Chapter 1

This damned weather.

In the Baoli Bridge Museum on the outskirts of Beijing, Guan Zhuofan sat by the window, watching the dark clouds rolling across the sky, and sighed. It was clearly going to be a heavy rain, and there was no hope for business today.

As a history graduate student, he had taken advantage of the summer break to contact this museum, which had only two staff members, and volunteered to be a tour guide for visitors—indeed, those two aunties were more than willing to hand over the entire museum to him. In the room next to the counter, various cheap souvenirs were displayed, and during his tours, he would also try to sell some to the visitors.

More than a hundred years ago, the Battle of Baoli Bridge was the first and only large-scale field battle between the Chinese army and the Anglo-French allied forces. Although they were defeated, there were still some military enthusiasts and history buffs who came here to pay their respects and reminisce. Although the number of visitors was small, the advantage was that there were no competitors, and if he encountered foreign tourists, he could earn a bit more with his fluent English.

But the real reason that attracted him to this place was an exhibit in the museum.

It was a cavalry saber in a glass case. Although it had been treated to prevent rust, the original rust stains on the blade could not be restored. The saber and a section of a flagpole displayed next to it were said to be remnants of that battle, not particularly significant artifacts. What truly interested Guan Zhuofan were the characters engraved near the hilt of the saber: "Guan San Zhuofan."

Needless to say, this knight who had sacrificed himself on the battlefield shared his name and was the third son in his family, which is why these characters were engraved on the blade. With this coincidence, he had often fantasized about being the owner of the saber, charging into battle amidst the smoke of Baoli Bridge, and even imagined himself as the Mongolian Iron Hat Prince, the famous Sengge Rinchen, commanding the battle, advancing and retreating, luring the enemy deeper, and ultimately defeating the Anglo-French allied forces.

However, reality was still reality, and he was still a poor student with nothing but a good mouth. He had neither found "the beauty" nor "the golden house" in his books.

"Who would do this if there were any other way out?" He looked around the dilapidated small museum and gave a self-deprecating smile.

Outside, the rain was pouring down, the white curtain of rain seemed to separate the museum from the outside world, and thunder rolled overhead, one after another, with great force. On a whim, Guan Zhuofan opened the glass case, reached out, and gripped the cold steel handle of the saber, once again immersing himself in the fantasy of being a hero. At that moment, a branched lightning bolt suddenly shot through the window, penetrated the glass case, and struck the blade precisely.

He felt a blinding flash of light, followed by darkness, as if his body was falling into a vortex, endlessly descending. Before he lost consciousness, he vaguely remembered his last thought.

I won't show off anymore.

*

*

The thunder continued, and the sound of a crowd and fireworks filled his ears. Blurry figures moved before his eyes, like a cheap camera filming a fuzzy and illusory image. Guan Zhuofan didn't know where he was, feeling dizzy and unable to move his arms and body. After a great effort, he managed to focus his eyes.

The museum was gone.

The heavy rain that had just fallen seemed to have never happened, and the sky above was a clear blue. In the distance, a large group of people in dark blue uniforms could be seen in front of the shrubs, and the open ground was filled with smoke, with many people and horses lying dead. Looking down at himself, he realized he was kneeling on the ground, bound with several ropes, his arms tied behind his back. In front of him, two rows of people were kneeling, four in each row, and on either side, more people were kneeling, all facing forward.

Worse still, each kneeling person had a thick braid at the back of their head. Even worse, behind each kneeling person stood a large man, holding a bright steel saber.

There was no thunder, and no one was setting off fireworks. The popping and rolling sounds were gunshots and cannon fire.

Guan Zhuofan shuddered, a terrifying thought forming in his mind. He tried to turn his head to look around and indeed saw a large number of soldiers holding sabers and spears on his left, and a large number of cavalry holding reins and horses, waiting for orders on his right. Many of them were already wounded, and the uniforms they wore were all too familiar to him, impossible to mistake.

They were the uniforms of the Qing army.

"Did I travel through time?" His mind was in chaos. The lightning, the saber, the braids, and the Qing army uniforms all seemed to confirm this. The three-arched stone bridge in the distance clearly told him where he was.

Baoli Bridge.

After the initial confusion of time travel, he gradually regained his ability to think—just now, he had held the saber, and then a lightning bolt had sent him back to... the Battle of Baoli Bridge?

In other words, it was now 1860? The Second Opium War, the Anglo-French allied forces had captured Dagu and landed in the north, advancing like a sharp blade, and Baoli Bridge was the last line of defense guarding the way to the capital's Guangqu Gate. The Anglo-French forces numbered eight thousand, with the French in dark blue uniforms and the British in red, equipped with flintlock muskets and field artillery capable of firing canister shot...

And at the junction of the British and French forces, those black-clad knights were the fierce "Proby" Sikh cavalry regiment? Those cavalrymen patrolling the flanks of the infantry squares were the famous "Queen's" Royal Dragoons?

Alright, alright, think quickly. If I were to command the Qing army, I should... I should...

He couldn't remember, he actually couldn't remember. The brilliant strategies he had fantasized about countless times seemed to melt away like snow in the sun when faced with the real battlefield, with guns firing and bullets flying. Moreover, there was a most pressing and realistic question before him.

Why am I bound and kneeling on the ground?

"Zhuomukele, Feimo, Sakuda, Ganglin!" Before he could think, a nearby officer roared, "Fleeing from the enemy, you shall be executed according to military law!"

"Execute!" A loud voice ordered from behind.

The four executioners standing behind the first row of prisoners did not hesitate to swing their sabers. Thud, thud, thud, thud, four heads were severed, bouncing forward for several feet before coming to a stop.

Damn it! Guan Zhuoying felt his scalp tingle, and he wanted to cry—how could anyone hear of being beheaded immediately after time travel?

"Madeng, Baijia, Yiligen, Bulumeiqi! Fleeing from the enemy, you shall be executed according to military law!"

"Execute!"

Another flash of sabers, and the four prisoners in the second row fell forward, their headless bodies convulsing before his eyes.

"Who would do this if there were any other way out?" He suddenly remembered what he had said in the museum. Oh God, I did say that, but... being bound and beheaded, can this be considered a way out?

"Guan Zhuofan, Alhatu, Cai Erjia, Tumen! Fleeing from the enemy, you shall be executed according to military law!"

Sure enough, it was "Guan Zhuofan," and sure enough, he had time-traveled into the body of this namesake! He suddenly realized that his namesake had not died in battle but had been executed for violating military law. Thinking about how he had often fantasized about being the owner of the saber, his body began to tremble, a sense of injustice filling his chest, and he suddenly let out a heart-wrenching cry.

"I don't accept it—!"