Rather Than Zhang Ran, Zhang Bao’s Eldest Daughter

Mountain spirits.
In the 21st century, to call them living time machines would not be an exaggeration. They have guided the leaders of nations, sent khans born in the wrong era to the correct time, and their illustrious deeds are already well-known.

So when a mountain spirit appeared before me and spoke of reincarnating into the past, I was able to calmly ask without being flustered:
“Can it be a foreign country?”
“A foreign country? Hmm…places outside my jurisdiction are a bit difficult.”
The mountain spirit said it was difficult, but I’m 100% certain that was just bluster.
Does it make sense for a spirit claiming difficulty to then orchestrate major historical events that rewrite not just the Korean peninsula, but the entire world’s history? Of course, it wasn’t the mountain spirit itself that caused such events, but rather the massive hurricane triggered by the butterfly effect of sending a future person into the past – a small yet immense incident set into motion by the spirit. But ultimately, wasn’t the prime mover still the mountain spirit’s core essence?
“Alright then, let me hear it.”
Just watch.
Confident that my guess was correct, I spoke boldly.
“I want to live as Jean Lannes.”
No need to hide it – I’m a Bonapartist. A Western history major who admires Napoleon Bonaparte, the emperor born from the French Revolution. That was me.
I haven’t never thought about wanting to become Napoleon himself, but the desire to witness and support my idol from up close was far greater than that. In that regard, the two most suitable figures who could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Napoleon as his closest aides were none other than Joachim Murat and the Jean Lannes I spoke of.
They were the only ones who could call Napoleon by his first name. No one could be more fitting than them.
Between the two, I did feel some aversion towards Joachim Murat. While I’m not exactly an intellectual, Joachim gave off a rather boorish vibe.
Not that I don’t crave the thrill of boldly charging ahead and smashing everything in my path with brute force. But Marshal Lannes, known as the Achilles of the Grande Armée, feels more appealing. As someone born into a poor family, Lannes’ exploits were the object of my intense admiration.

Sensing my sincerity, the mountain spirit pondered briefly before nodding.
“Alright, fine. If it’s within that scope, I can probably make it work. By the way, you’re quite the peculiar one yourself.”
What’s so strange about a Korean going to France? Novels dealing with the French revolutionary era are a pretty common setting for historical fiction, even in translated works.
In any case, as long as the spirit agrees to send me, that’s what matters.
However, I should have paid closer attention to what the mountain spirit said at that moment.
Elated at the thought of escaping the cruel hell of modern Korea where a humanities major cannot survive, and getting to live out my fantasies in the era of revolution, I let those words slip by.
It was only too late that I realized their significance.

§

I gaze into the mirror.
Not a glass mirror, but a bronze mirror.
Isn’t that strange? Looking into a bronze mirror instead of a glass one in late 18th century France?
But there was something even stranger than that.
It was my own reflection in the bronze mirror.
The person reflected there was, in a word, a ‘girl.’
And not just any girl, but a beautiful one worthy of multiple adjectives of beauty.
Hair black as obsidian with a glossy sheen flowed smoothly like strands of silk past her shoulders down to her waist. The texture felt so addictively soft that I couldn’t stop running my hands through it.
Her delicate features were intricately sculpted in exquisite harmony, like a masterpiece carved by a great artisan’s hand. Though still rounded with baby fat, there was a sharpness to her distinct cat-like eyes.
Long, lush eyelashes, a cute upturned nose, and moist rosy lips beneath. And topping off this beauty was a pair of deep, limpid eyes that sparkled like translucent gemstones, their depthless pools serene as an evening sky, radiating an almost hypnotic allure.
Already blossoming into a beauty at such a tender age, this young girl’s ethereal looks truly deserved the epithet “flower among maidens.”

Yes, she was a beautiful girl. The reflection I saw in the mirror.
This couldn’t be Jean Lannes, that virile man who calmly dismissed his deathbed as “no great matter.” If this was the mountain spirit breaking its promise by tricking me…no, that wasn’t it either.
Because this body was truly Jean Lannes.
The issue was simply that this “Jean Lannes” was not the one I spoke of.
Not Jean Lannes (zhahn lan), but Zhang Ran (jahng ran).

“Ran-ah! Your father has returned.”