Before the searing light reached her tightly shut eyes, the weight of her body had already crashed down upon her. In an instant, something yanked at her legs—then her arms, shoulders, head. The suffocating tension of armor straps digging into her skin, hot breath trapped inside her mask, and the echo of her own ragged breaths bouncing inside her helmet all struck at once.
A frigid wind swept past. Gu An'an opened her eyes. Blazing sunlight glinted off blood-soaked sand and curved blades. The entire battlefield shimmered under the glare. The air thundered with the clamor of war.
So she was in the thick of battle.
Damn it. It was already bad enough being flung into this so-called "past life" without warning. But to land in the middle of such danger instead of waking peacefully in bed? Old Man Luo, are you seriously messing with me?
Gu An'an's mind was foggy, still reeling from the bliss of her brief disembodiment. She already missed that weightless state.
Had Xiaozhu gone through the same thing?
Speaking of which—where was Xiaozhu?!
Panic flared. She spun around, scanning the chaos for any trace of Jingzhu, trying to ransack her memory for context.
But battle waits for no one. As her mind still raced, a blade slashed toward her.
She instinctively stepped back, twisted her body to evade, then swung the sword—wait, sword? I'm holding a sword?!—and drove it into the enemy's gut with all her might.
The sensation of piercing flesh—skin, muscle, fat, vessels, organs, the bony ridge of the spine—shot from the hilt into her palm. Her soul seemed to splinter, tethered to a single deadly stroke.
A shudder tore through her. The act of killing was disturbingly alien. She yanked the blade free. The soldier collapsed before her with a thud, intestines spilling in slick, glistening coils across the sand.
The gore was overwhelming. Real. Too real. Gu An'an wanted to scream—but the cry lodged in her throat, swallowed along with her churning stomach.
She forced herself still, locking her knees to stop them from trembling. After murmuring a hoarse "...I'm sorry," she turned her gaze away from the corpse, refusing to look again.
She knew there was no time to process her emotions.
I must live. I have to survive. She repeated it like a mantra. I'm not dying here—not like this, not without answers.
Fortunately, the body she now inhabited was strong, agile, and well-trained. She let go of hesitation, letting instinct take over.
Senses sharpened, she parried, dodged, countered—her blade danced through enemy lines.
In the blink of an eye, the corpses around her piled high.
No one dared approach. A brief pause. Her sword arm trembled slightly. She longed to rip off her mask and gasp for air, but something inside warned her not to.
The enemy forces, clad in fur and mismatched armor, scattered. Screams and pleading rose from soldiers begging their own gates to open.
But the towering gate stood motionless, unmoved by the desperate cries of its own dying troops.
The defenders held their positions, even sending reinforcements to repel the siege from the walls—fighting like guerrillas to break the encirclement.
They wouldn't open the gates. Couldn't. The king had decreed: anyone who opened them would see their entire family executed by dismemberment.
The tiger-flag flapped violently overhead. Seeing the tide turning, the commander atop the walls barked an order. A storm of arrows descended like rain, pelting the enemy with relentless speed. Yet the invaders remained unfazed, raising shields, advancing with ruthless discipline.
As the black cloud of arrows approached, Gu An'an did not duck behind the shields. She planted her feet, slashed with her sword—each strike swift and precise, deflecting even the swiftest arrows midair.
"Ladder units, prepare!" she heard herself shout. The command felt oddly familiar, though she didn't recall learning it.
Dozens of light-armored shield soldiers rushed forward—three per row—stacking ever higher as they neared the walls.
She scaled the human ramp like a skyward stair, vaulting from shoulder to shoulder. Before the defenders could react, she was already leaping through the gaps between stone and flesh, ascending rapidly.
Sword in hand, she became a deadly wraith. She moved through archers, stone throwers, and foot soldiers alike. Her blade shimmered with cold light, singing with each sweep.
The enemy could not stop her.
Seeing her breach the walls, her comrades roared with renewed vigor. They surged behind her. The defenders faltered.
Just as Gu An'an prepared to accept their surrender, a thunderous roar shattered the air. She turned—fast—just in time to see a dark figure sprinting across a rooftop.
The warrior cut down all in his path, his curved blade a blur. He landed before her.
Massive and wild-eyed, the man had a rugged, commanding face, a chin full of bristling beard, and a wide-brimmed, weathered hat. His eyes, shadowed by the brim, gleamed with scorn.
"Oi," he growled. "How about we settle this—one-on-one?"
The defenders erupted: "The King! The King! The King will win!"
Gu An'an squinted, cursing inwardly.
Seriously?! A duel? I'm exhausted! Pick someone else!
But the soldiers had all gone silent, watching them intently. She sighed, stepped forward, and raised her sword.
"Surrender. You won't win."
The so-called king sneered and lunged—his curved blade cutting fast and brutal toward her neck. She sidestepped easily, eyes calm, as if reading his every move.
Wow, she thought, this body's amazing. Skilled, strong, and sharp as hell.
The king attacked again, each blow like a hammer. Gu An'an understood immediately—such force must be met with fluidity.
Water against stone.
She became the wind—her arms flowing like rivers. She struck his wrist with delicate precision, unraveling his assault.
The king was stunned but regained composure, switching to powerful kicks. Gu An'an glided with him, redirecting his force with graceful spirals.
"Enough tricks!" he roared. "Show me your real strength!"
He surged at her, relentless. Fists howled, blades shrieked. His raw power pushed her back.
But she remained calm, synchronizing breath and movement—twisting like silk in a breeze. Every parry felt effortless, yet deadly precise. Their clash carved a circle in the ground—a perfect ring that seemed to shut out the world.
The king accelerated. His attacks shadowed her steps, constant and brutal. Her defense grew harder to maintain.
She narrowed her eyes. Enough.
Gu An'an launched into the air, her blade thrusting like a viper. The king blocked—but she twisted midair, landed in a spin, and slammed a kick into his chest.
He staggered.
She pounced. Blade flashing, she drove him back. His defenses faltered—his breath uneven.
With a final shout, she delivered a mighty slash—cleaving off his right arm. Blood sprayed like petals in a storm.
It was over.
Gu An'an exhaled deeply, lowering her blade. The king slumped, clutching his bleeding stump. Soldiers rushed in, ropes ready to bind him.
But he turned, eyes wide, staring straight at her. His mouth opened—
She leaned closer.
And suddenly, he lunged—not at her, but into her blade.
She froze.
The sword pierced through him, exiting from his back. He hung from it, barely conscious.
With his last breath, he whispered a few words—lost in blood and gurgles. But she caught the faintest sound: "...you... Zhu... go..."
"What?!" she shouted, as if recognizing something. "What did you say?! Say it again!"
But he was gone. His soul drifted away like smoke on the wind.
Her heart dropped.
Zhu?! Could he have been Xiaozhu?
It made perfect sense.
First, they'd both crossed into this world—likely arriving in opposite factions as key figures.
Second, Xiaozhu becoming a man? Not impossible. Souls have no gender—only bodies do.
And most telling of all: he'd said "Zhu..." right before dying. No one else in this world knew that name.
Damn it, damn it, damn it! Is this some kind of sick game?! A life-or-death battlefield scenario?! What the hell, Old Man Luo!
She yanked the blade free. The king's body crumpled. Gu An'an ran to him, shaking his corpse violently.
"Xiaozhu! Is it you?! Xiaozhu! Wake up! You damn idiot!"
She cursed aloud, hurling every foul word she knew.
War, death, bloodshed—damn all of it! I killed my best friend—my soul's other half!
Soldiers stared at her—this fierce, broken warrior screaming and stomping in grief. No one dared make a sound.
After a long while, someone finally asked timidly, "Little... General... can... can we cheer now?"
Another voice chimed in, "Yeah, we... we won, right?"
Little General? Gu An'an was taken aback, then immediately realized that everyone was looking at her. Ah, I'm their superior! No wonder I'm so awesome.
Completely devoid of enthusiasm, she waved her hand. "Do whatever you want."
Only then did cheers erupt from the ranks, shouting, "Little General! Victory! Great Zheng! Victory!"
They surged with excitement, tidying up the aftermath while loudly singing military songs.
Amidst the resounding and stirring victory songs, Gu An'an was hoisted onto the shoulders of her subordinates, lifted high, cheering and continuing to advance.
"Little General! Victory! Great Zheng! Victory!"
Great Zheng?
As she heard someone shout this word, a series of unfamiliar yet familiar terms flooded her mind:
Great Zheng, Fourth Year of Duanzhao, the Young Mistress of the Duke's Household, Lang General, Little General, Lianshan Mines, remnants of the Western Frontier... Thousands of pieces of information crashed into her brain, but no reliable thread connected them.
Until she remembered a word, a name:
Ping Huai'an.
As the saying goes, no sooner said than done. The instant she recognized this name, all her memories suddenly burst forth like shards of glass in a kaleidoscope, dazzling and vibrant, dancing and swirling in her mind. All the past scenes, memories etched deep in her soul, emotions, and feelings, swept in like a tornado, like towering waves, staggering her steps, almost making her unable to stand.
It wasn't until everything settled like dust, leaving only gentle ripples, that she finally recovered.
Ping Huai'an. My name is Ping Huai'an, daughter of the 'Duke Who Stabilized the Nation,' a meritorious official in the founding of Northern Zheng. I am seventeen years old, with two loving elder brothers, a harmonious and happy family. From a young age, I was proficient in both literary and martial arts, and many said I possessed much of the demeanor of my father, Ping Ji, in his younger years. Last year, after graduating top of my class from the martial arts academy, I officially took up a military post. I am now a fifth-rank Left Guard Lang General appointed by the imperial court. Since then, the servants at home and even outsiders have changed their address for me from Young Lady to—Little Mistress.
Thinking of this, she whistled inwardly. Who would have thought that my ordinary and lonely past life as Gu An'an would have such a grand origin!
Then she suddenly realized a problem: so, is the 'me' that exists now 'Gu An'an' or 'Ping Huai'an'?
Although, according to Old Luo and Jinzhu, they would travel to any time and space where their 'soul once existed as a living being,' so this 'Ping Huai'an' was once an existence of her soul. Therefore, she was both 'Gu An'an' and 'Ping Huai'an.'
But which 'consciousness' should be the dominant one?
She was a little troubled. Asking her to completely abandon the consciousness of 'Gu An'an' was like abandoning a part of herself, something she absolutely couldn't do and couldn't bear to do. But what could she do? If she didn't think with the existence of 'Ping Huai'an,' she would definitely make many mistakes and many jokes in this era.
Damn it! This damned reincarnation! This damned time travel!
She hesitated for a long time, many thoughts popping up one after another like bamboo shoots after a rain.
Finally, she came to a conclusion: then keep both! When she needed to think as Ping Huai'an, she would think with the identity of Ping Huai'an; when she needed to detach, she would detach! She was still herself, and wouldn't change because of a different name or identity.
(However, for the sake of the story's development and flow, from now on, 'Ping Huai'an' will be used consistently as the narrative subject.)
Huai'an took a deep breath. Good, the most important identity issue was resolved. Now, let's deal with the current situation.
I led troops to fight a battle and won. I also killed the enemy leader (or rather, the other party killed himself). The enemy leader might be Xiaozhu. So, I might have killed Xiaozhu.
I killed Xiaozhu. Damn it! I killed Xiaozhu!
No, wait, was that person really Xiaozhu? Maybe not.
But how can I prove he wasn't Xiaozhu? He's already dead!
Waaaaaah!