The setting sun cast its evening glow over Tar’er Lake grassland. The weeds by the water’s edge were always thick and tall. Chen Dasheng, wrapped head to toe in camouflage, crawled through the grass to fetch water.

His movements had to stay small, inching forward bit by bit.

Animals that came to drink were often more alert than usual — the slightest carelessness could startle countless birds into flight, along with herds of wild goats. These animals were deliberately left unhunted by the Sun Palace as an early-warning system; otherwise they wouldn’t have grown so numerous.

He’d come out a bit early today, so Chen Dasheng slowly gathered some wild greens, catching a few fish that swam into view along the way. But danger arrived without warning — and so did opportunity.

A dull rumble of hoofbeats rose up behind him. Chen Dasheng didn’t dare move at all. He’d seen plenty of horse caravans like this before — various tribal chieftains periodically sent tribute to the Sun Palace.

But today’s group was strange. They stopped at the crossroads, speaking the language of the Gaofeixi’ao people.

Gaofeixi’ao people?

Chen Dasheng was a clever man — his intelligence had stunned She Qingling many times over. Beyond his photographic memory, he had a focus and thinking ability that surpassed others.

Most frightening of all, he could endure hardship.

During the days spent trading cattle and sheep, he had been the only one in the group able to communicate with people on both banks of the Tan River. He learned quickly — fortunately, many tribes on the Tan River side had only spoken language and totems, no written script yet.

His godfather had said that peoples who didn’t migrate much and had abundant resources, with no need to struggle against heaven, ended up this way — their knowledge developed especially slowly.

“Gaofeixi’ao” was a general term. There were powerful Gaofeixi’ao people — this group had a writing system and were quite formidable. At the market, people had even traded for a Gaofeixi’ao weapon; judging by the sharpness of the blade, this branch’s craftsmanship surpassed everyone Chen Dasheng had encountered so far.

The Tan people feared this branch of Gaofeixi’ao the most — fortunately, the group’s ambitions weren’t aimed at them; if anything, they looked down on them. The direction they cared to contest lay on the other side of the snow mountains.

You didn’t know how big the world was until you left home. Chen Dasheng used to think the world consisted only of Daliang; only after venturing out did he learn that the territory held by the Gaofeixi’ao people was likely far larger than Daliang.

Since there were powerful Gaofeixi’ao people, there were also weaker ones. This particular branch was still called Gaofeixi’ao because their language system closely resembled the one Chen Dasheng was familiar with, but their tribe was small — they simply threw their weight around east of the Tan River, relying on the shelter of their more powerful kin.

This kind of foreign clan protection was something new Chen Dasheng had observed since venturing out — the strong Gaofeixi’ao extending a hand to shelter the weak Gaofeixi’ao, because they shared the same faith.

Chen Dasheng had never set foot in a Gaofeixi’ao temple, but he had heard their hymns — the glory of Lazikaixin protects every child.

Just by uttering that incantation, Chen Dasheng could even sell his cattle and sheep for a good price; outside that ancient castle, the phrase represented a guarantee against deception.

This reminded Chen Dasheng of the old lady’s incense-burning circle back home — Old Madam Tao was also a believer, also devout, yet she’d schemed against the old lady without holding anything back.

In short, everyone beyond the Tan River was a complete fool — their heads clearly weren’t screwed on right.

Why say that? Chen Dasheng had learned one incantation, and wearing a Gaofeixi’ao robe on the boat, hardly anyone had questioned his identity.

Someone had even touched his feet in a gesture of submission.

In truth, the weaker Gaofeixi’ao people, as far as Chen Dasheng could tell, were just a group of not-very-clever traveling merchants — their business skills didn’t match those of the Matini people.

Now another group had arrived by the water. The moment they opened their mouths, you could smell the distinctive spice scent clinging to their bodies, along with a body odor that no amount of spice could mask.

Chen Dasheng didn’t dare move a muscle, watching from the corner of his eye as the group drove their carts to the water’s edge. Then people cheered, leaping down from their carts and off their horses, splashing one after another into Tar’er Lake.

Gaofeixi’ao people, without a doubt.

Tar’er Lake was the only water source near the Sun Palace. To protect its purity, only animals were allowed to drink freely there — the Tan people themselves fetched water with great caution, never daring to step their feet into it.

Yet this group of Gaofeixi’ao people jumped straight in.

Seeing this, Chen Dasheng couldn’t help turning to look at the tiered Sun Palace not far off. Normally, startling the waterbirds here would bring a swarm of warriors rushing to investigate.

But now — nothing stirred over there at all.

The Gaofeixi’ao group, delighted at finding such clean water, bathed, sang, set up camp, fed their horses, and even swiftly pitched tents. By the riverside they slaughtered several of the animals that had come to drink, and while cleaning the carcasses, tossed the entrails carelessly into Tar’er Lake.

Watching this, Chen Dasheng thought again of that phrase: the strong prey upon the weak. The people of Daliang were probably the lowest rung of anyone living near the Tan River.

Luckily, the spot where he lay hidden was a patch of marsh, so the Gaofeixi’ao group never came near.

This group was clearly wealthy — they’d even brought a number of women along. Once they’d eaten and drunk their fill, they summoned the musicians from their party, along with women — scantily dressed, some with red hair, some with yellow, with plump bellies and buttocks — who danced with utter abandon, hands circling above their heads, hips thrust out with all their might. It wasn’t really dancing at all.

Chen Dasheng had seen plenty of this kind of dance over the past few months — for the price of two camels, they’d shimmy for you all night…

As night fell, countless torches lit up the camp. The Sun Palace finally stirred, sending over three cartloads of luxurious food and drink, along with some Tan women — it was obvious at a glance what they were there for.

Then Chen Dasheng caught a long-missed scent of wheat, so tempting it made his stomach ache — he’d been eating nothing but meat for so long. Once the Tan people had left, he quietly crept toward the Gaofeixi’ao tents, only to spot the low-ranking warriors on guard duty, leading their camels, dressed in face-covering, thigh-baring armor, standing watch not far off.

Judging by their attire, Chen Dasheng could tell at a glance that their relationship with this Gaofeixi’ao merchant caravan was a temporary alliance — nothing more than this: the old castle had warriors like these, and traveling merchants paid them a small fee to hire them as short-term labor, escorting them safely from the old city to the Tan River docks. Not really warriors — more like hired muscle.

Since there were warriors like this around, Chen Dasheng scouted about and, sure enough, found a few isolated tents standing apart. One look at the markings — ha! Matini people.

They paid a high price for Gaofeixi’ao protection, then hired a few warriors as laborers to escort their goods to the Sun Palace in exchange for massive profits.

Warriors themselves weren’t rare, but what was rare was that a few of them had unusually slender builds, with skin tones close to his own — clearly mixed-blood descendants of Daliang people and those from both banks of the Tan River.

Seeing them, Chen Dasheng’s eyes lit up instantly. Moving carefully yet with astonishing speed, he snatched some flatbread coated in syrup and sesame seeds from a cart the Tan people had sent over, grabbed a jar of wine, and vanished in a few bounds.

Lightness skill was a wonderful thing — something Chen Dasheng had grown more and more attuned to ever since leaving Daliang.

By the time he returned to the tomb chamber, the brothers inside had already changed into light armor and were holding weapons, preparing to go out searching for him.

Seeing everyone like this pleased Chen Dasheng greatly.

He tossed the flatbread onto the blanket, and the smell of wheat instantly filled the air.

The group let out a cheer and rushed over, wolfing the bread down so fast they nearly choked themselves.

Tong Jintai swallowed his last bite, and seeing nothing left on the blanket, grinned and asked Chen Dasheng, “Brother, quick, tell us what happened.”

Chen Dasheng chewed a mouthful of wheat cake over and over, reluctant to swallow it, and said with his mouth still full, “I ran into a group of Gaofeixi’ao people by the water. The weak branch.”

Xie Wuhao froze for a moment. “Gaofeixi’ao people? What are they doing here?”

Chen Dasheng gulped some water to rinse his mouth, smacked his lips, and said, “I smelled the scent of iron on their carts.”

At this, everyone’s expressions turned grave. Since entering Tan territory, they’d clashed with the locals more than once, and the biggest loss they’d ever suffered was that Daliang weapons weren’t as hard as Tan weapons — the finest blades they’d brought from Daliang had been worn down and discarded batch after batch in battle.

No one spoke for a long while. He Min, who had some thoughts on the matter, finally asked, “Brother Dasheng, if you were at Zuoliang Pass, how would you defend against the enemy?”

No one was taller than them, no one’s weapons sharper, and they’d have a whole city’s worth of civilians to protect on top of it.

Chen Dasheng thought it over and answered seriously, “The few of us used to slaughter horses for a living — generations of old blades sitting down and studying these animals carefully. As for defense, I wouldn’t know, never studied that. That said, the effort should go into the horses. Without their mounts, the Tan people’s fighting skill drops considerably.”

Yu Qingguan smiled. “Exactly right. We can’t win an open-field battle against them, so we lure them into the city — at least it’s our own turf. Their horseshoes aren’t like ours; our city streets are all paved stone, so our animals wear thick horseshoes. Theirs are thin — they’ll wear out after a few uses.”

Once Yu Qingguan finished, Guan Si’er clapped his hands. “If we can’t beat their main army, then burn their grain and fodder first, kill their horse-officers, take out their commander, then lure them to the riverside marshes for continuous ambushes. Sitting behind closed gates waiting for them to come knock would be plain stupid…”

Xie Wuhao and the others felt their temples throb as they listened.

There was an old saying from a military sage of the past: warfare is the way of deception. That single line alone had inspired countless scholars to write books condemning such thinking.

But these men had never read any military treatises — they acted purely on instinct, doing whatever it took to achieve their goal. In short, it didn’t matter whether you called them shameless or not, as long as they won.

What good was reputation, anyway?

Once upon a time, none of them would have wanted to hear such words. Yet now, they found it rather satisfying.

While they were lost in thought, Xie Wuhao heard Ma Erlgu let out a sharp cry.

“Brother! What are you doing?!”

Everyone turned to look and saw Chen Dasheng holding a scraping blade, shaving off his own matted, knotted hair. Clearly, this man cared nothing at all for the old rule that one’s body and hair, being gifts from one’s parents, should not be damaged.

Chen Dasheng rinsed the small blade in water and said with a laugh, “Tan custom is to greet honored guests in the first precious rays of sunlight touching the earth. Even if we mean to poison King Gongjitan, we ought to at least get a clear look at his face first. I noticed some of the low-ranking warriors among the Gaofeixi’ao have skin like ours, and they wear face-covering armor — I plan to follow them in and take a look.”

Everyone froze at his words. They’d been digging tunnels for so long, assuming the day of attack was still far off — never expecting the opportunity to arrive this fast.

Chen Dasheng went on shaving his own head bald without a second thought; to keep it from smelling, he shaved off some other body hair as well.

While grooming himself, he added, “I’ll be fine, no need to worry. But with me gone, fetching water falls to Wuhao.”

Xie Wuhao nodded. “Understood.”

With a freshly bald head still marked by a few bleeding nicks, Chen Dasheng paced the tomb chamber, found what he was after, grabbed a sack, and began scooping gems and gold coins from a clay jar into it.

Hearing footsteps behind him, he said without turning, “I’ll go in with them, then find a way to slip out. I’ll stay with the group a few days before faking my disappearance — safer that way.”

“Understood.”

And so, there was no tearful farewell, no grand speeches about “if I die, please take care of my family” nonsense. Chen Dasheng, dressed only in a loincloth, sack of valuables in hand, made his way to Tar’er Lake under cover of darkness.

The revelry over there was still going strong — drums pounding, spices burning extravagantly over the bonfires. Some, unable to hold back any longer, had already dragged partners into tents, while many more lay passed out drunk.

Chen Dasheng reached the lake, waded in, and thoroughly washed himself from head to toe before quietly locating a small, single-occupant tent.

He went in, and before long dragged someone out. Guan Si’er and the others took over, hauling the person away, while Chen Dasheng stood by the camels, watching them go.

Once everything had vanished into the night, Chen Dasheng turned his head and sniffed at some sacks of goods beside the camels, muttering to himself, “Oregano oil?”

This was a foreign spice — Daliang didn’t even have it. Here along the Tan River, a single small bottle could fetch five bolts of the finest Daliang silk. So the group traveling with the Gaofeixi’ao was a spice caravan — no wonder they were willing to pay such a steep price for protection.

This spice would be extraordinarily expensive even in Yanjing — selling it in Daliang could fetch a fortune in brocade.

As Chen Dasheng stood there thinking, without realizing it, the seven or eight camels standing near him all began soiling themselves from fright, some barely able to stay on their feet.

Who knew how many horses these old blades had slaughtered — the killing intent clinging to them was more than these animals could bear.

Once one camel started, the others collapsed one after another, kneeling to the ground in a chain reaction.

Helpless, Chen Dasheng had no choice but to slip away quietly and return to the tomb.

Inside, the group — already in low spirits — startled at his return.

The man was already dealt with — what now?

Chen Dasheng sat down, looking somewhat defeated, and wiped his face. “No good. The Matini people’s animals collapse the moment they see me. Getting in would be easy enough, but tomorrow… I doubt I’ll be able to leave.”

Everyone exchanged glances, caught between a rock and a hard place.

Yu Qingguan and the others, unsure what to do, were about to stand and start packing to retreat, when a voice spoke up from within the chamber: “I know a bit of the local language too — my skills aren’t worse than Old Chen’s here. Let me go instead!”

Xie Wuhao stood up, took the small blade, and pressed it straight against his own scalp.