White Dragon General

Preface When I spread out this page, a few sycamore leaves outside the window had just been blown away by the autumn wind, and there was still an unfinished math paper on the desk - as you can probably guess, I am a high school student who, like you, is chased by formulas and words every day. Writing these words about the ancient battlefield was just random scribblings on the class draft book at first. Maybe it was when the teacher in the history class was talking about "Yellow sands wear golden armor in a hundred battles", the sun just happened to fall on the vague illustration of the ancient battlefield in the textbook; or maybe it was during a night self-study class, looking at the scraps of paper blown up by the wind under the street lamp in the distance, and suddenly I remembered what was written in the book, "The wind is rustling and the water is cold." The names buried in the history books, the unexplained battles on the battlefield, and the family and country and concerns hidden in the gaps in the armor slowly grew into stories in the drafts. I have never seen a real ancient battlefield. Most of the sword fights and military camp bonfires described in this book were spelled out from fragments of "Historical Records", mixed with the mindless passion and imagination of young people. Maybe it's not sophisticated enough and doesn't have so many subtle machinations, but what I want to write is never an earth-shattering epic. I just want to try to describe those people struggling in troubled times: it's the hands of the soldiers who just entered the camp holding letters from home, it's the general's eyebrows frowning at the map in the tent, and it's the hope for a stable life hidden in the wind blowing all night on the tower. If you open this book and are willing to accompany me into this ancient battlefield that I have built with my pen and ink, and listen to those fictional but serious stories, that will be the happiest thing for me. So, let's start from where the first trumpet sounded.