Xu Zhan dismounted, tossing the reins to a soldier from the Breakout Battalion who stepped forward, then turned and solemnly clasped his fists to the Gate Commandant who had been overseeing the flank.
“Go easy on me today, and I’ll remember the kindness,” Xu Zhan said, his voice coarse as sand from days without water. “Another day, I’ll treat the gate brothers to some meat broth.”
The Commandant quickly returned the gesture, his gaze pausing briefly on Xu Zhan’s empty right sleeve before darting away.
“General Xu humbles me—this is all within my duty.”
Waves of horses were being driven east toward the training grounds, kicking up dust that shrouded half the street in dirt.
Not far off, behind a tea stall, a vendor who had been squatting on the ground selling straw sandals stood up, patted the dust off his trousers, hoisted his pole, and blended into the crowd of onlookers.
Across the street, a man carrying empty buckets lowered his conical hat and hurried along the base of the wall, ducking into a dark alley in the southern part of the city.
...
When the guards at the General’s mansion saw Xu Zhan approaching from a distance, covered in dust, with dried dark bloodstains on his armor plates, they didn’t even wait for him to produce his token. They stepped back half a pace, withdrew their spears, and opened the main gate.
“General Xu, the Marshal is waiting for you in the main hall.”
Xu Zhan nodded and stepped over the high threshold.
Inside the hall, the ice in the cooling basin had melted halfway, water beads dripping along the edges of the bronze container. Tie Lanshan sat upright in a tiger-skin armchair, his desk cluttered with several wooden plaques, a newly bound merit ledger, and a scroll of military orders sealed with wax.
Deputy General Zhao Heng stood to the side, holding a vermillion brush.
Xu Zhan strode into the hall, dropped to one knee, and struck his chest armor hard with his left hand, the armor plates clashing with a sharp ring.
“Xu Zhan of the Townbei Army’s Breakout Battalion, having carried out orders beyond the pass, hereby reports for duty!”
Tie Lanshan rose abruptly, strode down from the dais, grabbed Xu Zhan by the arm, and pulled him to his feet.
He sized Xu Zhan up, his eyes falling on the bloodied left arm, then slapped a heavy hand on Xu Zhan’s right shoulder.
“Good lad! You actually made it back alive!” Tie Lanshan’s voice boomed, making the window paper tremble in its frame.
Xu Zhan straightened up, pulled a stack of sweat-stained papers and several bloodstained iron plaques from his bosom, and offered them with both hands.
“Report, Marshal. In this operation, the Breakout Battalion rode out with fifty men beyond the pass. Three were killed, five seriously wounded. We captured eight hundred and sixty-two Herlian warhorses, including forty-five lightly injured ones that can still be treated. We also seized over seven hundred sets of Herlian horse gear, along with the smuggled iron plaques and a living prisoner’s testimony from White Wolf Valley—all are here.”
Tie Lanshan took the stack of papers and flipped through them quickly.
Zhao Heng looked over from the side, and his eyelids twitched sharply.
“Eight hundred and sixty-two horses?” Zhao Heng nearly dropped his vermillion brush onto the desk.
Tie Lanshan slapped the papers onto the table and threw his head back with a loud laugh.
“Excellent! What a triumph!” He pointed at Xu Zhan, his eyes gleaming. “How many years has the Townbei Army been starving for warhorses! You have ripped a fat piece of meat right out of the Herlians’ mouths with this trip!”
He turned to Zhao Heng. “Write it down! Send word to the horse grounds: brand every one of these eight hundred horses with the Townbei Army’s mark before nightfall today! If anyone comes asking for them back, let them first ask my blade!”
Zhao Heng immediately picked up his pen and began scribbling furiously in the merit ledger.
Xu Zhan did not bask in the praise. Instead, he stepped forward, his brow furrowed into a knot.
“Marshal, we got the horses, but what about the fodder?” Xu Zhan asked bluntly. “Fifty riders eat little enough—we can scrounge some wild grass along the way to get by.”
“But these hundreds of horses? They’re a bottomless pit! I know the feed barn at the horse grounds well—it won’t last more than a few days.”
Tie Lanshan didn’t answer immediately. He turned back to his seat, pulled a memorial document from the desk, and tossed it directly to Xu Zhan.
“See for yourself.”
Xu Zhan caught the document and opened it. It was a brief report on the Hetao camp farmlands, written in a clean hand—the handwriting of Xu Qinghuan.
“Your little sister and Lin Siniang have already prepared the fodder for you,” Tie Lanshan said, picking up a coarse porcelain teacup and taking a deep gulp of cold tea. “In the wilds of Yanmen and the new fields at Hetao, the alfalfa has already sprouted.”
“If the first harvest isn’t enough, the second cut is ready to follow whenever needed. Add in the old hay stored in the warehouses, and raising these eight hundred horses will be more than enough.”
Xu Zhan stared at the words on the document, his gaze sweeping back and forth over the alfalfa acreage, the grass-cutting schedule, and the transport routes.
Finally, he closed the document and let out a long breath of relief.
“Then I can rest easy,” Xu Zhan said, placing the document back on the desk. “If the horses can be sustained, the Breakout Battalion can expand.”
Tie Lanshan slammed his teacup heavily onto the table.
“That’s exactly what I needed to hear from you!”
Xu Zhan was about to take his leave and head to the imperial envoy’s station to see Xu Qinghuan, but Tie Lanshan raised a hand to stop him.
“What’s the hurry? We’re not done with the real business yet.” Tie Lanshan jerked his chin at Zhao Heng.
Zhao Heng set down his brush, approached the desk, and raised the sealed military order with both hands, walking to the center of the hall.
Xu Zhan froze for a moment, then dropped back to one knee.
Zhao Heng broke the wax seal, unrolled the document, and raised his voice by an octave.
“Approval from the Ministry of War, by order of the General’s Mansion: Xu Zhan, commanding officer of the Townbei Army’s Breakout Battalion, distinguished himself in battle beyond the pass, captured countless warhorses and supplies, and glorified our army’s might. He is hereby promoted to the rank of Guerrilla General, with authorization to expand the Breakout Battalion to three hundred cavalry, still under the command of the Townbei Army!”
Inside the hall, the only sound was the dripping of water from the ice basin.
Guerrilla General.
Those two words fell upon the Zhenbei Army like a weight heavier than a thousand jun.
In the Zhenbei Army, how many men spent their entire lives fighting, only to die as low-ranking centurions?
Xu Zhan, with nothing but fifty horsemen, had carved open a path to promotion by sheer force.
Xu Zhan lifted his head and gazed at the document stamped with a vivid red seal.
“General Xu, take your orders,” Zhao Heng said, pushing the document forward.
Xu Zhan accepted the document with both hands, verified the seal, pressed his thumbprint, and tucked the document into his bosom.
“This officer humbly accepts the Marshal’s command!”
Tie Lanshan stood with his hands clasped behind his back, facing the hall’s entrance.
In the courtyard beyond the main hall stood two rows of the General-in-Chief’s personal guards and military clerks, all holding their breath, straining to hear the proceedings inside.
Tie Lanshan’s voice rang out, deep and resolute: “The horses—you’ve just brought them back; the bows—the Armory will replenish; the gunpowder—Xu Qinghuan will handle; the men—choose anyone you want!”
His voice suddenly rose, like thunder rolling across the yard: “In the past, the Zhenbei Army held fortress cities and fought to the death—because we were poor! Because we had no horses! Because the capital tied our hands at every turn! We could only huddle behind the battlements, while the Henan dogs flaunted their power!”
He spun around sharply, pointing at Xu Zhan.
“Not anymore! Xu Zhan, you will lead three hundred riders—not for fame, not for glory. You will be the knife the Zhenbei Army thrusts outward!”
Tie Lanshan walked over to the weapons rack, unsheathed his own blade, and pointed the sword north.
“In the past, the Henan men destroyed our villages and stole our provisions. From this day forward, I will make them wake in terror every night and find no peace. These three hundred riders will be the sharp nail driven deep into the heart of the grasslands!”
Xu Zhan stared at the cold gleam of the blade, his chapped lips pressed tight.
The Zhenbei Army had swallowed humiliation for too many years. Now, at last, the bitterness had found a way out.
He raised one arm in salute, dropped heavily onto one knee against the gray bricks, and bowed his head.
“This officer accepts the command!”
Zhao Heng stepped forward and solemnly placed a bronze-cast seal of the Guerrilla General’s office into Xu Zhan’s calloused, scarred right hand.
The bronze seal was cold, yet Xu Zhan felt his palm burn.
...
By the temporary horse enclosure at the West Camp, dust swirled in the air.
Old Wu, holding a length of hemp rope, directed his men to drive the eight hundred warhorses into the corral.
The Zhenbei Army’s horse doctor, Old Man Jin, rushed over with his medicine case, circled a few tall steeds twice, and his eyes lit up bright green.
“By heaven, all of them are broad-framed fine breeds—the kind used as lead horses beyond the border!” Old Man Jin stroked the mane of a horse, reluctant to let go.
But then he frowned, running his rough palm along the horse’s flank.
“But they’ve lost a lot of flesh, and their coats are dry. How did you drive them?”
Old Wu leaned against the wooden fence, took a swig from his leather canteen, wiped his mouth, and cursed irritably.
“You think we were trotting them through a pleasure garden? It’s the middle of summer dog days now. The Henan men already drove their precious ones up to high mountain pastures and low river valleys for cool weather, plenty of water, and no mosquitoes.”
Just then, Niu Dali—Big Ox—pointed at a few horses in the herd still snorting and panting heavily, then slapped the dry mud off his own thigh.
“When we took the horses from the Henan men, pursuit was right on our tail. We didn’t dare take the lush, easy routes—we stuck to dry riverbeds and the Gobi wastes!”
“These fragile lords, used to cool summer pastures, endured blistering sun and galloped for their lives. The only reason they didn’t die of heatstroke was that the brothers saved our own rations and water to wet their throats!”
“Old Man Jin, stop staring and get the feed ready.”
Niu Dali hooked his canteen back onto his belt.
“General Xu gave orders: these horses get fine grain. If they lose even a pound of flesh, you’ll answer for it.”
“And have someone boil up several pots of salt water. The beasts have sweated buckets—they need to settle their humors.”
“Tsk! Such high-maintenance creatures!”
...
In another part of the compound, the Imperial Envoy’s residence.
Amur had already been dragged into Xu Qinghuan’s study.
The room was filled with the faint fragrance of sandalwood. Xu Qinghuan sat upright in a grand armchair, looking down from her lofty seat at the foreign boy kneeling at her feet.
She toyed casually with the lid of her teacup, her tone flat and unhurried, but the words she let fall made Amur’s guts tremble.
“Amur, do you want to become the Great Khan of the Henan?”
