Chapter 1: The Misfortunate Transmigration

"If there is a way out, who would be willing to do this?" He suddenly recalled a statement he had made earlier in the museum. ... Oh heavens, oh heavens, I did say that, but ...? ... Being tied up and executed, can this really be considered a way out?

However, reality remains reality; he is still that impoverished student who possesses nothing but eloquence. He has found neither "a beauty like jade" nor "a house of gold" in his books.

At the junction of the British and French forces, that dark cloud, clad in black armor, is it the fierce "Proby" Sikh Cavalry? Those knights maneuvering around the flanks of the hollow infantry squares, are they the renowned "Queen's" Life Guards of the British?

This unfortunate weather

Outside, the rain was pouring down in torrents, and the white curtain of rain seemed to separate the museum from the outside world, creating two distinct realms. Thunder rolled overhead, booming with great intensity. Guan Zhuofan, in a moment of inspiration, lifted the glass cover and grasped the cold steel handle of the knife, once again immersing himself in the fantasy of a hero. Just at that moment, a jagged bolt of lightning suddenly pierced through the window, passing through the glass cover and striking the blade directly.

The recent downpour seemed as if it had never occurred; above, there was a vast expanse of blue sky and brilliant sunshine. In the distance, before a thicket, there were shadowy figures of numerous individuals clad in deep blue military uniforms. In the open space among them, smoke was rising, and many bodies of both men and horses lay fallen. Looking down at myself, I realized I was kneeling on the ground, bound by four or five ropes, with my arms bent behind me, feeling the tightness of the bindings. In front of me, there were two rows of people kneeling, four in each row, with others kneeling beside them, all facing forward. Looking down again, I found myself still in the same position, bound and surrounded by those kneeling, all directed towards the same front.

Cut!

More than one hundred years ago, the Battle of Bali Bridge that took place here was the first and only large-scale field battle between the Chinese army and the Anglo-French allied forces. Although it ended in defeat, some military enthusiasts and history buffs are still willing to come here to pay their respects and reflect. While the number of visitors is not large, the advantage is the lack of competition, and if foreign tourists are encountered, one can earn a bit more by utilizing their proficient English.

Needless to say, this knight who sacrificed himself on the battlefield shares the same name, and thus the inscription on the blade reads these few words. With this layer of coincidence, he has imagined himself countless times as the master of the blade, charging into battle amidst the smoke of the Eight Mile Bridge, even envisioning himself as the Mongolian Iron Hat King, Senggelinqin, who commanded the campaign, renowned far and wide, contemplating how to advance and retreat, how to lure the enemy deep, and how to completely vanquish the Anglo-French Allied Forces.

That is a cavalry sabre encased in glass. Although it has undergone rust prevention treatment, the original rust spots on the blade remain irreparable. This sabre, along with a section of a flagpole displayed nearby, is said to be a remnant of that great battle, and it is not considered a significant artifact. What Guan Zhuofan is truly interested in are the few characters engraved near the hilt of the blade: "Guan San Zhuofan"

It is unfortunate that each person kneeling has a thick braid at the back of their head. Even more unfortunate is that behind each kneeling person stands a burly man holding a gleaming steel knife

The thunder continued to rumble, accompanied by the noisy clamor of the crowd and the crackling sounds of firecrackers. Before him were swaying figures, resembling images captured by a low-quality camera, producing blurred and illusory visuals. Guan Zhuofan was unaware of his surroundings, feeling dizzy and disoriented, with his arms and body unable to move. After a desperate effort for a while, he finally managed to focus his scattered pupils.

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

In other words, is it now the year 1860? During the Second Opium War, the Anglo-French Allied Forces captured Dagu, landed in the north, and advanced with unstoppable momentum. The Eight Mile Bridge had become the last stronghold guarding the route to the capital's Guangqumen... The Anglo-French army consisted of a total of 8,000 men, with the French troops in deep blue uniforms and the British troops in red uniforms, equipped with muzzle-loading flintlock rifles and field artillery capable of firing explosive shells...

Guan Zhuofan felt a shiver run down his spine as a terrifying thought arose in his mind. He strained to turn his head and looked to both sides, and indeed saw a large number of soldiers wielding knives and spears on his left, while on his right, there was a contingent of cavalry holding reins and waiting for orders. Many of them were already injured, and the attire they wore was all too familiar to Guan Zhuofan, leaving no room for error.

Marden, Baijia, Yilegen, Bullemoci! When facing the enemy and retreating, according to military law, they should be executed

He only felt a sudden brightness before him, followed by darkness; his body seemed to be sinking into a vortex, falling endlessly downward. Before losing consciousness, he vaguely remembered the last thought in his mind

In the Baliqiao Museum in the suburbs of Beijing, Guan Zhuofan sat by the window, watching the rolling dark clouds in the sky, and sighed. A storm was imminent, and there was no hope for today's business.

Indeed, it is "Guan Zhuofan", and I have truly crossed over to the same-named relative! Then, I suddenly realized that this relative of mine did not perish on the battlefield, but rather was executed by his own people for violating military discipline. Thinking back to the countless times I had fantasized about being the master of that knife, my body trembled, and a sense of injustice filled my chest, with no outlet for release. Suddenly, I let out a heart-wrenching cry to the heavens.

"Cut!" A resounding voice commanded from behind.

I can't believe it! Guan Zhuoying felt her scalp tingle, almost to the point of tears—who has ever heard of being beheaded immediately after time travel? This is absurd!

Guan Zhuofan, Alhatu, Cai Erjia, Tumen! When facing the enemy, retreating is punishable by death according to military law

I will no longer act pretentiously

However, the true reason that attracted him here was an exhibit in the museum

As a graduate student in the history department, he took advantage of the summer vacation to contact this museum, which had only two staff members, to serve as a volunteer guide for visitors—in fact, the two ladies were eager to hand over the entire museum to him. In a nearby room, a counter was filled with various inexpensive souvenirs belonging to him, which he promoted to visitors in between his explanations

... ...

That is the uniform of the soldiers from the Qing Dynasty

Bali Bridge

The museum has disappeared

Having passed through the initial chaotic state after the crossing, he gradually regained his ability to think—just moments ago, he had grasped that knife, and then a flash of lightning sent him back to... ? ... the Battle of Baliqiao ?

I am tied up and kneeling on the ground, why?

... ...

He couldn't remember, he actually couldn't remember. The countless brilliant strategies he had once fantasized about for defeating the enemy, when faced with the real battlefield of gunfire and flying bullets, seemed to suddenly turn into a snowman under the sun, melting away without a trace. Moreover, there was an even more realistic and urgent problem laid out before him

There is no thunder in the sky, nor is anyone setting off firecrackers; the crackling sounds and the rumbling of thunder are the sounds of gunfire and cannon fire

The four executioners standing behind the first row of prisoners swung their knives without hesitation. With a series of swift motions, four heads were severed, propelled by the blood from their necks, and rolled forward for nearly ten feet before coming to a stop

Once again, a flash of blades passed by, and the four military prisoners kneeling in the second row fell forward to the ground, their headless corpses twitching right before his eyes

Had he crossed over? His mind was in a state of confusion; that flash of lightning, that battle knife, those braids, those Qing army uniforms seemed to be confirming this point to him. And the three-arch stone bridge standing prominently in the distance on his right had already made it clear to him where he was now.

Zhuomuke Le, Feimo, Sakda, Ganglin! Before he could gather his thoughts, an officer nearby had already shouted loudly, "Fleeing in the face of the enemy, according to military law, should be executed!"

"If there were any way out, who would be willing to do this?" He glanced around the dilapidated little museum and gave a self-deprecating smile

I am not convinced