Rather Than Zhang Ran, Zhang Bao’s Eldest Daughter

Gripping the practice staff, I gave it a few light swings. It was quite hefty. Certainly not something a child, regardless of gender, should be handling. A few more swings and I would surely grow fatigued.

Since Zhang Fei respects the virtuous, this was unlikely a true test of skill, but rather of determination. Marveling at my drastic change in just a week, yet that also implied until last week, Zhang Ran was no different from other girls her age.

He had said to show him my skills, but realistically did not expect any foundational martial prowess from me.
However, that only applied to Zhang Ran the ordinary young girl.
I housed not just Zhang Ran’s memories of the last 8 years, but also decades of recollections as a full-grown Korean man in my past life.

Plus one more thing.
‘So you have a chance at survival, I’ll grant you your father’s abilities.’
A faint voice that lingered from my final Korean memories. Though I had dismissed it as nonsense initially, as the reborn Zhang Ran, I now understood its meaning.
The strength I felt gripping the staff, supporting my stance, pulsing through my body – it proved those words true.

‘This body possesses an innate divine power on par with Zhang Fei’s.’
This was my trump card. Armed with memories alone, I could never have brashly challenged Zhang Fei. At most, I would have aimed to serve as a civil official leveraging my future knowledge.
But with this power…
‘Becoming the peerless grand marshal is a reality.’

I readjusted my grip on the staff, holding it like a sword rather than a spear.
Over 1 meter long, it may be akin to a short staff for Zhang Fei’s stature, but more than enough length for my diminutive frame.

Not as a spear, but as a sword. And I had experience wielding blades of such length before.
‘Longsword fencing.’
The swordsmanship I studied out of interest as a Western history major would be mere amusement to Zhang Fei. But preceded by the descriptor “9-year-old girl”, he could not simply dismiss it as a childish antic.

“Hmm, not a bad stance. Did you train with blades this past week? Foolishness.”
No matter how seriously I presented myself, it seemed Zhang Fei could not entirely let go of viewing this as his cute daughter’s antics, a hint of complacency slipping through despite maintaining a ready stance.

‘Now!’
I exploited that tiny opening.
Transitioning seamlessly from my overhead sword grip compensating for my short reach, I lunged forward with a downward slash.
Zhang Fei made no attempt to evade the descending overhead strike – this bout was merely to gauge my capabilities after all. Intending to thoroughly assess my full potential, he received my blow directly.

Twaang!
An impact far louder than two wooden staves colliding resounded through the training grounds. While my all-out strike was blocked squarely by Zhang Fei’s staff, it caused his gripping hands to visibly tremble.
The tender warmth in Zhang Fei’s gaze instantly hardened into the stern glint of a battlefield veteran.

Though limited by a 9-year-old’s physical power even with Zhang Fei’s divine abilities, I possessed techniques unknown to Zhang Fei at that age.
Rather than relenting after my initial strike was deflected, I maintained my offense – the core tenet of Lichtenauer’s longsword fencing lies in continuous transitions between stances. From one form to the next, like water flowing, wind blowing, I pressed my unremitting assault through ceaseless shifts.

Seizing the initiative now, I had to overwhelm him. No matter my extraordinary strength transcending age and gender, the burden of a first real combat coupled with expending full force would undoubtedly inundate this small frame with fatigue in no time.

“Hrrah!”
Despite my relentless barrage, Zhang Fei stood firm as a mountain, deflecting or outright negating each of my attacks.
While forced on the defensive, Zhang Fei’s guards betrayed no openings to exploit – a dimension apart from my self-trained basics, honed through life-and-death battlefields.

Twaak!
When Zhang Fei parried my last desperate strike, I could no longer maintain my grip, the staff slipping from my hands.
Separate from strength or technique, my completely unprepared hands were already grazed and bleeding, arms and legs trembling uncontrollably as if struck by palsy.

“So this is your limit.”
Zhang Fei approached and gently unfolded my quivering hands to examine them.
Even the stoic Zhang Fei seemed pained to see his daughter’s injuries, furrowing his brow as he called to my mother watching nearby.
“Ran is hurt. Bring some medicine.”
“Yes? Y-Yes, of course!”
Having zoned out watching our exchange, my mother Ha Shi snapped out of her daze and hurriedly moved, forgetting to summon a maid.

Alone in the training grounds, Zhang Fei soothingly massaged my uninjured arm and hand.
“You were born with it.”
A quiet yearning burned in Zhang Fei’s eyes, absent until our bout.
“My martial prowess has been passed to you.”

According to Zhang Ran’s memories, the firstborn Zhang Bao was of frail constitution from birth – so feeble that simply siring a child was considered an impressive feat.
The second son Zhang Xiu showed some physical ability, but not to the extent of leaving his name as a peerless warrior. Instead, he possessed scholarly talents that the literati-revering Zhang Fei took pride in.
And now the eldest daughter – Zhang Fei’s martial lineage had finally found its successor in me.
The heir to carry on his peerless martial arts, which Zhang Fei may have inwardly resigned himself to never finding. No matter how exceptional, even the greatest generals cannot remain active indefinitely. He must have yearned for someone to take his place eventually.

No longer did my status as his daughter seem to matter to Zhang Fei.
I was certain I had filled that void in his heart.
Even if my growth as a woman imposed physical limitations, could I not still realize his strategic brilliance as a formidable commander?

“You have the talent, but lack training. From tomorrow, you’ll join me at the camps. Expect no special treatment – you start from the very bottom.”

However, Zhang Fei would make no exceptions in his strictness. Or rather, precisely because I was his daughter, he could only be harsher on me.
To transcend the innate limits of being female and serve in the army, I had to present an irrefutable case – outstanding lineage, prodigious gifts, and the leadership to command underlings. Lacking any of those, leading troops as a woman would be impossible.

“Lord…!”
As Zhang Fei and I affirmed this reality, steeling ourselves for the arduous path ahead, my mother, having fetched the medicine, cried out in a scream upon seeing my injured hand still grasped by Zhang Fei.
She hastily applied the herbal concoction, but could such crude remedies truly work? It seemed just mashed plants.
I intended to voice my doubts, but the words caught in my throat seeing my mother’s welling tears.

What had Zhang Ran been to her mother, before my reincarnation awoke the memories, before the mountain spirit’s blessing manifested? She had not been as hardy as the sickly eldest son Zhang Bao.

A late child in full bloom – having selectively inherited her parents’ finest traits, the beautiful eldest daughter was her most precious, someone she would never trade for the world.
Yet in a day’s time, that daughter abruptly transformed – declaring her intent to become a warrior, demanding to be taught martial arts by her husband who showed a ruthless side in military affairs despite his gentle demeanor towards family. Even going so far as to directly challenge her own formidable father as a 9-year-old girl. It was enough to give one two or three hearts.

The more I contemplated it, the greater my guilt welled up. With pursed lips, my mother finally spoke as she finished dressing my wounds:
“I am a daughter of the Ha family. Though a woman, I can discern a warrior when I see one. You have inherited your father’s bloodline so strongly…”

The mention of the Ha family caused Zhang Fei’s expression to darken somewhat. As the niece of Ha Xiliang, one of Cao Cao’s closest aides, my mother’s lineage contributed to my martial gifts – no wonder Zhang Fei looked displeased despite praising my talents.

Nevertheless, my mother soldiered on with a Ha daughter’s fortitude:
“I know well enough that no words of mine can dissuade you. But cherish your own body. And…no, never mind. I’ll say no more.”
It seemed there was something further my mother wished to express, but she merely trembled her lips before falling silent, gently caressing my hand.

Yet I sensed the unspoken words lingering – of a mother who could not forget the Ha family, coupled with my own knowledge of the future.
Zhang Fei following Liu Bei, and I his daughter.
The Ha clan serving Cao Cao.
We were destined to cross blades on the battlefield. How agonizing it must be for her to envision the family that raised her clashing with the daughter she nurtured.

‘I promise you.’
I could not vow to protect the Ha family. Unless I defected to Wei, my duty was to defeat them.
The only promise I could make was to refrain from directly taking action, and to treat with utmost care her cousin, my distant uncle through marriage, should he eventually surrender to our forces.

My mother may have found solace in that small reassurance, but I felt a twinge of self-reproach for resigning myself to allow the death of someone so impactful in her life, like a father.
Undoubtedly, there would be many more deaths I would turn a blind eye to, many more I would directly deal with my own hands.

Joining the battlefield.
Engaging the enemy.
The weight of that reality pressed heavily on my shoulders.

While inscribing my name in official histories was just writing on paper, I realized engraving it into the annals of time required the ink of someone’s blood.
Yet I felt no desire to back down. I had no wish to spout lofty justifications of some “grand cause.” This was simply my selfish desire – my reincarnation as Zhang Ran, my attempts to rewrite history, all of it.

‘It’s too late to turn back.’
The moment I was reborn as Zhang Ran, I had already started running.

“I promise you, Mother.”
I spoke to my mother, still gently gripping my uninjured hand.
“You never need worry. I cannot promise to avoid injury, but I swear I will survive. I will not die. Father will ensure I become that strong.”

Finally unable to hold back, my mother’s tears streamed forth.
Zhang Fei averted his gaze, allowing her to embrace me freely as she wept.

Yes, even you still have a conscience left as one trained in the doctrines. You must know the tragedy awaiting my mother.
So I beg you, make me strong enough that I will never die, strong enough to at least halve my mother’s sorrow. Father, temper me into a force to be reckoned with.