Lin Han's boots crunched on the gravel of the Qin army's training yard, the dawn air sharp with frost and the tang of oiled steel. Three days had passed since the pit, and his arm still throbbed where a spear had grazed it. The barracks loomed behind him, a squat fortress of timber and clay, where two hundred soldiers drilled under the watchful eyes of Captain Liang. A man with a face like chipped stone, Liang barked orders with the zeal of a Legalist clerk, his whip never far from hand.
"Form ranks!" Liang shouted. The soldiers snapped into lines, their crossbows gleaming. Lin Han fell in beside a lanky conscript named Bo, whose nervous chatter had already marked him as a liability. Across the yard, Mei-Ling stood apart, her noble braid coiled tightly, her eyes fixed on the captain. She hadn't spoken to Lin Han since the pit, but her silence cut deeper than words.
Today's drill was a mock siege, a test of strategy. Liang split the recruits into two teams: one to defend a wooden palisade, the other to breach it. Lin Han's team, a ragtag mix of peasants and ex-thieves, was tasked with the attack. Mei-Ling led the defenders, her posture rigid with confidence. Liang's lips twitched. "Impress me, or you're back to shoveling dung."
Lin Han studied the palisade, its timbers lashed tight, a makeshift gate barred with rope. His team had no ladders, only crossbows and blunt swords. A frontal assault would be suicide; Mei-Ling's archers would pick them off like sparrows. He crouched, sketching in the dirt. "Bo, you and the others draw their fire. Keep low, move fast. I'll flank."
Bo's eyes widened. "Flank? They'll see you coming!"
"Then make sure they don't." Lin Han's voice was calm, but his pulse raced. He'd seen the captain's whip flay men for less than failure.
The horn sounded, and Bo's group charged, shouting to mask their fear. Bolts hissed from the palisade, thudding into shields. Lin Han slipped along the yard's edge, using a stack of supply crates as cover. Mei-Ling's voice rang out, directing her archers with precision. She was good, better than most nobles who bought their ranks. But she hadn't seen the gate's weakness.
Lin Han reached the palisade's side, where the ropes binding the gate hung loose, poorly knotted by some lazy recruit. He slashed them with his sword, the gate creaking open. Mei-Ling's shout came too late. Lin Han's team poured through, overwhelming her defenders in a chaotic scrum. The drill ended with Liang's grudging nod. "Not bad, slave."
Mei-Ling stormed over, her face a mask of fury. "You cheated," she said, voice low so only Lin Han could hear. "Those ropes were cut before the drill."
"Prove it," Lin Han said, meeting her gaze. He hadn't cut them, but he wouldn't deny her accusation. Let her stew. Doubt was a weapon.
As the recruits dispersed, a shadow fell across Lin Han's path. A man in a tattered cloak stood at the yard's edge, his face half-hidden by a hood. Xun, the cloaked figure from the pit. His voice was soft, like dry leaves. "Clever boy. But blades win battles, not thrones. You carry a weight you don't yet know."
Lin Han's hand tightened on his sword. "Speak plainly, old man, or walk away."
Xun's eyes glinted. "Your mother's name was erased from Xianyang's records. Ask why." He slipped into the crowd before Lin Han could respond.
That night, in the barracks, Bo whispered of rumors: missing grain shipments, lords hoarding wealth while peasants starved. Lin Han lay awake, Xun's words gnawing at him. The empire was rotting, and he was no longer content to be its tool. But as he glanced at Mei-Ling's bunk, her bow within reach, he wondered whose side she'd choose when the rot began to burn.