Soldado da Fronteira: Quanto Mais Esposas, Mais Forte Fico

Year thirty-two of Tianqi, Great Liang: urgent news from the northern frontier, flames of war everywhere!

The biting wind, as sharp as a blade, swept through Zhang Family Village carrying snowflakes. It was colder than the icicles of Northern Yan, laced with a pungent mix of blood, animal musk, and dung, freezing a person to the marrow.

Zhang Muyang curled up in a draughty thatched hut, his back aching from the broken wooden bed beneath him. Snow drifted in through holes in the roof, landing on his face, melting into icy water that trickled down his neck into his collar, making him shudder and triggering a violent cough.

This body… likely won’t survive the winter.

He painfully rolled his eyes, surveying his home. The walls, once plastered with yellow clay, had peeled away to reveal straw, rattling in the wind and threatening to collapse at any moment. Apart from a nearly collapsed wooden table and two crippled benches, not even a decent bowl or chopsticks could be found.

Destitute walls, starvation at hand.

Gurgle!

His stomach growled again. Zhang Muyang forced a bitter smile. In his previous life, he’d watched video bloggers take on “24-hour fasting challenges” and found them utterly boring. Only now did he understand true hunger: a stomach burning like fire, a throat cracked dry, and even the mud at the corner seemed worth gnawing.

The original owner had starved to death right here!

And him? In his previous life, he had been the chief military physician of the “Blood Wolf” special forces in the Southeast Military Di