The Northern Campaign Strategy Room was a cavern of sleeping ambition, silent save for the rustle of paper. Long after the last of the court officials had retired, Meng Tian remained at his post. He had summoned his young chief of staff, Major Han, to his side. The guards had been dismissed from the corridor. The heavy doors were closed. The secrecy of the late-night meeting hung in the air, a tangible weight that put the young Major on edge.
"Sir?" Han asked, his voice a respectful whisper. "You wished to see me?"
Meng Tian did not answer immediately. He stood before the colossal map of Siberia, a landscape that had become the geography of his own private hell. He unrolled a new map across the main strategy table, one he had drawn himself with a painstaking, steady hand. It was not the grand, complex, and ultimately suicidal invasion plan he had presented to the Emperor. It was a stripped-down, brutally elegant document, showing only the Manchurian border, the thin red line of the Trans-Siberian Railway, and three sharp, dagger-like thrusts aimed at seemingly insignificant points deep within enemy territory.
He was about to commit a form of treason. He was about to share a military strategy that directly contradicted a command from the Son of Heaven.
Major Han studied the map, his brow furrowing deeper with every passing second. His mind, trained in the rigid, orthodox doctrines of the Imperial War College, struggled to find the logic. He saw only a violation of every core principle he had ever been taught.
"Sir…" he began, his voice laced with professional doubt and confusion. "This is the… the radical diversionary tactic we discussed. With all due respect, the Grand Council will never approve this. The Emperor himself dismissed it as timid. It goes against every principle of warfare. Concentration of force, decisive engagement, seizure of primary objectives… this plan violates them all. It is a gamble of the highest possible order."
Meng Tian turned from the map to face his subordinate. He saw the doubt in the young man's eyes, the conflict between his loyalty to his commander and his adherence to doctrine. Meng Tian knew, with a sinking certainty, that conventional logic alone would not be enough to sway him. To gain an ally in this heresy, he had to take a risk. He had to share a part of his secret.
He decided to frame his supernatural "Battle Sense" in the only terms a career soldier might possibly understand.
"Major," Meng Tian began, his voice low and intense, drawing Han closer. "Forget the doctrine of the War College for a moment. Forget the maps. I want to ask you a personal question. As a soldier. Have you ever been in the heat of a firefight, the air filled with smoke and shouting, and you knew—you simply knew, with a certainty that defied all reason—that you had to move left instead of right? That the next enemy shell would land precisely where you had been standing?"
Han blinked, startled by the personal nature of the question. He thought for a moment, remembering a chaotic skirmish on the Korean border years ago. He had dived behind a rock for no reason he could name, a split second before a piece of shrapnel had torn through the air where his head had been. He gave a slow, hesitant nod. "Yes, sir. I have."
"A feeling in your gut," Meng Tian continued, his eyes boring into Han's. "A certainty that comes from beyond logic. I have felt it as well. But during the Battle of the Sunda Strait, I felt that sensation on a grand scale. I did not just see their ships, Major. I… I felt the entire battle. As a single, living entity. I could sense the weak points in their formation before they were apparent. I could feel the moments of hesitation in their commanders, the subtle shifts in their morale. It is not magic, Major." He paused, choosing his next words with extreme care. "I believe it is an extreme form of strategic intuition. A gift, perhaps. One born from a lifetime of study and honed in the crucible of combat."
He was walking a razor's edge. He had presented his power not as a supernatural anomaly, but as the pinnacle of military genius, a concept that a young, ambitious officer might find aspirational rather than terrifying.
To press his advantage, to be certain of his man, Meng Tian subtly activated his power now. He focused his strange sense not on the inanimate map, but on the young man before him. He didn't try to read his mind. He simply… sensed his state. He felt the radiating waves of Han's confusion and his deep, ingrained loyalty. But beneath that, he sensed a powerful, restless undercurrent of ambition. He sensed a sharp, critical mind that was frustrated with the army's stuffy, outdated doctrines, a mind hungry for a new, more dynamic way of thinking about war. He had found fertile ground.
Armed with this supernatural insight, he tailored his final argument. "You are a brilliant officer, Han. I know you see the flaws in the old ways as clearly as I do. You look at the Emperor's plan and you see the butchery it will entail. My plan is not a gamble. It is a precision strike. It is surgery, not butchery."
He turned back to the map, his finger tracing one of the dagger-like thrusts. "Look. This bridge at Klyuchi Pass. The old doctrines say it is a secondary target. But my intuition, this 'battle sense,' tells me it is the lynchpin of their entire northern supply route. To destroy it is to win the war before it truly begins. Yes, it is a risk. But the Emperor's plan," he said, his voice dropping to a grim whisper, "is not a risk. It is a statistical certainty of mass death. Tell me, Major, which is the greater gamble?"
Major Han was stunned into silence. He was captivated by his commander's strange, intense confession, and by the raw, undeniable conviction in his voice. The idea of a 'strategic intuition,' a general's sixth sense on a massive, battlefield-wide scale… it was a romantic, intoxicating notion. It was the stuff of legends, of the great generals from the age of the Three Kingdoms. It appealed to the ambitious, idealistic soldier buried beneath the doctrinal training.
He looked again at the audacious plan on the map. He began to see it not through the eyes of a student, but through the eyes of his commander. He began to see its brutal, simple elegance.
He finally looked up, his face cleared of all doubt, replaced by a newfound awe and a burning loyalty. "Sir," he said, his voice firm. "What are your orders?"
A wave of relief washed over Meng Tian. He had his first disciple.
"We will proceed with the official work," Meng Tian commanded, his voice now crisp and business-like. "We will continue to draft the Emperor's plan for the frontal assault down to the last detail. It must be perfect. It must be the plan of a loyal and diligent servant." He paused, his eyes meeting Han's. "But in secret, you and I will work on this one. We will flesh it out. We will create a battle plan so perfect, so detailed, so logistically sound and irrefutable, that when the time is right—when the first reports of disaster come back from the front—we may have a chance to convince the Emperor to choose genius over arrogance."
He had found an ally. He was still alone with the true, supernatural nature of his secret, a burden he knew he could never share. But he was no longer alone in his strategic heresy. And for the first time in weeks, he felt a flicker of something that was not dread, but hope.