Blood, Chlorine, and Silk Pajamas
The lands of Joseon were weeping blood. The sky was painted gray with gunpowder smoke and desperate cries. The invincible tiger of the borders, the most feared warrior of the Joseon army, Chief Commander Mu-Jin, panted heavily in the middle of a battlefield where mud and blood intertwined. His armor was shattered, his massive sword heavy with the blood of his enemies. As he roared at the traitors surrounding him, there was not a single ounce of fear in his eyes. He was a warrior. To him, death was a far more familiar bed than a silk mattress.
The cowardly arrow that pierced his back stole his breath. He lost his balance; the slippery mud beneath his feet betrayed him. He stumbled at the edge of the cliff. Below, the wildly rushing, dark, angry river awaited him. Mu-Jin swung his sword one last time and, before sinking into the dark waters, whispered to himself: "If there is a next life, I will not bow there either!"
Cold water filled his lungs. His breath caught. Darkness, absolute darkness...
...And suddenly, that strange, pungent, chemical smell burning his throat.
Chlorine.
Centuries later, in a completely different era, life continued in the luxurious garden of the ostentatious and modern Seoul Royal Palace. The sky was cloudless. At the elite poolside party, champagne glasses clinked, and fake smiles flew through the air. Crown Prince Lee Tae-Kyung’s fiancée, the country's "Flawless Pearl" Chae Hee-Jin, stood quietly in a corner, as always. With her pale blue, pearl-embroidered dress, she looked exactly like an expensive porcelain doll. Beautiful, silent, and obedient. Fragile enough that anyone could walk all over her.
And someone had already taken action to exploit that fragility. A hand, masterfully hidden within the crowd, struck Hee-Jin hard on the back just as she stood by the edge of the pool.
Just a momentary loss of balance. Her elegant heels slipped on the wet marble. She couldn't even scream as she hit the water. As her heavy silk dress absorbed the water, it began dragging her down to the bottom of the pool, into the suffocating blue. Her eyes closed as her lungs filled with water. Her delicate heart stopped beating.
In that exact moment, the body of the girl dying at the bottom of the pool collided with the angry soul of a warrior from centuries past.
Cough. A violent cough.
He opened his eyes. There was no water. No war. No blood. His chest heaved up and down, panting. Mu-Jin tried to sit up on the incredibly soft, cloud-like surface he was lying on. But his body felt strange, weightless, and weirdly weak—as if it didn't belong to him. His head throbbed.
"Great Ancestors," he grumbled with what should have been a deep, roaring voice. However, the sound that came out of his mouth was nothing but a thin, delicate, silk-like melody.
He paused. He blinked. Before him was a massive room covered in tulle, decorated in pale pink tones. There were gold-leafed mirrors, strange boxes emitting bright light, and an incredibly fresh, floral-scented air... This was no medical tent. This wasn't heaven, either. It couldn't possibly be hell, because he didn't think hell could be this... pink.
He slowly looked down. He was wearing a thin, lacy white fabric. And worse... Two strange weights resting on his chest, right in his line of sight, something he was absolutely not used to seeing on himself...
Mu-Jin's brain short-circuited at that moment.
He raised his hands. In place of those massive, callous hands covered in sword scars from battle, there were long, slender fingers, perfectly manicured, pure white, and smooth.
"What kind of dark magic is this?!"
In a panic, he threw the blanket off. He looked at his feet; tiny, delicate feet. He leaped out of the bed in a frenzy, but those slender legs couldn't keep up with the wide, swaggering strides a commander was used to taking. He tripped over his own feet and collapsed onto the fluffy white rug.
"I am... Commander Mu-Jin! The Black Tiger of Joseon!" he yelled while wrestling with the rug. His voice was still infuriatingly sweet and high-pitched. He crawled toward the massive full-length mirror across the room, pulling himself up. When he locked eyes with the reflection in the mirror, his blood ran cold.
Staring back at him was an incredibly beautiful woman with messy long hair, large terrified eyes, and delicate facial features. But the wild, murderous, ready-to-decapitate-someone glare in this woman’s eyes was pure Commander Mu-Jin.
Just then, the door burst open. Several men in funny dark suits with strange devices on their lapels, and a frantic woman, rushed into the room.
"My Princess! You're awake!" the woman screamed.
Growling like a cornered animal, Mu-Jin reached for the first solid object next to him—a heavy, priceless, gold-colored bedside lamp. He raised the lamp in the air like a mace, spread his legs wide in a masculine, intimidating stance, and yelled in that tiny voice:
"Step back, you scoundrels! If you come any closer, I will separate all your heads from your bodies!"
Everyone in the room froze in sheer horror. The country's quiet, fragile, flawless fiancée was challenging them like a street thug, wielding a lampshade.
