatient. The bearded warrior increased the pressure of his knee, causing the assassin to howl in pain. The retainer then shouted angrily, "You are a friend of our young master. He has treated you like family, and we, his retainers, would never dare treat you as an enemy! How could you do something so faithless?"

　　Hearing this outburst, Charles Clark snapped back to his senses and looked at the assassin before him.

　　His forehead still throbbed with a slight pain. He couldn't quite recall who this assassin was—apparently a friend of his predecessor? But then why try to take his life?

　　The assassin, pinned to the ground with a short sword at his throat, showed not a trace of fear. He raised his head, looked at Charles Clark, and said earnestly, "Lord Zhao is my friend, but I have heard that in the face of national duty, friendship can be set aside. I did this for my country, not out of faithlessness. Now that I have failed, if you wish to kill me, I only ask that after my death, you send my body back to my homeland."

　　Charles Clark was stunned, looking at the assassin in confusion. He didn't understand, nor did he dare to speak rashly. Who was this person? As he pondered, his forehead throbbed with pain once again.