When Xie Heng awoke, an enemy army of a hundred thousand was already at the gates, while fewer than three thousand soldiers remained in the city.
He looked up at the flag swaying precariously atop the city wall, then down at the tattered military manuals on the table. There were no reinforcements, no provisions, and not a single siege-defense weapon left after his predecessor squandered them all.
The entire city was waiting for him to make a decision.
Xie Heng fell silent for a moment, then took a broken bronze mirror from his robe. Its surface was mottled, making it look like nothing more than a piece of scrap metal. But after staring at his reflection for three breaths, he suddenly curled his lips into a smile no one could understand.
On the city wall, he began to arrange his troops.
Surround three sides and leave one open. Leave the north gate clear.
Everyone called him mad. The north gate led straight to the imperial capital. It was a broad road for the enemy to march down.
But no one knew that he had never been looking at the hundred thousand soldiers below. He was looking at what lay behind them: the sky above the entire dynasty, on the verge of collapse.
Xie Heng, a lowly border guard, would use these three thousand battered troops to make the whole world a move in his grand game.
His first move could never be taken back.
