"General Cui," my scout reported, "our enemy moves to outflank us. Two units on either flank."

  From my vantage point on the grassy hill, the battle below unfolded with a strange and comforting quiet, comparatively. The clamor of steel on steel, the grunts of exertion, and the rare scream of the wounded were all distant and light. It was a silence broken only by the faint, high-pitched ringing in my own ears, a constant companion since my thunderous defeat at SongJiaTun. But here, watching this clean, orderly battle of shield and blade, this was a battle I understood. This was a chance to wash away the stain of that failure.

  Below me, my 800 infantry pushed against the garrison that held the wide road. Though fewer in number, my soldiers' superior armor and discipline allowed them to stretch their line broader than the enemy's, forcing the opposing commander to abandon his initial defensive BaGua formation. With 2000 men he easily matched my frontage of only a thousand, though his lines had to be much tighter packed. I saw his intent clearly; four of his units, perhaps 500 men in total, had already peeled away from the main engagement, beginning a slow, wide march to envelop my flanks.

  In the center of my line, my men were giving ground. It was a slow, deliberate yielding, a false gap. To the enemy, it must have looked like the beginning of a break, an opportunity to pour through and shatter my army in two. Their central units pushed forward with renewed vigor, pressing into the gap, their shouts of triumph faintly reaching my position. They could not see what I saw: my heavy cataphract cavalry hidden behind the hill I watched from, Two hundred armored men atop armored steeds.

  The gap was now a deep, inviting salient. The moment was perfect as my line was split in two, wheeling inward as the enemy started to fill the gap. Still engaged, the breakthrough units wheeled slightly and exposed their flanks to us. Just as planned. "Signal the charge," I commanded, my voice calm. My command banner fluttered as it circled and then dipped. I reached back, my hand closing around the cool, wood of my own spear. Kicking my warhorse into motion, I crested the hill and pointed the tip toward the heart of the enemy army. Behind me, the ground trembled as my cavalry followed my lead.

  We thundered down the gentle slope, a wave of cresting silver and fluttering banners. A last, desperate flurry of arrows rose from the enemy ranks, but they struck only the heavy lamellar that covered us and our steeds.

  We impacted their exposed center in fishscale formation, the point of the fishscale punching a hole like a wedge. My steed found its first victim a crossbowman desperately trying to reload his repeating crossbow. The protected chest of my steed slammed into the man, hundreds of pounds of steel and flesh barely slowing as the man fell, and I barreled ahead. A spear found my paldron and bounced off, I stabbed the spear’s wielder in the chest as I continued to ride on by. Their formation, which had been so eager to push forward disintegrated into a chaos of panicked, fleeing men.

  We punched through and my own infantry surged forward. The enemy buckled, then broke into a full rout as their center crumbled. I saw their commander, a short, bearded general with a mighty long axe mounted on a chestnut steed. I spurred my horse onward, closing the distance in a few powerful strides, his guard already breaking into retreat before his general gave the order.

  He prepared his axe and leveled it. An axe was a weapon of precision, but then so was the spear. With a flick of my leading wrist, I feinted low and he covered his belly with the handle of his long axe. Then the head of my spear lashed high, catching him squarely in the shoulder and tearing him from his saddle. The spear was always about speed and precision and that strike was a distinctly satisfying one.

  I stowed my spear and plucked the enemy general’s banner from the trembling hand of his signal troop. Hoisting it high with one hand, I waved it in a clear, decisive arc against the sky. A cheer went up from my own troops. "Corral them," I gave the order to my sub commanders, my voice full of a confidence I had not felt since SongJiaTun. "But do not cause undue casualties. They are our brethren misled!"

  I dismounted, my armor groaning in protest, and walked toward the fallen general. He watched my approach, still struggling to rise after his fall while weighted down by his armor. I hadn’t done him much damage, the fall if anything was worse. I extended my hand to him. After a moment of hesitation, he grasped it, and I pulled him to his feet. He was a sturdy man, perhaps twenty years my senior, and his eyes, though filled with the sting of defeat, held no malice. He brought his fist to his palm in a formal martial salute. "I am Hou RenXiong. I thank the renowned General Cui for sparing my life."

  Renowned. I was renowned, apparently, for losing to thunder and fleeing south. But I kept my face composed and returned the salute. "General Hou. The righteous army of Jiedushi An is here to fight for justice, not for undue bloodshed." I surprised him, and myself, by offering him back his banner, the silk flapping above us in the wind. "I will not force you, but if you were to call for your men to return, they too would be treated with honor." His eyes narrowed, his gaze flicking from my face to the banner in his hand. After some consideration he nodded and gave the order.

  By evening the cleanup of the field was a quiet, orderly affair. Other than a hundred or so casualties suffered during my charge and the breaking of their line, few men on either side had died. It was as close to a bloodless victory as I could have achieved, all things considered, the weight of my failure at SongJiaTun finally began to lift.

  I shared a cup of wine with General Hou, "General," I began, "months ago, in the south, I faced an unusual weapon. It created a sound like thunder and spat fire and iron. Have you heard of such a thing in the Imperial armies?"

  Hou RenXiong frowned, tugging his scraggly beard in thought. "Thunder weapons? No, General, I know of no such device in the official arsenals." He paused, his eyes turning distant as he searched his memory. "Though, it is strange you mention thunder. I have a cousin who serves in the capital. In his last letter, he spoke of a flower of fire blooming in the skies of Chang’an months ago. A divine sign of the will of the heavens, or so people say"

  With a wave of my hand, I dismissed the topic, uninterested and a bit disappointed. I poured General Hou another bowl of wine, the warmth of the fire glinting off its surface. "No matter. How have your men been faring?"

  Hou let out a bitter sigh and drained his wine bowl in one long swallow. "Starving, General. We've been practically starving. The grain shipments and pay from Chang'an are always a fraction of what was promised. A tenth here, a fifth there..." He slammed the empty bowl down on the makeshift table between us. "Had I had the silver to properly armor my men and feed horses," he lamented, his voice thick with frustration, "I would have fared much better against you today."

  I saw my opening and took it, my voice low and earnest. I poured warm wine into his bowl from the steaming pitcher. "Then you should join us, General Hou. AnLuShan’s army fights for a righteous cause. While the wealthy in Chang'an spend their gold on exotic fruit and wine, the soldiers of the north, like us, are left to shiver and starve." I could see the words landing like well-aimed arrows, striking the heart of his long-held grievances. Seeing his expression clearly suggesting he’d been moved, I sweetened the deal. "You would, of course, retain your current rank and command. And for a man of your caliber who joins us early in our crusade... a promotion would surely be in your future."

  To my surprise, his decision was immediate. His face broke into a wide grin. "Say no more, General Cui. You make a compelling argument. I accept."

  I was taken aback by how readily he agreed. I had prepared three more arguments, each more eloquent than the last. A waste of good rhetoric, but I would take the victory. "General Hou," I asked, "do you not have family in Chang'an? A wife, or sons, held to ensure your loyalty?"

  He let out a short, barking laugh, slapping his knee with delight at my concern. "My wife has grown old and shrewish, and the heavens never blessed me with sons!" he boomed. "As for my favorite concubines," he gestured with his thumb toward his tent, "the two bì I purchased last spring serve me readily right here." I laughed with him, but internally, I sighed. While his pragmatism made him a new ally, I found I did not much like the kind of man Hou RenXiong represented.

  Hou RenXiong's deputy commander entered the tent, a scholarly-looking man named Zhao Qian whose quiet demeanor seemed at odds with his military rank. He carried a stack of unit ledgers and a strange-looking bamboo stick that left clean, dark charcoal lines on the paper as he made a note. Intrigued, I gestured toward it. "What is that device, Captain Zhao?"

  "A 'pencil,' General," Hou answered for him. "Convenient, isn't it? Better than grinding an inkstone every time you need to write a note."

  Zhao Qian chimed in, his voice respectful and a little bit fearful. "This one I picked up on my last trip to Chang'an, General. The clerks at the Left Guard Armory warehouse were all using them. The shop that sold it also had this," he added, producing a rolled scroll from his sash respectfully holding it out in two hands. "An excellent map of the surrounding counties. Most generals are hesitant to adopt something so new."

  I accepted the offered map but did not open it. I handed both the map and the ledgers to my own fùguān, Luo Qinji, who had been standing silently behind us throughout the conversation. "See to this," I commanded. He gave a crisp salute and left the tent to see to the administrative matters of integrating Hou's men into our own forces. Not my vanguard unit of course, they’d likely be assigned to continue as the local garrison.

  We spoke idly for a while longer, of matters of supply and the sad state of the northern garrisons, before I said my goodbyes and returned to my own command tent. As I pushed aside the tent flap, I found a messenger waiting for me. He bowed deeply as I entered. "General Cui," he said, his voice sharp with purpose. "I bring fresh orders from the vanguard commander, General Cui Qianyou."