"This is truly the stuff of the gods!"
When these words popped out of the grease-smeared mouth of a steppe warrior, they carried a heavy Di accent.
The speaker was Huyan Ba, commander of the vanguard camp of the Helian Khanate.
He sat cross-legged on the felt rug in the center of the main tent, his left hand gripping a dripping, greasy leg of mutton.
His right hand pinched a blue-and-white porcelain bowl from the Great Qian Dynasty, filled with aged Fenzhou wine intercepted outside Zhenbei City.
He bit off a large chunk of meat, chewed it twice without breaking it down, and gulped down a mouthful of wine. The liquor trickled down his stubble and soaked into the collar of his leather robe.
"You Han people's wine is far stronger than our steppe kumiss."
Huyan Ba wiped his mouth with his sleeve and tossed the half-eaten mutton bone toward the corner of the tent. The bone struck the rim of a bronze basin, bounced, and rolled into the ashes.
"When we finally breach the passes, I'm going to move all those Fenzhou distilleries to the Royal Court, so the Great King can get a taste of this too."
A chorus of laughter erupted in the tent. A dozen or so steppe soldiers sat on the ground, each clutching meat and wineskins, eating and drinking until the floor was a total mess.
Before the laughter died down, the tent flap was lifted from the outside. A gust of dry, hot wind blew in, carrying the scent of sand and dust.
A scout dropped to one knee, his forehead covered in sweat.
"Commander, news from Zhenbei City."
Huyan Ba didn't put down his wine bowl. "Speak."
"That centurion from the outpost camp, Xu Zhan, isn't dead. Last night, an imperial envoy arrived from the capital, led troops to break into the death row dungeon, and snatched him right out." The scout swallowed hard. "According to our informants in the city, the envoy's guards also beheaded the chief bodyguard of Deputy General He Minghu. His head rolled right off."
The laughter in the tent ceased.
Huyan Ba put down his mutton leg and wiped the grease from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Xu Zhan."
When this name spat from his lips, his tone was completely different from before.
"During the previous night raid on my vanguard camp, with a force of three thousand men, he somehow managed to sneak right up to the grain and supply wagons and burned half a month's worth of my rations to ashes." Huyan Ba slammed his wine bowl down on the low table, splashing liquor that stained the surface. "I said it back then—this man cannot be left alive."
He turned his head, his gaze landing on a folding stool on the left side of the tent.
"What do you think, sir?"
Sitting on that stool was a man who looked completely out of place in the tent.
He wore a blue-grey scholar's robe of the Great Qian Dynasty, with neatly tailored cuffs and a plain silk sash tied at his waist.
His hair was meticulously bound with a wooden hairpin.
Surrounded by steppe soldiers tearing into meat and chugging wine, the low table in front of him held only a pot of clear tea and a white porcelain cup, its rim spotlessly clean.
Chen Changfeng.
The Han military advisor personally dispatched to the vanguard camp by the Great King of the Helian Khanate.
He picked up his teacup, took a sip, and set it down with a gentle clink against the low table.
"This Xu Zhan does not hold a high rank. He is merely a centurion. Placed within the military hierarchy of Great Qian, he wouldn't even make a splash."
Chen Changfeng's voice was unhurried, his tone as placid as water, much like his temperament.
"But the imperial envoy breaking into the death row dungeon—that is interesting."
Huyan Ba gnawed on a shred of meat stuck to his fingernail. "How so?"
"According to the unwritten rules of Great Qian, when an imperial envoy inspects the borders, they usually play along with the local generals. They avoid tearing up the facade of cordiality if at all possible."
"Yet this imperial envoy is different. He killed someone on his very first night."
Chen Changfeng slowly traced the rim of his teacup with his finger. "What does this mean? It means there is no longer any room for negotiation between the capital and the local tyrants of Zhenbei City."
He paused for a moment.
"Infighting. This is a rift between the Great Qian imperial court and the border generals. And once a rift is torn open, it cannot be stitched back together in a short time."
Huyan Ba understood.
He stood up, carried his wine bowl over to Chen Changfeng, and offered it forward.
"Sir, let me tell you the truth. When you first arrived, I wasn't convinced."
He grinned, revealing teeth stained yellow by wine.
"But over these past few days, those ideas you gave me have really worked. Sir, I admire you! Come, let's drain this bowl."
Chen Changfeng stood up, picked up his teacup from the low table, and raised it to his chest.
"Commander Huyan praises me too highly. I am here on the Great King's orders to assist with the military affairs of the vanguard camp. I will still need much of your guidance and care in the future."
"Only through our sincere cooperation can we achieve great things."
He raised his cup to clink against the rim of the bowl, tilted his head back, and drank the tea in one gulp.
Huyan Ba laughed heartily, took a massive gulp of wine, and turned back to his main seat.
Chen Changfeng sat back on his stool, his gaze sweeping across the tent.
Several steppe soldiers were tearing at roast meat with greasy hands, throwing bone scraps all over the floor. Someone let out a burp so loud that the felt cloth on the tent roof trembled.
Chen Changfeng lowered his eyes and wiped the rim of his cup with a handkerchief.
Barbarians were barbarians, after all.
They were useful, but one couldn't expect them to accomplish anything on their own.
All he needed were the scimitars and horse hooves in their hands. As for brains—that was his, Chen Changfeng's, job.
Having finished wiping the cup, he looked up, his expression shifting.
"Commander, I have a thought."
Huyan Ba was just stuffing a piece of dried cheese into his mouth and mumbled, "Speak."
"The internal strife in Zhenbei City is a godsend for us, but just watching is not enough." Chen Changfeng stood up and walked over to a rough sheepskin map hanging in the tent, pressing his finger on the location of Zhenbei City.
"I need the Commander to assign ten capable scouts. Have them change into Han clothing and sneak into the city."
"Find out the background of that imperial envoy—how many men he brought, where he is staying, and what capable people he has by his side."
"Also, scout out the city's defense layout, patrol schedules, and the locations of their granaries."
Chewing on the dried cheese, Huyan Ba narrowed his eyes in thought, then nodded.
"Alright. I have a few men under my command who can speak Han. I'll pick ten out."
"There is one more thing." Chen Changfeng's finger traced a line north from Zhenbei City.
"Scouting alone is not enough; we must also test them. Within five days, the vanguard camp must send out a cavalry unit to conduct a large-scale harassment attack on the outskirts of Zhenbei City."
"There is no need to siege the city. Strike and retreat, but make sure the commotion is massive."
Huyan Ba swallowed the cheese in his mouth, frowning. "Harassment? If we aren't going to break in, what's the point?"
"The point is to gauge the reaction of Zhenbei City's defenders." Chen Changfeng turned around to face Huyan Ba.
"Who deploys troops, who doesn't, how many troops are deployed, which gate they exit from, and what formations they use."
"Guessing these things a hundred times while sitting in a tent is not as good as forcing them to move once."
His speaking pace slowed half a beat.
"Besides, the city is currently experiencing infighting. If we throw a punch from the outside right now, those rifts will only tear wider."
Huyan Ba stared at Chen Changfeng for a few breaths, then suddenly slapped his thigh.
"Done! We'll do exactly as you say, sir."
He turned his head and bellowed toward the outside of the tent, his voice carrying a hundred yards. "Ulihan! Get in here!"
The tent flap lifted, and a dark-faced centurion ducked inside.
Huyan Ba briefly gave the orders. The centurion accepted the command and withdrew, and the tent flap fell back into place.
Chen Changfeng sat back on his stool and refilled his teacup.
The tea had already gone completely cold.
He held the cup without drinking, his thumb rubbing against the side.
His gaze pierced through the gap in the tent flap, landing on the dusty grey silhouette of the city on the distant horizon.
Zhenbei City.
The May sun was already unforgiving. Heat waves shimmered up from the Gobi Desert, distorting the distant city walls in a hazy blur.
The carriage came to a smooth halt before the gates of the Regional Commander's manor.
As the wheels rolled over the final stone slab, Xu Qinghuan peered through the gap in the curtains, taking in the grand formation waiting at the entrance.
Two rows of personal guards stood in immaculate armor, their spear tips pointing squarely at the sky. They lined the path from the bottom of the steps all the way to the main doors, leaving a walkway three paces wide down the center.
The manor doors were thrown wide open. In the glaring sunlight, the copper nails studding the threshold gleamed a blinding white.
Li Sheng hopped down from the carriage shafts and presented the calling card.
The man who received it was a middle-aged steward. He bowed slightly, taking the card with both hands. After a brief sweeping glance, he stepped half a pace to the side to make way.
Zhao Hu swung down from his horse, strode over to the side of the carriage, and raised a hand in a gesture of invitation.
His face was wreathed in a smile, the curve of his lips calibrated to absolute perfection—neither overly fawning nor entirely cold.
One look was all it took to know that such measured tact could only belong to a slick, seasoned veteran who had spent years navigating the treacherous waters of officialdom.
"If you please, Lord Xu."
