Under the veil of night, the Qilian Mountains beyond the Youzhou Pass stretched endlessly, their silhouettes outlined by moonlight like the spine of an ancient, titanic beast. The peaks loomed like slumbering giants, ready to awaken.
According to the Classic of Mountains and Seas from the previous dynasty, ten thousand years ago, the Qilian range was a vast plain—a battlefield where human ancestors fought against Northern Barbarian Giants. Though the giants were ten times the size of men, the humans moved mountains and turned seas, luring the giants into a lowland basin before drowning them in the waters of the East Sea and the ice of the North Sea.
Eons passed, and the stars shifted. The corpses of those giants petrified into what is now the Qilian Mountain Range, forming a natural barrier protecting the Central Plains from the Barbarian hordes.
Lin Huaijue, riding alongside the army, found himself entranced by the majestic scenery. He recalled the legend and then looked at the soldiers around him.
He thought of Xiao Hong, the Prince of Dongqi. His title was granted by Emperor Yuwen only after he repelled a coalition of eighty Barbarian tribes and a million soldiers at these very mountains.
It was an unprecedented honor. Neither the old Zhou Dynasty nor the current Yuwen Dynasty had ever granted the title of 'Prince' to a subject not of royal blood. Even the Princes of the Southwest and Southeast were the Emperor's nephews. Yet, here stood the Dongqi Prince—an outsider holding immense military power, a fact that highlighted the fragile balance of power in the Huachao Empire.
Suddenly, Xiao Shaojin rode up beside him, interrupting his wandering thoughts.
"Master Lin, follow the main army for now. When General Han calls for you, go to the Grand Preceptor's tent. You'll likely be tied up. These soldiers are rough men, not gentle maids from your estate, so please bear with it. But don't worry; my men will be nearby to ensure your safety."
Lin Huaijue nodded silently but asked a question that had been nagging him.
"Your Highness, may I ask... why did the soldiers shout the word 'Wind' three times? I have seen the Royal Guard parades in the Capital; they usually shout their unit name or 'Mighty'. What is the origin of this?"
Xiao Shaojin seemed interested. "A sharp question. Why shout 'Wind'? Because Wind is our faith. It is the talisman of victory for the Border Army."
Lin Huaijue looked confused and nearly lost his balance on the horse. "Why is wind so important?"
Xiao Shaojin whipped Lin's horse, correcting its path so the scholar could sit straight.
"Farmers watch the weather for rain or sun. Armies are the same. Youzhou relies on cavalry. Cavalry relies on mounted archery, charging, and raiding. All three are enhanced by the wind. Our army uses eight-picul bows and three-foot armor-piercing arrows. Without wind, the range is less than two hundred paces. With a tailwind, it reaches three hundred."
"I see," Lin nodded. "With the wind, you can engage from a safer distance. And charging with the wind increases speed."
"Exactly. Unlike the Central Plains, the wind beyond the Great Wall is fierce and unpredictable. The chant is both fitting and practical."
"Teachable," Xiao Shaojin muttered, then rode ahead without looking back.
Meanwhile, the two thousand Red Rust cavalry led by Yan Chuanzhi arrived at their designated ambush point south of the Barbarian camp.
Grand Preceptor Wu had set his camp below a mountain pass. It was a solid defensive position, but Yan Chuanzhi analyzed it with a critical eye: Good for defense, but if night-raided, panic will make retreat impossible. He silently admired the twelve-year-old Heir's strategic vision.
"Pass the order," Yan commanded. "Stay alert. The Heir is personally commanding this battle tonight. The Red Rust Army must not disappoint him."
Back at the front, Han Zhong rode up to Lin Huaijue. It was time.
Lin Huaijue, surprisingly, felt no fear. He dismounted and allowed the soldiers of the Drill Battalion to bind him securely. They carried him into the camp like a prize hog.
"Grand Preceptor! Brother Chijin is back! He brought twelve warriors and... a fat sheep!" a Barbarian guard in wolf-fur armor shouted excitedly.
Inside the tent, an old man in plain grey robes stood up abruptly. "Stop screaming! Only ten men returned? Where are the others? Bring him in!"
Outside, Han Zhong (disguised as Chijin Youduo) gulped. He glanced at the trussed-up Lin Huaijue, took a deep breath, and crushed the peppercorns hidden in his hand. He rubbed the powder into his eyes.
Instantly, tears and snot flooded his face. He contorted his features into a mask of utter grief and stumbled into the tent.
"Chijin Youduo begs for death! I failed the Grand Preceptor! I killed our brothers!"
Han Zhong wailed as he entered, throwing himself to the ground with a heavy thud.
"What happened? Get up and speak," Grand Preceptor Wu ordered.
Han Zhong sat on the floor, bawling. "Grand Preceptor! We were ambushed! There must be a spy in our camp! The Heir of Dongqi knew we were coming! A hundred warriors went out, only thirteen returned!"
He sobbed so hard that snot dripped onto the floor. Damn, he thought, the Heir's pepper is too strong.
"Ambushed?" The Grand Preceptor paced the tent. "I knew there was a traitor in the Wu Tribe. For a year, our hunting parties have suffered losses. Today, a whole company wiped out? Someone is selling my plans to the Dongqi Prince!"
Lin Huaijue, lying on the floor, observed the old man. Though over seventy, Grand Preceptor Wu was hale and hearty, his eyes burning like hawk's eyes in the candlelight. No wonder Xiao Shaojin considers him a major threat, Lin thought. This old man is dangerous.
Han Zhong continued his report through his tears, reciting the script Xiao Shaojin had prepared. "We were flanked by Red Rust cavalry half an hour after leaving. They had the wind and double our numbers. We broke out and fled to the southwest beacon tower! But we lost half our men."
Grand Preceptor Wu saw only a loyal warrior who had fought desperately. His gaze then shifted to the corner.
"Who is this Han dog?"
"We caught him at the beacon tower," Han Zhong explained. "He wore noble clothes and had guards. I thought he might be valuable, so I brought him back."
The Grand Preceptor walked closer. Lin Huaijue felt his heart race. Did the old man recognize the robe?
To his surprise, the Grand Preceptor personally untied him and helped him sit on a stool.
"I did not know the Heir of Prince Dongqi had graced us with his presence," the Grand Preceptor said smoothly. "My subordinates were rude. Please, Your Highness, rest here. Enjoy some authentic mare's milk tea and lamb."
Han Zhong suppressed his joy. Hook, line, and sinker.
Lin Huaijue remained silent, playing his part.
"Don't worry, Your Highness," the old man continued, eyeing Lin like a rare treasure. "You can stay as a guest."
"Grand Preceptor," Han Zhong asked, "Who is this kid?"
"Brother Chijin, you have performed a great service," the Grand Preceptor laughed. "You've caught the Wolf King's cub! The Prince of Dongqi may be a vicious eagle, but you just plucked out his eye!"
"Is he... the Prince's son?"
"Not a royal prince, but the 'Heir Apparent'. He has no imperial blood, but he is precious."
Han Zhong wiped the snot from his face and pretended to be overjoyed. "Really? Then our brothers didn't die in vain! I must tell the men to boost morale!"
The Grand Preceptor waved his permission.
Outside, Han Zhong's announcement was met with cheers. The Barbarians began to sing and dance. The Grand Preceptor ordered meat and strong wine for the 'heroes,' unaware that he was celebrating his own doom.
Inside his mind, the Grand Preceptor was already plotting. With this hostage, I can reverse the defensive stalemate. I can take the four prefectures of Youzhou. I might even march on the Capital and aim for the Dragon Throne!
Greed filled his eyes. He summoned his generals and nobles.
An hour later, the tent was full. Ninety-four high-ranking officers and nobles gathered, eyeing Lin Huaijue like a monkey in a zoo. One young noble in gold armor reached out to tug at the Python robe.
"Enough!" Lin Huaijue shouted.
Laughter erupted. "Xiao Hong is a lion, but his son is just a milk-drinking baby!" the young noble sneered, raising his foot to kick Lin.
"Fourth Prince! Stop!" the Grand Preceptor barked. "If you harm a hair on his head, Xiao Hong will unleash fifty thousand elite troops on us. Can you stop them?"
The young noble bowed in apology. The council began arguing over how to use the hostage—ransom for weapons, land, or troops.
Meanwhile, Han Zhong's men had gotten half the Preceptor's guards drunk and spiked the rest of the wine with triple doses of sleeping powder. A message was sent to Xiao Shaojin.
Xiao Shaojin was not in a hurry. It was just past midnight. He lay back on his horse, eyes closed, waiting for the perfect moment.
His adjutant, a battle-hardened officer, was sweating nervously. He feared for the twelve-year-old's safety but feared the boy's temper even more. He remembered how the Heir had dealt with a corrupt officer three years ago—it was not a pretty sight.
"Your Highness," the adjutant whispered. "When the charge begins, it will be chaotic. Should I keep a hundred guards back to protect you?"
Xiao Shaojin didn't open his eyes. "No need. Even if they reach me, they can't touch me. We have barely enough men for the plan as it is. Wait for the signal. And remember: kill anyone who resists, but I want Grand Preceptor Wu alive."
"Report!" A scout from the Drill Battalion arrived. "Grand Preceptor's camp has gathered 94 key targets. Main force of 500 infantry and 500 cavalry are asleep. 200 on watch, 100 elite guards remaining."
Xiao Shaojin sat up, smoothing his tattered clothes.
"This is my first time commanding in person. According to plan: One signal arrow launches my unit. Yan Chuanzhi strikes from the south and west. The north is a pass, the east is desert—they are trapped in my palm."
His eyes gleamed cold in the moonlight. "If Grand Preceptor Wu escapes, every officer above Captain brings me their head! Pass the order: Fire the Signal Arrows. Capture the Preceptor!"
"Yes, sir!"
SCREEEEEE—!
Ten whistling arrows screamed into the night sky, streaking toward the south side of the camp.
To the Red Rust Army waiting in the dark, the sound was like a dinner bell to starving wolves. Their eyes burned with anticipation.
Yan Chuanzhi's two thousand riders launched their assault. From the west, Xiao Shaojin's eight hundred Iron Pagoda heavy cavalry began their thunderous charge.
Three thousand hooves pounded the earth, a rolling drumbeat of doom.
Xiao Shaojin watched the moonlight glinting off the sea of moving steel. He rubbed his small hands together and breathed out a puff of white mist.
Grand Preceptor Wu, Chicken Preceptor... whoever you are, tonight I'm turning you into minced meat.