"My father is as demanding as ever," I remarked with a light chuckle, handing the scroll back to the messenger. The man, one of my second cousins, simply bowed and cracked a smile. My victories brought my birth-mother greater status and had allowed her paiwei to enter family temple, a quiet satisfaction that always outweighed the sting of my father's relentless expectations.

  "Vanguard Commander Cui commends your swift victory," the messenger continued, his voice returning to a formal cadence. "He also conveys a message from the Jiedushi himself." He stepped aside, gesturing to two other riders who led a heavy wagon forward, flanked by a man carrying a large, iron-bound chest. "Jiedushi An commends the valor of your men. He sends this chest of silver for their troubles, and this wagon of pork, grain, and fine wine for their celebration."

  A wide, genuine grin split my face. "Wine!" The word was out of my mouth before I could stop it. The very thought of it, and of a proper feast for my men, delighted me. "Luo!" I called out, turning to my second-in-command. "Have the cooks see to this immediately!"

  Luo Qinji laughed, the sound warm and familiar. He clapped a hand on my shoulder pauldron. "Already done, General. The moment I saw the wagon crest the hill, I sent word. The fires are stoked and the pots are boiling." He gave me a knowing look. "I still remember the Khitan campaign. You traded a perfectly good sword for that jar of Shaoxing vintage."

  "It was an excellent vintage," I protested. "And I had a spare sword."

  "You did not have a spare sword."

  "I acquired one shortly thereafter." I clapped him heartily on the back before he could remind me how.

  The aroma of roasting pork filled the air, Luo's cheerful expression sobered. He stood beside me, watching as General Hou's men were integrated into the larger camp, their banner now placed beside our own.

  "It's a mistake, taking in a man like Hou," he said quietly, his voice low. "He has no loyalty. He follows whichever banner promises the most gold and the easiest path. In the long term, it's men like him who will drag our cause through the mud."

  I let out a long sigh, the sweet scent of the wine in my cup doing little to chase away the truth in his words. "You're not wrong, Luo. But the Jiedushi is right to show magnanimity. Every garrison we win over without a bloody fight makes the next victory that much easier. For now, we need allies more than we need saints." I changed the subject, not wanting to dwell on the compromise, "Speaking of which, show me that map Captain Zhao provided."

  Luo retrieved the scroll. I unrolled it across the campaign table, and my eyebrows shot up in surprise. It was unlike any military map I had ever seen. The terrain wasn't just sketched; it was described with swirling, concentric lines that conveyed the steepness of hills and the depth of valleys. Rivers and roads were drawn with clean consistency, and the entire document was covered in unfamiliar markings and symbols. It looked formidable and detailed, to be sure, but I didn’t really understand it.

  "This is the work of the Left Guard's clerks?" I asked, tracing a series of tightly packed lines.

  "I think he said he bought it at a shop," Luo corrected. "But I've never seen cartography like it."

  "Nor have I," I admitted. "Invite Captain Zhao to join us by the fire. I want him to explain this to us."

  As Luo and I approached the main campfire, a wave of warmth and the tantalizing smell of roasting pork and spiced wine washed over us. My men were already seated in boisterous groups, their faces ruddy in the firelight. They were a fine collection, the infantry was predominantly Han, but years of fighting shoulder-to-shoulder had blurred tribal lines between them and the Khitan, Turkic Tribesmen, and Sogdians who had found a home in our ranks as cavalry.

  The Han men had mostly been farmers while the tribesmen were raiders who joined a more righteous cause. A few were convicts who were sent here as punishment, you could tell by the words tattooed on their faces or the brands they bore on their hands.

  In my eyes, they'd long since earned their freedom. One such man even claimed to be a poet. But here, they were all soldiers. They were my vanguard, an elite force motivated not by the promise of silver, but by the far stronger bonds of brotherhood and honor and more disciplined than any other in AnLuShan’s army.

  I took a seat on a log between a scarred Khitan warrior and a young Han spearman, accepting the heavy earthenware bowl of wine that was passed to me. The meat was rich and fatty, the wine warm and strong. I took a long sip and considered. Northern sorghum, rough but honest—not the delicate osmanthus-infused vintage I'd been dreaming about, but a soldier learns to appreciate what's available.

  "The pork is excellent," I announced. "The wine is adequate."

  Batu, the Khitan, snorted. "You sound like a merchant, General."

  "Merchants have better taste than soldiers," I replied. "That's why we're soldiers and not merchants."

  This earned a round of laughter. I downed the rest of my bowl in a single swallow, letting out a satisfied sigh, and held it out for more. Luo, as always, was a little quieter, a contented smile on his face as he watched—the ever-present rock to my rolling stream.

  For once, food and wine were plentiful, and drinking contests broke out. The men knew better than to challenge me; in all our years together, a legend had grown that no amount of wine could ever truly make me drunk.

  Captain Zhao approached our fire cautiously, a hesitant figure on the edge of the raucous celebration. I caught his arm and pulled him down beside me. "Captain Zhao! There's no formality here. Eat! Drink! This is Jieshi, that's Batu," I said, gesturing with my wine bowl. "They're ugly, but they don't bite unless you try to take their pork."

  The men laughed, and Jieshi, the young spearman, offered Zhao his own bowl and a fresh cut of meat. Zhao seemed like a strange fellow, his scholarly air a stark contrast to the rough-hewn men around him. He didn't strike me as the soldier type.

  After a few more bowls of wine had warmed his belly, Batu, the Khitan, politely asked the question on all our minds. "Captain," he rumbled, "if I may be so bold... how does a learned man like you end up carrying a blade out here?"

  To my surprise, after a few drinks, Zhao's scholarly reserve crumbled. Tears welled in his eyes as he stared into the fire. "I married into a háomén," he began, his voice thick with unshed sorrow, "a great and powerful clan. I thought it was the start of my life." He let out a bitter chuckle. "Instead, I became a pawn in their political games. A scholar's brush is no defense against a courtier's whisper." He looked up, his face a mask of grief. "I chose exile as a soldier, to take a fall for others. It was the only way to ensure my wife... to ensure she would be safe and taken care of in Chang'an." He managed a weak, watery smile. "My administrative skills, and the fact that I was literate, allowed me to climb the ranks quickly, though always in supporting roles after minor engagements."

  The thought of his wife, however, broke the softer man completely. Zhao began to weep openly, his shoulders shaking. "Now we've joined this rebellion," he choked out. "What will become of her? They'll sell her... or worse..." Unlike Hou, whose heart was a cold stone, I felt I could understand Zhao. The soldiers around him, who had been listening in silence, now moved to comfort him. Jieshi clapped a hand on his shoulder. Batu grunted in sympathy. "The capital is far away, brother, and they're slow to react. Your wife is safe for now."

  I stood, raising my own wine bowl high, the firelight glinting off its surface. I took a breath and drew Qi to project my voice. My proclamation cut through the night, filled with a conviction that silenced the camp. "Brother Zhao is one of us! All of us have family, loved ones we left behind! They are the reason we fight!" I turned to the weeping captain. "And I swear to you, we will take Chang'an before they ever have a chance to lay a hand on her! So quickly will we strike that the slow, ponderous bureaucracy will not even have time to react to us!"

  A roar went up from the men. They surged to their feet, raising their own bowls in a single, unified motion. "To Chang'an!" someone shouted, and the cry was taken up by all. "TO CHANG'AN!"