Five Days Earlier
When Qian You’nian, the grain officer, entered Xia Lanshi’s tent, he was holding a military report that had just arrived. The edges of the paper still bore traces of snowmelt from the journey.
He stopped before the desk, gently placed the military report on the table, flattened its corners, and waited for the other man to look up.
Xia Lanshi did not look up immediately.
He was reading another document, the tip of his brush hovering above the paper as though he were confirming the position of the final stroke.
Occasionally, the sound of the wind and the footsteps of soldiers patrolling at night could be heard outside the tent. Their steps were somewhat slower than usual, because everyone had been waiting for that shipment of grain.
The shipment Jiang Zechen was escorting from the capital was on its way, and the shipment transferred from Linzhou would also arrive soon.
The two shipments arriving within the same period was not a coincidence. It was caused by the difference in their travel times.
When two things converged at the same point in time, anyone with ulterior motives would notice.
Grain was merely grain, but whenever it moved, it attracted attention.
“The two shipments of grain are both expected to arrive within five days,” Qian You’nian said.
Xia Lanshi set down his brush, as though confirming the respective positions and arrival times of the two shipments.
After a moment, he spoke. His voice was not loud, but it was clear enough.
“Don’t rush to send all of it into the city granary.”
Qian You’nian looked at him.
“Send all of it to the frontline supply camp behind the Northern Outpost. Divide it into separate loads, inspect it, and redistribute it. Arrange the route carefully. Don’t take the shortest route. Take the one that people can see.”
Qian You’nian was stunned for a moment but did not ask any questions.
He lowered his head in acknowledgment and turned to leave the tent.
Xia Lanshi sat before the desk and did not pick up his brush again. He merely remained silent for a while.
The following morning, the convoy began moving earlier than usual.
This convoy was different from the previous ones.
Instead of heading directly toward the city, it slowly traveled north along a snowy road leading toward the Northern Outpost.
The convoy was larger than usual.
The wheels crushed through the snow, leaving tracks deeper than before.
There were also more torches. Even during the day, several torches remained lit, as though the travelers were so eager to hurry that they did not even have time to stop and put them out.
Soldiers walked along both sides of the convoy. Their pace was not fast, as though they were transporting an ordinary shipment that was in no particular hurry.
But the length of the convoy and the number of torches made it look, in such weather, like an army advancing.
A soldier in the middle of the formation quietly said something. His voice was not loud, but it happened to be loud enough for the people beside the road to hear.
“This shipment of grain has finally arrived.”
Someone was squatting by the roadside, wrapped in a worn cotton-padded coat. He looked like a civilian fleeing the disaster.
He did not raise his head or move, as though he were merely crouching there to shelter from the wind.
When the convoy passed, he kept his head lowered, but his gaze turned toward the convoy for an extremely brief moment before returning, as though he had seen nothing at all.
But he had seen the number of grain sacks and the way they were loaded.
He had also seen the direction in which the convoy was traveling.
By the time the convoy stopped at the frontline supply camp, the sky had already darkened.
The camp was located approximately five or six li behind the Northern Outpost. Simple wooden palisades surrounded it, while several rows of tents were arranged along the snowy slope.
Several soldiers were unloading the goods, carrying grain sacks down from the carts and stacking them beneath a temporary shelter.
The shelter was not large, but the grain sacks were piled high.
Torches had been planted all around the camp’s perimeter, illuminating the entire camp brightly. If anyone looked over from a distance, they would be able to clearly see the outlines of those grain sacks.
The grain officer stood at the entrance to the camp and said to a soldier beside him, “Leave this grain here for now. We’ll deal with it after the city granaries have been cleared.”
He said it casually, as though giving instructions about an ordinary daily matter.
That night, Xia Lanshi received a simple verbal report.
“The grain has entered the camp.”
He said nothing more and merely nodded.
The lights of the supply camp gradually diminished only late into the night.
The wind in the direction of the Northern Outpost was colder than in Linbei City. As it passed through the wooden palisades, it made faint, fragmented sounds, like someone whispering softly in the snow.
But no one in the camp was speaking.
The soldiers who had finished unloading the grain had already returned to their tents to rest. Only a few men on night watch remained seated beside the fires.
About two li northwest of the Northern Outpost, behind a snowy slope, someone was lying prone in the snow.
A gray-white cloth covered his body, making him almost blend completely into the surrounding snow.
He had been lying there for a very long time—so long that a thin layer of snow had accumulated on his shoulders—but he had not moved.
He watched the brightly lit camp.
Through the gaps in the wooden palisade, his gaze fell upon the mountain of grain sacks.
He watched for a long time, as though counting the number of sacks, or perhaps memorizing their positions.
Then he slowly retreated, like a patch of snow blown away by the wind, leaving no trace behind.
The camp’s lights grew farther and farther away behind him.
But he had already memorized the positions he needed to remember.
◆◇◆◇◆
When Helian Cang received the news, he was inside the camp of the Cangyuan Khanate, examining a sheepskin map.
When the scout quietly reported from outside the tent, his voice was kept very low and carried the certainty of someone who had already confirmed the matter repeatedly.
There was indeed grain in the northern borderlands, and there was a great deal of it.
It had been piled up at a camp approximately five li from the Northern Outpost.
The defenses were not lax, but there were not enough soldiers.
After listening, Helian Cang lowered his head and looked at the snowy road on the map leading toward the Northern Outpost.
He remained silent for a while, confirming whether the location of the grain matched what he had anticipated.
Then he spoke, his voice low.
“A lot of grain?”
“A lot. More than expected.”
Helian Cang asked no further questions.
He folded the map and tucked it into his robe.
“Wait.”
He said only that, without offering any further explanation.
The scout did not ask what they were waiting for. He bowed and withdrew from the tent.
Helian Cang sat inside the tent, listening to the sound of wind and snow passing through the tent flap.
The northern borderlands had grain now.
Xiao Yuan had finally transported the grain to the front line.
But Helian Cang knew that Xiao Yuan would not let the grain remain there for long, because the front line needed supplies.
And what he was waiting for was the moment when a gap appeared in this supply line.
◆◇◆◇◆
That day.
Jiang Zechen gave no advance notice and sent no messenger to inform anyone.
He brought two attendants and rode from Linbei City to the supply camp along the snowy road.
When he arrived at the camp entrance, the guards recognized him. They neither stopped him nor reported his arrival. They merely stepped aside, as though they had already been instructed that “Lord Jiang may enter.”
When Jiang Zechen entered the camp, the first thing he saw was the neatly arranged grain sacks.
They were stacked one after another beneath the shelter, their corners flattened and orderly, as though someone had carefully arranged them.
He stopped.
He did not hurry inside. Instead, he stood at the entrance for a while, his gaze sweeping over the number of grain sacks, their positions, and the distance between them and the tents.
Then he walked toward the nearest row of grain sacks, crouched down, and pressed a hand against the surface of one.
The grains inside made a faint rustling sound as they rubbed against one another.
The mouth of the sack was tightly sealed, and the knot was neatly tied.
He moved to another sack and pressed it as well.
The sensation was exactly the same.
He stood up without saying anything, but his expression had relaxed somewhat.
Qian You’nian stood not far away and did not approach.
After Jiang Zechen had walked through the entire supply camp, he stopped in the center.
He looked back at the number of grain sacks, then turned toward the grain officer.
“The ledger.”
Qian You’nian had already prepared it.
He handed over a ledger. The corners of its pages were neat, the ink clear, and every record had the date, quantity, source, and person responsible clearly marked.
Jiang Zechen took it and flipped through it from beginning to end.
He read slowly, as though checking whether the spacing between every line of numbers was reasonable.
There were no obvious gaps among the figures, nor any unusual jumps.
When he closed the ledger, his fingers paused at the edge of the cover, as though confirming that he had not overlooked anything.
“The ledger matches the actual goods,” he said.
Qian You’nian nodded without saying anything unnecessary.
Jiang Zechen returned the ledger to him and did not stay any longer.
When he left the camp, his steps were somewhat lighter than when he had arrived.
After returning, he would write a brief memorial, using the most concise wording to state the facts he had witnessed that day—the grain had arrived safely, the quantity matched the ledger, the supply camp was operating normally, and everything had been checked and verified.
This memorial would be sent out that very night.
◆◇◆◇◆
Morning.
There were nearly twice as many patrolling soldiers as during the previous two days.
Caltrops and defensive barricades extended from the outer perimeter of the camp toward both sides, narrowing what had originally been an open passage.
Additional braziers had been installed inside and outside the camp. They remained lit even during the day, sending thin wisps of smoke into the snowy air.
The number of tents had also increased.
Several rows of newly erected military tents stood along the eastern side of the camp, looking as though they could accommodate stationed troops at any moment.
Qian You’nian stood at the camp entrance, watching the soldiers position the newly delivered barricades along both sides of the road.
He said nothing.
He merely watched as the barricades were driven, one by one, into the frozen earth.
He knew these barricades would not stop anyone.
They merely looked as though they were there to stop people.
He knew that the extra tents were empty.
Inside them were nothing more than a few bundles of hay.
The truly elite soldiers had already withdrawn in batches the previous night.
They left quietly, without lighting torches or speaking.
They were like a group of shadows scattered by the wind.
The soldiers remaining in the camp were a new rotation of guards, and their numbers were half what they had been two days earlier.
But from the outside, the camp now had more firelight, more figures, more tents, and more barricades than it had two days ago.
It looked heavily guarded, like a stronghold preparing to meet an enemy attack.
In reality, it was a city being hollowed out.
◆◇◆◇◆
Helian Cang dispatched his troops on the fourth night after receiving the intelligence.
He did not wait until dawn.
The information had already been confirmed.
The details sent back by the scouts were extremely thorough—the amount of grain in the supply camp, the size of the convoy, the number of barricades outside the camp, and even the intervals between guard changes during the night had all been recorded.
After reading the intelligence, Helian Cang did not immediately give the order.
He remained silent for a while, as though confirming whether the picture formed by all those fragments was complete enough.
He disliked uncertain things, especially grain.
Grain could not wait too long.
Its existence would make an army want to remain stationed in one place. It would make people begin calculating distances and time.
And he had already calculated all of it very clearly.
“Dispatch the troops,” he said.
The light cavalry went ahead first, followed by the main force, advancing along the snowy road toward the supply camp.
The troops moved quickly through the snow.
The sound of horses’ hooves crushing through the snow was like a taut thread, stretching southward along the snowy road toward the Northern Outpost.
Helian Cang rode at the front of the formation without slowing.
He had already traveled this route countless times in his mind.
The soldiers in the direction of the Northern Outpost detected the movement immediately and began withdrawing step by step.
They neither scattered nor panicked.
They simply retreated, giving up their defensive line, like a wall slowly being blown down by the wind, collapsing layer by layer.
Helian Cang saw the traces left by the retreat.
The footprints in the snow were chaotic, and the wagon tracks were deep, as though a group of people who had not had time to properly pack their belongings were fleeing through the night.
He did not pursue the retreating soldiers because he knew they were not the main force.
He urged his horse faster and advanced toward the camp.
The supply camp was breached before dawn, appearing especially conspicuous in the firelight.
Half of the wooden palisade surrounding the camp had collapsed. The barricades had been pushed aside. The fires in the braziers had not yet gone out, illuminating the chaotic footprints and wagon tracks across the snow.
When Helian Cang rode into the camp, he saw wagonloads upon wagonloads of grain filling the snowy ground.
The wagons were arranged neatly.
Grain sacks were piled upon wooden racks, extending from beneath the shelters all the way to the edge of the camp.
The quantity far exceeded the scale reported by the scouts.
He reined in his horse and stopped before the first grain cart.
He reached out and pressed the surface of a sack.
The grains inside made a faint rustling sound.
It was real.
—The grain was truly still here.
Xiao Yuan really had not had time to move it all.
Then the second group and third group of soldiers poured in behind him.
Helian Cang reined in his horse in the snow, his gaze sweeping over the neatly parked carts, the lit torches, and the ropes and harnesses that had been left behind because there had not been enough time to take them away.
He did not order them to begin transporting the grain immediately.
Instead, he rode around the camp once, letting his gaze sweep over the entire area, as though confirming that there was no ambush.
There was nothing.
It looked like a supply camp that had simply been abandoned because there had not been enough time to evacuate.
Only at this moment did he finally confirm that the shortage of grain in the northern borderlands was real, that Xiao Yuan’s defensive line was indeed more fragile than expected, and that he had finally arrived at the right place at the right time.
When the deputy general rode closer, his voice was filled with barely suppressed excitement.
“It’s real. It’s everywhere!”
Helian Cang remained silent for a while before finally saying:
“Move it.”
Once the order was passed down, the deputy general led the men toward the grain carts.
When the first batch of grain sacks was loaded onto the sleds, the soldiers’ movements visibly quickened.
Helian Cang did not join them.
He merely stood in the center of the camp, watching the grain carts being emptied one after another and then reloaded onto sleds.
He noticed that there were fewer wagon tracks in the camp than he had expected, as though those grain carts had not been transported here from far away, but had originally been parked here.
He did not think much of it.
The grain was real.
That was enough.
Until the deputy general asked, “Which route should we take?”
Helian Cang stood at the northern exit of the camp, his gaze falling upon three diverging roads.
The road on the far left was the shortest. It could lead directly to the border of the Cangyuan Khanate, but there was a steep slope halfway along it.
The middle road was the widest. A convoy could pass through quickly, but it required crossing a frozen river.
The road on the right was the longest. It went around the river valley and had a gentle slope along the way. The road surface was relatively flat.
He had already sent people to inspect all three roads.
On the far-left road, the snow on the slope was loose, making it easy for the wheels to sink in. The sleds could not pass.
On the middle road, there were too many cracks in the layer of ice covering the river. The convoy could not cross.
The road on the right had the best conditions, and there were no obstacles.
“Take the right.”
The deputy general did not ask any questions.
Following Helian Cang’s instructions, he ordered the convoy to begin moving.
The route was smoother than expected.
The snow was flat, the slope gentle, and the convoy traveled faster than anticipated.
Helian Cang rode along the flank of the formation, observing the surrounding terrain.
He noticed the direction of the road.
It was gradually deviating from the direction of the Cangyuan Khanate and extending toward the northeast.
But he did not stop.
Turning back would require passing through the impassable sections, and he had to transport this shipment of grain back to the Cangyuan Khanate as quickly as possible.
The convoy slowly advanced along the snowy road.
The horses’ breath condensed into white mist in the cold air, while the wheels crushed through the snow with a faint, fragmented sound.
Helian Cang rode along the flank, his gaze occasionally sweeping over the snowy slopes and valleys on either side of the road, as though confirming that the road still continued ahead.
He vaguely sensed that something was wrong.
The direction of the road was gradually deviating from the route northward, but he could not see a better choice.
He told himself that this road was merely taking a detour and would eventually reconnect with the proper route.
And turning back now would only leave the grain exposed under daylight for even longer.
After the snowy road turned around a mountain hollow, it suddenly narrowed.
The snowy slopes on both sides were steeper than before, like a door slowly closing.
Helian Cang reined in his horse and stopped before the entrance.
His gaze stretched along the narrow passage ahead, but he could not see its end.
He remained silent for a while before giving an order.
His voice was not loud, but he could no longer suppress the unease slowly rising within him.
“Stop.”
The convoy came to a halt on the snowy road.
Helian Cang urged his horse forward a short distance and stopped at the narrowest point of the road, as though measuring whether the road could still accommodate the convoy.
The wagon tracks were more orderly than expected.
It was as though they had been repeatedly driven over—or as though they had been there from the very beginning.
He did not know that those traces had been deliberately left behind.
He looked at the road.
On both sides was impassable terrain.
Ahead was an unknown direction.
Behind him was the distance they had already traveled.
He had no other choice.
He could only continue along this road.
Yet he did not know that although he thought he had chosen a road, in reality, he was merely traveling along the only road that had been left for him.
Those wagon tracks were precisely the guidance that had been deliberately left behind for him.
The wind and snow arrived earlier than expected.
The wind pushed in from the depths of the northern wilderness, sweeping fine snowflakes into a moving wall.
The horses walking at the front of the formation soon developed a thin layer of ice over their manes.
The convoy was forced to slow down.
The sound of wheels crushing through the fresh snow was swallowed by the wind, as though the entire formation were slowly being swallowed into an invisible space.
Helian Cang did not order them to stop.
Stopping would only make it colder and slower, and could easily cause people to freeze to death in the snow.
When the convoy finally stopped on a slope sheltered from the wind, night had completely covered the entire snowy wilderness.
Helian Cang rode around the convoy once, confirming that no carts had fallen behind.
Then he dismounted and stood along the flank of the convoy, watching the sleds filled with grain sacks arranged neatly in the wind and snow.
He did not know that he was being watched.