Volume One, Chapter One: A Wife Issued Upon Enlistment

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 District, with thirty-seven cross-border rescue missions under his belt. Now he was a sickly invalid, struggling even to turn over.

“Others who cross worlds become princes or geniuses. And me?”

He tried to lift his arm—his muscles felt weighed down with lead, and any movement sent his vision dark. Forget hand-to-hand combat; he could barely crush an ant now.

This starting point was hell-level difficulty!

Just as his consciousness began to blur, a cold mechanical voice exploded in his mind:

[Host’s obsession threshold exceeded. ‘Get Strong by Marrying’ system activated!]

[Rule 1: Marry one wife = gain the physique of one elite soldier (stackable)]

[Rule 2: Acquire wife’s strongest skill in sync]

[Current wives: 0 (inactive)]

[Current status: Hunger 99%, Stamina 0.01 (dying)]

Zhang Muyang froze, then was overcome with joy.

A system?!

A cheat?!

But when he read the rules, his smile instantly faded.

Only by marrying could he get stronger?

What kind of absurd setup was this!

His mind reeled with web novel tropes—sign-in rewards, empress-bonding systems, money-spending tycoon cheats, all doling out benefits from the start. But his own was a “marry or die” oddity!

This system seemed simple and crude, but the problem was…

In his current state, this decrepit hut, who on earth would marry him?

He looked down at his emaciated body, ribs showing, skin covered with frostbite. One glance around the windswept ruins, with half the thatched roof torn off by wind, resembled nothing so much as an open coffin.

Despair welled up again.

No strength, no work, no food, health worsening, no wife, no system activation… A perfect cycle of death.

As his consciousness faded, the battered wooden door creaked open, letting in a gust of wind and snow.

Two figures appeared: the old patriarch of the Zhang clan, hair and beard white, face etched with years of hardship, followed by a grim-faced physician carrying a medicine box.

“Muyang, how do you feel?” The patriarch approached, gazing at him with pity. Three years ago, the Zhangs were an average household, but an epidemic took seven lives, leaving only this lone survivor.

Zhang Muyang tried to speak, but coughed up blood instead.

The physician felt his pulse and sighed. “Oil spent, wick burnt—three days at most.”

Three days?!

Zhang Muyang’s pupils shrank; he grabbed the patriarch’s sleeve and rasped, “I… want a wife…”

What?

A wife?

At death’s door, and still thinking about a wife?

The patriarch was silent for a moment, then recalled something. “This year, the northern war is fierce. Under the court’s ‘Tianqi Military System’, any household producing less than twenty bushels of grain, fifth class or below, must conscript two out of five, one out of three men, and if there’s no male heir, a woman fills the quota. If you enlist, you can claim a female prisoner to offset taxes… Even if she’s disgraced, at least the Zhang family line won’t end.”

Zhang Muyang’s eyes lit up!

Enlist and get a wife?

Such fortune?!

“I… I’m willing to enlist!” he said, coughing, “But… surely my health fails the requirements?”

The patriarch waved his hand. “Since the late emperor’s defeat at Zhenbei Pass, Liang has conscripted seven times. These women are prisoners and refugees. I’ll speak with the officials for you; even a corpse counts as a head for their numbers.”

Zhang Muyang realized then—he was to be cannon fodder.

But he no longer cared.

If death was certain, marrying to activate the system—even for one day—was better than dying in misery!

The patriarch sighed, pulling half a coarse bread from his pocket and placing it in his hand. “Fill your stomach, the officials should arrive soon. You’re the last of the Zhangs; don’t let the family line die.”

The bread was hard, gritty, and tasted of earth, but in these times, half a loaf could mean life itself.

Zhang Muyang seized it like a lifeline, devouring it ravenously, picking up crumbs from the blanket to eat.

Half an hour later, the patriarch helped him hobble to the village entrance.

There, a crowd had gathered—thin, pale bachelors in ragged clothes, shivering in the cold. The village bully, Zhang Hei, was among them. Seeing the patriarch supporting barely-alive Zhang Muyang, they shot him strange looks.

“Isn’t that Zhang Muyang?” Zhang Hei sneered. “He’s about to die, what’s he doing here?”

“Ha, maybe wants to see a woman before kicking it? He can’t even lift a knife!”

Zhang Muyang ignored them, his gaze locked on the distance—

A squad of armored soldiers was marching over, escorting twenty-odd women in rags. Most kept their heads down, hair disheveled, ankles shackled with thick iron chains that clanked with each step, wrists bearing deep marks—clearly captives from the battlefield or exiled convicts.

The squad leader shouted, “One per household, those without wives claim a woman for the army!”

Zhang Muyang’s heart raced.

Opportunity!

If he could claim one, the system would activate!

Scanning the crowd, his eyes settled on a slender young woman. Her face was smudged with dirt, about eighteen or nineteen, a thin scar below her right eye, but her eyes shone fiercely.

“Her!” Zhang Muyang pointed.

“Oh?” The squad leader sneered. “That wench is a spy from Northern Yan, fierce-tempered—she injured two of our men days ago. She was to be executed, but the commander said she looked proper, so she’ll serve as a camp whore to atone.”

The girl looked up, biting her lips until they bled. “I am not a spy… I just want to live!”

Zhang Muyang met her gaze.

In her eyes, something struck him—resistance, rage, and a hunger for life, just like his own!

Zhang Muyang smiled. “What a coincidence. I want to live too. It’s you.”

The squad leader raised an eyebrow. “Think carefully. She knows martial arts, not easy to tame.”

Martial arts?

If he shared a bed with her, would he gain her skills?

Zhang Muyang grinned, voice hoarse but resolute. “Perfect. I need a wife who can fight.”