"The southern ridge is too exposed."
Sun Longzi leaned over the lacquered map table, one hand braced against the wood while the other moved a carved ivory marker into position. His sleeves were rolled to the elbow, ink smudged faintly along his wrist where he'd been noting troop shifts. Across from him, his father—Duke Sun, otherwise known as General Sun—stood silent, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes narrowed with calculation rather than disagreement.
"If Baiguang presses along the flatlands between the Lin marsh and the rice terraces," Longzi continued, pointing to the area on the map, "we'll have no cover. No elevation. And it will be open slaughter."
General Sun exhaled slowly. "Then what do you propose?"
