"What the hell is this place?!" Tang Xiaoming suddenly jolted awake from the hard wooden bed, his head still buzzing.
He cautiously scanned his surroundings, taking in the shabby military tent filled with the stench of sweat and dust. He wrinkled his nose, thinking to himself that this smell was nothing like the clean, fresh air of a modern military camp.
He examined the tent's interior more closely—rough wooden structures, crude living supplies, everything a far cry from the advanced military facilities he was used to. His eyes swept over the group of people around him, dressed in dull gray military uniforms, staring at him with a mix of curiosity and mockery.
How could a modern-day elite soldier like him wake up in this godforsaken place? He was filled with confusion. These people looked like soldiers, but they carried a different aura compared to modern military personnel. Their uniforms were worn, and their eyes held complex emotions—curiosity, disdain, and something else he couldn't quite place.
"Young Marshal, you're awake?" A shrill voice broke the silence. Tang Xiaoming turned to see a sly, weasel-faced man who looked like a strategist or advisor.
"Young Marshal? What Young Marshal?" Tang Xiaoming frowned, the title feeling completely out of place.
"Young Marshal, have you forgotten? You're the son of Tang Jiyao, the Southwest King, and now the leader of the Yunnan Army!" The advisor, Wang, said with an ingratiating smile.
It was then that Tang Xiaoming realized he had been transported to a parallel world called Lanxing, to the southwestern region of this unfamiliar planet. He had become the son of the "Southwest King," sharing the same name and identity as the original owner of this body. Memories of the original owner began to merge with his own.
His heart raced as flashes of his modern life flooded his mind—the high-tech weapons, his comrades, the state-of-the-art training grounds—all of it now far out of reach. But he quickly steadied himself. Since he was here, he might as well make the best of it. After all, he was a top-tier soldier. The skills he honed in his world would surely be useful here, too.
While his new identity sounded impressive, the rundown camp and the hostile glares from the surrounding officers told him that things weren't as simple as they seemed.
"Young Marshal, you've just arrived. Military matters should still be left to us," said a burly officer with a thick mustache and a smug expression, his arms crossed. His tone was anything but respectful.