Until Night Rains from the Heavens
In the midst of the grand banquet where all civil and military officials had assembled, I met the gaze burning with desire directed straight at me. Within those golden eyes I saw a swirling vortex of countless emotions: rage, possessiveness, hatred, sorrow, grief, resentment, emptiness, and—brighter than all the rest—raw, aching lust.
She parted her clenched teeth and unleashed the fury she had kept caged inside.
Her cry was the pure manifestation of feeling, stripped of every pretense.
“Night rains from the heavens, is it…” I smiled bitterly. Yes. I remembered those words. I had changed because I met you—yet you, it seems, have not changed because you met me. Is your heart still filled only with blind hatred for people and an all-consuming thirst for revenge against the world? How sad.
Tears threatened to fall. It all began more than ten years ago.
§
The carriage rolled along an unfamiliar road.
“Young master, you must steel your resolve.”
From beside me came a voice urging me to prepare, while outside the carriage the murmurs of people watching us like exotic beasts in a cage reached my ears. None of it mattered. I had no leisure to care about such things now.
This world is strange.
The vague suspicions I had held had just been confirmed as reality. Being reincarnated thousands of years into the past without warning was already astonishing enough—if I could accept that the Buddhist cycle of rebirth was literally true, that would suffice. But the reality I now faced was something else entirely.
Years had passed since I first became aware of my previous life. Through my present memories and conversations with those around me, I had pieced together an understanding of this world. Until now, the limited circle of people I could observe had left me with only suspicions, but today those suspicions had hardened into certainty.
This world is strange.
The Warring States period, when the Central Plains had fractured into rival kingdoms that rose and fell in endless alliances and betrayals. I had been reborn into the late years of that era. I was no expert on the period, yet even I knew certain basic facts: women’s rights were severely restricted, they could not advance in society; most people had black hair and dark eyes; medicine and grooming were undeveloped, so average height and appearance were inferior to those of later ages.
Yet the world I had been born into defied every one of those expectations, as though it were not the past at all, but a parallel dimension. Women enjoyed equal social rights with men. Even though this was the Central Plains where only East Asians should live, people’s hair and eyes came in every natural color imaginable. Even their appearances had been elevated to the standards of the twenty-first century I once knew.
At first, seeing the beauty of my maids, I had thought, Ah, so even in the past the standards of beauty are much the same. Being royalty has its privileges. That shallow assumption was mocked by the crowd now staring at me—every face was strikingly individual.
After gathering all these observations, I could finally sum up this world in a single word: Romance of the Gender-Bent Princesses. Not Romance of the Three Kingdoms, but its gender-bent counterpart. For me, it was both the perfect explanation of this world and the very reality I now had to live in.
Not that society had flipped entirely to female dominance—men still formed the majority. Yet it was no longer unusual to see women holding office or leading armies.
“Young master? Are you listening?”
“Ah, forgive me. I was lost in thought.”
The informal address that had once felt awkward now came naturally. It meant I had adapted to both this absurd world and my new station in it.
At my reply, my attendant Han Gyeong spoke with worry and pity.
“Of course, my lord. You are being sent as a hostage to an enemy state, after all. Still, you must not waver. You are His Majesty’s only legitimate son; you will surely become Crown Prince. When that day comes, our country will recall you. Until then, you must endure with patience.”
Han Gyeong, true to his noble Han lineage, offered both political analysis and encouragement. Yet his trembling voice betrayed that he was more nervous than I was.
“Do not worry. I am quite calm. If anything, you should stop trembling. Zhao and Yan may not be on the best terms, but we once formed an alliance. They would not dare kill us.”
“We cannot be sure, my lord. You may not know this, but after the Battle of Changping, the King of Zhao tried to execute the Qin hostage sent to him.”
“That is hardly surprising.”
The Battle of Changping. Forty-five thousand prisoners of war buried alive by Qin troops—the greatest massacre of the entire Warring States era. It was no ordinary defeat; it shattered Zhao’s future and left an irreparable wound. The numbers might be exaggerated, yet the scale of slaughter was beyond imagination. When even the capital Handan was besieged, the King of Zhao had every reason to be furious. News of it had reached even me, secluded in the inner palace. Its impact was immeasurable.
“In any case, you must be careful not to give them any pretext. Now, let us review the proper etiquette once more before you meet the King of Zhao.”
While Han Gyeong droned on about tedious protocol, I turned my attention to the people of Zhao outside the carriage. Beneath their curious stares I felt undisguised hostility. Meeting that open resentment from the very beginning, I knew instinctively that my life as a hostage in Zhao would not be easy.
§
Handan, capital of Zhao. Renowned as one of the three great cities of the realm alongside Linzi of Qi and Xianyang of Qin, it was a splendid metropolis where grandeur and elegance blended in perfect harmony. Yet I had no time to admire it. The moment I arrived, I was summoned before the Zhao court without even unpacking.
Given the Battle of Changping, we had clearly passed the midpoint of the Warring States period. My calculations were based on the assumption that events here matched those of my previous life’s memories, but the names and incidents I heard suggested little difference.
The current King of Zhao was a middle-aged man who had held the throne for over ten years. Before Changping his reputation had been excellent; together with capable ministers such as Lin Xiangru, Lian Po, Zhao She, and the Lord of Pingyuan, he had been praised as a wise ruler continuing his predecessor’s renaissance. One catastrophic mistake, however, had turned him into the foolish king who destroyed Zhao’s future. Even now, years later, deep worry still shadowed his face.
“So you are the hostage sent from Yan.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
I bowed as Han Gyeong had taught me.
“Hmph. When you seized Changzhuang from us you showed no fear, yet now you send a hostage in terror.”
The king made no effort to hide his displeasure. Nor could I blame him. From his perspective, Yan was thoroughly detestable. Already reeling from the disaster at Changping and the humiliation of Handan’s siege, Zhao had been further weakened when Yan seized territory instead of offering aid. And now Yan, having taken its fill, sent a hostage and expected friendly relations? The king had every reason to be offended.
Yet despite his irritation, he accepted me.
“I shall grant you lodging at the guesthouse. The Prince of Yan may reside there.”
“I am grateful for Your Majesty’s boundless mercy.”
The king did not demand the return of Changzhuang. Neither side had the strength to fight further. Satisfied that Yan had come forward first with a gesture of submission, he chose not to reopen old wounds. It had been only three years since the capital nearly fell. Zhao was still overwhelmed with recovering from Changping, restoring internal and external order, and preparing against another Qin invasion.
After the formalities—exchange of diplomatic letters and the king’s address—were concluded, I prepared to withdraw. The king called me back.
“A moment.”
Had I made some mistake? While I quickly reviewed my conduct, the king spoke.
“I never heard your name.”
“Ah, how discourteous of me.”
In truth the fault lay more with the king for cutting me off before I could introduce myself, but rank was everything. I bowed deeply. The king did not seem inclined to press the matter and merely nodded.
I straightened, clasped my hands in formal salute, and knelt on one knee. Then I spoke the second name this world had given me.
“I am Dan of the Yan clan, bearing the surname Ji. The Prince of Yan, Ji Dan.”
Ji Dan. That was my name.