I found Father in the command tent. He stood over a sand table, his hair more grey than black, his face a roadmap of old campaigns. Though his back was to me, I felt his presence fill the entire space.

  "Father," I said, my voice crisp and formal as I gave him a full military salute, fist to my palm.

  He turned, and the severe lines on his face softened into a rare, approving smile. "Sit, son. Your advance has been smoother than polished jade. Jiedushi An is most pleased. We have taken a vast swathe of territory with barely a hundred men lost."

  I felt a swell of pride, a warmth that spread through my chest, but I kept my posture straight. "Captain Zhao's maps were the key, Father. They allowed us to move with a speed the enemy could not anticipate." I took the offered seat. "What is the plan now that we are here?"

  "We encamp for the night," he said, his finger tracing a line on the sand table that encircled a crude representation of Luoyang. "Our vanguard alone is now thirty thousand strong. Tomorrow, we march on the city."

  "And the garrison?" I asked.

  "Substantial," he admitted. "A hundred and fifty thousand rabble, gangs and levy's, and our spies report they are in disarray. Their commander Feng ChangQing is an old soldier and not to be underestimated. But word is he is already contemplating a full withdrawal to the strategic Tong Pass, to block our path to Chang'an." He paused, and his expression darkened. "That is not what troubles me."

  He walked over to his campaign desk and picked up a scroll. "I am hearing reports. Ugly reports." He looked at me, his eyes sharp and disappointed. "Captured women being forced into the camps. Not only in your vanguard, though I've heard you've rectified your share of incidents, your reports are clear on that. But mostly from the other two columns of our advance." He slammed the scroll down. "We are supposed to be liberators, BoFeng! Not another plague of locusts devouring the land. As such we must show discipline, yet I am hearing of widespread looting and pillaging from the forces following behind us."

  “The most we can do is set an example and advocate for it to be followed.” I rose to my feet. "I swear to you, Father. In a hundred years our vanguard alone will be remembered."

  He sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of command. "I believe you. But what of the rest? Jiedushi An's army is a hundred and fifty thousand strong, a mix of Khitan, Xi, Shiwei... many of whom care little for the Han people they march through. They see this as a conquest, not a restoration." He gestured vaguely at the camp around us. "Even we have been forced to distribute the contents of captured treasuries and armories to reward the men. It is all we have. But by the time the main army arrives at a town we have passed, the official wealth is gone. All that is left for them to plunder is the people."

  He seemed to shake the dark thoughts away. "Enough. For tonight, we should be soldiers first. The enemy may be considering retreat, but a cornered rat can still bite. I've received reports of a detachment of the Divine Strategy Army, 2000 strong, operating under the emperor's direct control nearby. Those at the least should be professionals.”

  Father stroked his salt and pepper beard, the decades of experience culminating in thoughtful strokes of his hand. “Dispatch extra patrols, double the watch. I will not be caught in a night raid."

  "Yes, Father," I said, saluting once more. There were few ways a force of that size could threaten us, and catching us off guard at night was chief amongst them. Dispersed, it would be easy to miss a few hundred veterans trying to stay undetected considering the sprawl of our vanguard camp.

  As I exited the tent, the cool night air was a welcome relief. The sky was a brilliant canopy of stars, clear and vast. My trusty steed awaited me

  And then, I caught the sight of men glancing and pointing towards the skyline.

  A brilliant streak of red and gold screeched upwards into the heavens, culminating in a sudden, sharp CRACK and a burst of glittering light that momentarily washed out the stars.

  I’d never seen anything quite like it. For a moment I was stunned by the beauty of the sight, for it was as if the heavens themselves had bloomed.

  My father was out of the tent by now, his hand already on the hilt of his sword. "What was that?" he demanded, his eyes scanning the horizon. "An enemy signal? A sign from the heavens?" He pointed a stern finger at the direction of where the star rose. "BoFeng, find out what that was. Immediately."

  "At once!" I acknowledged, turning to mount my steed.

  As I did, my gaze was drawn back to the sky. “Father, look!” I pointed. From the western horizon, a new light appeared. Then another, and another. A string of brilliant, fiery lights, like immortals descending from the sky, arced across the velvet blackness, appearing to fall directly towards our camp. A shower of meteors, a sign.

  All at once, the sky screamed. The silent, graceful arcs of light became howling banshees, plunging into our camp with a series of deafening explosions. Fire bloomed across the tent city, great orange flowers of destruction that lit up the night with terrifying brilliance. I saw they were lengths of thick bamboo wrapped in silks, flaming and spitting hot oil, skittering across the ground, setting canvas, supplies, and men ablaze. The panicked shouts of soldiers and the terrified shrieks of horses tore through the air.

  The air filled with the smell of burning flesh.

  “Go BoFeng! That's some kind of signal. You must find the source!” Father ordered. My training took over. I leapt onto my warhorse, its eyes wide with fear, and spurred it towards the low hill at the center of the camp, where the flare had originated. Then I paused, reining the frantic beast in, and looked back at my father.

  A wall of flames separated us. He stood firm amidst the chaos, a grim shadow against the growing inferno, already directing the camp's fire brigade towards the command tent.

  I charged up the hill, my spear in hand, the heat of the fires at my back. In the flickering, hellish light, I saw him: a lone rider, already turning his horse to flee into the darkness. As I closed the distance, my heart hammering against my ribs, I saw his face. My gut twisted. It was Captain Zhao.

  "Zhao!" I bellowed, "What have you done?"

  He didn't stop, urging his horse into a desperate gallop. My steed was faster, gaining steadily on his. He yelled back over his shoulder, his words nearly lost in the screech of a fresh of meteors overhead. "It was the only way! The only way to save my wife! I have seen what this army does!"

  I flinched. We should have been liberators.

  But he was getting away, melting into the shadows beyond the firelight. There was no time to run him down. Any moment and enemy soldiers could erupt in ambush in Zhao's support. I rose in my stirrups, my arm whipping back. It was a skill I had practiced, under the careful tutelage of my father, the great technique of my ancestors.

  The spear flew from my hand, a dark streak against the fiery sky, and struck true.

  Zhao cried out, a sharp, choked sound, and tumbled from his saddle. I rode up and dismounted, my sword drawn, but he was no longer a threat. He lay on the ground, the shaft of my spear jutting from his chest. He reached a trembling hand into his tunic, his eyes pleading with me in his final moments.

  "Please..." he gasped, his breath a wet rattle. "For her..."

  He pulled out a folded piece of paper, stained with his own blood. A letter. In that instant, I felt sympathy.

  I knelt and took the letter from his weakening grasp.

  "I will deliver it," I promised. "I swear it."

  A faint, grateful smile touched his lips. His gaze looked somewhere off into the distance and he gave a long sigh, “不堪盈手赠，还寝梦佳期.”

  Then the light in his eyes went out.

  I took the letter, retrieved my spear, mounted my horse, and rode back towards the inferno. My heart sank. The entire camp was a sea of flames. The command tent, where I had spoken with my father just minutes before, was a roaring pyre, its great canvas collapsing into a vortex of fire and smoke.

  And then I heard a sound that made my blood run cold.

  Through the crackle of the flames and the screams of the dying, a sound ripped through the night, a sharp, deafening CRACK that was loud as thunder. Another followed, and another. It was the same unnatural, terrifying noise I had heard at SongJiaTun.

  The sound of a weapon that spat fire and steel, a sound that had haunted my dreams. The enemy was not just in our camp; they were upon us and around us.

  Ahead I was met by a group of riders. Amongst them were members of my retinue.

  My personal guard rallied to me, their faces illuminated by the inferno. Luo Qinji was among them, his left side a mess of terrible burns, his armor melted and fused to his skin. He must have been near the command tent when it went up. Behind him, Batu helped a dazed and bleeding Jieshi on a horse.

  "Father!" I roared, my voice lost in the din. I spurred my horse toward the heart of the blaze, but it was hopeless. The heat was a physical wall, and the tent was already a mound of glowing embers.

  The men looked to me for orders. I gritted my teeth and professionalism took over.

  “Luo, we are getting out of here.”

  "East!" Luo yelled, his voice a pained rasp as he pointed with his good arm. "We have to break out east!"

  I wheeled my horse, my heart a cold stone in my chest, and led the charge away from the inferno. What was left of my vanguard, perhaps fifty men, fell in behind us. We galloped into the darkness, only to be met by a blinding flash from the fields ahead.

  A volley of fire and steel tore through our small group. Jieshi, the young spearman who had shared his pork and laughed with Zhao just hours before, was thrown from his horse, leaking like a punctured bag of wine. I scanned the dark treeline and realized we had no idea what awaited us in the darkness.

  "West!" I bellowed. Batu pulled his horse into a skidding turn. The rest followed us, a panicked herd, only to hear more cracks echo from the west. They were penning us in, using the fire at our backs and their thunder weapons on our flanks.

  "North!" I roared to anyone who would listen, the tactical reality of the situation crashing down on me. They weren't surrounding us. They were herding us. Classic tactics from the Art of War. A wise commander always leaves his enemy an escape route, a "golden bridge" to tempt them into a rout rather than a fight to the death.

  We rode hard for a li, the chaos of the rout still a tangible thing at our backs. Finding a low hill that afforded a view of the road, I reined in my steed, its breath pluming in the cold night air.

  "Cavalry! Form a line here!" I commanded, my voice raw. "Turn back any man who tries to flee past this point! We are the wall against this rout!"

  The riders obeyed instantly, their discipline a small, steady rock in a sea of panic. We sat our horses and watched in grim silence. Our camp, our world, was a funeral pyre on the horizon. The distant walls of Luoyang, a prize that had seemed so close just hours ago, were now a dark silhouette against the ghostly orange glow of our own destruction. The acrid smell of defeat and burning flesh drifted on the wind.

  Slowly, the trickle of survivors began to arrive. Men on foot, their faces blackened with soot, their eyes wide with horror. Riders leading wounded comrades. All the while, the sharp cracks of the enemy's thunder weapons echoed from the south.

  The sun rose on a landscape of despair. The cold, grey light of dawn revealed the true scale of the catastrophe. I remained mounted, the professional mask of a general firmly in place, my voice flat and devoid of emotion as my sub-commanders gave their reports.

  "How many?" I asked.

  Of the thirty thousand men who made up our proud vanguard, only twelve thousand remained. Eighteen thousand men were lost. Lost to the fire, to the thunder, to the chaos. The report confirmed what my heart already knew: my father, General Cui QuanYou, was among them, his body consumed by the flames.

  "Luo," I said, turning to my old friend. His burned face was a grotesque mask of pain, but he stood steady. "Organize the men. See to the wounded. I need a moment."

  He simply nodded, his eyes hard, and began barking orders.

  Finally alone, I dismounted and stumbled behind the crest of the hill, out of sight of my men. The strength went out of my legs, and I collapsed to my knees. The tears came then, hot and shameful, silent tracks through the grime on my face. I wept not just for the father I had lost, but for the life he had given me. My mind raced with the cold, cruel politics of a great clan. Where now was my place amongst them?

  This was not just a defeat in battle. It was the ruin of my house, the destruction of my family's future.

  My tears dried. I rose to my feet, my hand closing around the cool ash wood of my spear. I retrieved my father’s banner, a tattered and smoke-stained griffon, from my saddle. I walked to the crest of the hill and stood before my army.

  I raised the spear high, the tattered banner snapping in the morning breeze.

  "They thought to break us!" I roared, my voice carrying across the silent ranks of my men. "They took our brothers! Our comrades! They took my father!"

  I pointed the spear south, toward the still-smoldering ruins and the unseen enemy.

  "There will be no retreat! There will be no recovery! Not yet! They think we are broken! They think we are licking our wounds! We will show them the folly of that thought!"

  I could feel their despair turn to anger.