When the military map in his palm burned to ash amid thunder and fire, Long Yi opened his eyes once more. He was now a dying young soldier amid a mountain of corpses.
In an age of chaos like the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms, Southern Chu's cavalry trampled over the ice on the Huai River, Western Qin's spears pointed straight at Xiangyang, and Eastern Qi's spies lurked in the shadows of the marketplaces. The Nanyang Army he served in was nothing but a fish on the chopping block.
No one knew that the boy who struggled to his feet, coughing blood, carried in his mind annotations on The Art of War, battle simulations of the Battle of Guandu, and wind charts for the fire attack at Red Cliffs.
He used a show of force to scare away ten times his number in pursuers, turned the tables on arrogant bandits by backing himself against a river, and used the strategy of besieging a city to draw out its reinforcements to shatter an alliance of three kingdoms. As the ancient strategies held up as sacred doctrines became sharp blades in his hands, cutting down generals and seizing their banners, the entire chaotic age began to tremble at his name.
From a survivor among the routed troops to a decision-maker atop Xiangyang's walls; from a strategist forging alliances to an emperor commanding a million soldiers. He saw his most loyal brothers die with regrets on the battlefield, and experienced his most trusted allies stab him in the back. He was struck by arrows amid the flames of a fire attack, and had to tread carefully through the treacherous currents of court politics.
At last, as the bells of Luoyang rang across the land, Long Yi stood before the dragon throne in the Hall of Supreme Harmony and looked at the countless people bowing below. Only then did he understand that strategy had never been about merely winning a war. It was about securing a bloodless tomorrow for this shattered land, built atop countless white bones.
