When Mu Qing jolted awake, his eyes fell on the bronze lamp hanging inside the tent. Unfamiliar memories crashed into him: he was Zhao Xin, the son of Zhao Kuo, and the Battle of Changping was only three days away.
“Xin'er, come see how your father is deploying the troops.” Zhao Kuo's voice rang out. On the table, the campaign map showed the disastrous outcome known to all in later generations.
Zhao Xin's fingertips turned cold. The word “reckless,” which he had cursed countless times in his previous life, now weighed on his heart. When he saw his father preparing once again to send light cavalry to lure the enemy, he finally spoke up. “Father, there may be an ambush at West Mountain. We should scout the situation before advancing!”
Zhao Kuo raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “A child who knows war only from books.”
Zhao Xin clenched his fists. In this life, he would turn that “armchair strategy” into a chance to save Zhao. Beneath the candlelight, not a trace of childishness remained in the young man's eyes.
