The Grand Council convened in an atmosphere of triumphant celebration. The news from the north had arrived like a bolt of lightning, a stunning victory that seemed to justify the Emperor's most audacious ambitions. Admiral Meng Tian, the newly appointed Chief Strategist, stood before the Dragon Throne, his face a calm, stoic mask that concealed the frantic beating of his heart.
He delivered his official report, his voice a clear, steady baritone that resonated with military authority. The report was a masterpiece of deception, a beautiful, polished lie built around a kernel of truth.
"Your Majesty," he began, bowing deeply. "Operation White Fox has concluded. As per your directive to test the new deep-strike strategy, a single company of your elite marines was dispatched into hostile Russian territory. Their objective was the Klyuchi Pass railway bridge, a vital artery for the enemy's military supply."
He paused, letting the court hang on his words. "I am pleased to report that the mission was a flawless success. My men, demonstrating the courage and ingenuity that is the hallmark of your new army, reached the target undetected, planted their charges, and completely destroyed the bridge. The Russian supply line is severed. The path to Chita is now open to a future advance. The test of the deep-strike strategy was a complete and unqualified success."
He did not speak of the brutal firefight with the unexpected armored train. He did not mention the casualties, the wounded men who had been carried back across the border, or the single dead marine who now lay buried in an unmarked grave in the frozen earth of Siberia. He did not mention that the bridge itself technically still stood, albeit blocked by tons of flaming wreckage. He reported only the strategic outcome: the line was cut. He presented the victory his Emperor craved, a victory that was clean, absolute, and heroic.
Qin Shi Huang listened, his expression unreadable. He publicly praised Meng Tian for his "flawless" execution of the mission, for his brilliance and the courage of his men. The court erupted in a chorus of sycophantic congratulations. Meng Tian was once again the hero of the hour, his status as the Empire's premier military mind seemingly cemented. His gamble had paid off.
But later, as Meng Tian was formally requesting a period of "strategic analysis and planning" before the next phase of the campaign, he felt the Emperor's gaze upon him. QSH's eyes were narrowed, analytical. During the public report, the Emperor had subtly extended his senses, and what he had felt from his general was not the clean, triumphant energy of a man reporting a simple victory. He had felt the same turbulent storm of conflicting emotions: the iron will of a commander, the deep, resonant echo of guilt, and the strange, powerful undercurrent of a hidden energy. The official story was perfect, but the man telling it was not at peace. The Emperor's suspicion was not alleviated; it was simply forced to wait, to gather more data. He granted Meng Tian's request, but the general felt the weight of that suspicious gaze long after he had left the throne room.
Back in the vast, quiet solitude of the Northern Campaign Strategy Room, the real work began. The public performance was over. Major Han looked at his commander with unrestrained admiration. "You did it, sir. He believed you. He has given us the time we need."
"He has given us a longer rope, Major," Meng Tian corrected him, his voice weary. "It remains to be seen whether we use it to build a bridge or a gallows."
He unrolled his true, secret map. His supernatural vision had shown him two other critical vulnerabilities in the Russian network, two more surgical strikes that, if successful, could bring the entire eastern Russian army to its knees without a major battle. But to execute these missions, he needed resources. Elite soldiers, specialized demolition equipment, and discreet transport to two new, secret staging areas along the border.
"This is the problem, sir," Major Han said, his finger tracing the logistical requirements he had drafted. "We need, at minimum, two more full companies of your best marines. We need specialized high-altitude equipment for the strike in the Stanovoy Mountains, and amphibious gear for the raid on the Amur River fuel depot. The Quartermaster General will never approve such a massive and varied requisition without a detailed operational plan, and that plan must be sanctioned by the Emperor himself. Our official plan, the one His Majesty believes we are working on, still calls for a massing of forces in Manchuria for a frontal assault. This request would contradict it completely. He will deny it."
Meng Tian stared at the map, at the pieces of a war-winning strategy he could not openly pursue. He had won the Emperor's praise with a lie. He now realized he would have to use that lie as a new form of currency. His reputation, his newfound fame as the master of the "flawless deep-strike," was now his primary political and logistical weapon.
He summoned the Quartermaster General to the strategy room. The General was a man named Bao, a crusty, by-the-book veteran of the old army, a man who viewed innovation with suspicion and wasted resources as a personal insult. He entered the room, his face a mask of sour skepticism.
"Chief Strategist," General Bao grunted, forgoing a proper salute. "My clerks inform me you have submitted a requisition list that is both extensive and… highly irregular."
"General Bao," Meng Tian began, his tone respectful but firm. "Thank you for coming. As you know, the Emperor was most pleased with the success of Operation White Fox. He has personally instructed me to continue the 'experimental phase' of our strategic development."
He led the skeptical general to the great map, but he did not point to the real targets. He gestured vaguely toward the vast, empty mountain ranges. He began to bury his real needs inside a mountain of impenetrable bureaucratic camouflage, using the jargon of military experimentation as his shield.
"As part of this new phase, I require three companies of veteran marines for a series of 'high-altitude acclimatization and deep-winter survival exercises,'" Meng Tian said smoothly. "We will be testing new thermal under-garments, experimental rations, and new types of climbing equipment." He gestured to another area. "Simultaneously, we will conduct 'amphibious infiltration drills' along the frozen river systems to test new, quiet-running skiffs. The demolitions are for 'ice-clearing exercises.' It is all part of a comprehensive program to prepare our men for the rigors of the northern climate."
General Bao stared at him, his expression one of profound disbelief. "Admiral, these are our most elite combat troops. You want to use three hundred of them to test new boots and go ice fishing? This is a preposterous waste of valuable assets."
The Quartermaster was unmovable. Logic and deception were failing. Meng Tian knew he had only one tool left. He looked the old general directly in the eye. He subtly activated his Battle Sense, not as a vision, but as a focused projection of his will. He did not threaten the man. He simply focused the absolute certainty he felt, the unshakeable conviction of his own power and the rightness of his cause, directly onto the General.
He radiated an aura of pure, undiluted command authority. It was the same energy that had made his men follow him at the frozen lake, the same energy that had held them together during the firefight on the bridge. It was a pressure that went beyond mere rank.
General Bao, a man who had faced down charging cavalry without flinching, found himself taking an involuntary step back. He felt a sudden, inexplicable sense of awe and intimidation. He was faced with the Hero of the Empire, a man basking in the Emperor's personal favor, who was now looking at him with a gaze that held the weight of destiny itself. His own, petty, bureaucratic objections suddenly seemed small and insignificant.
"The Emperor expects results, General," Meng Tian said, his voice quiet but resonating with this strange new power. "I will provide them. You will provide me with the tools I require."
Bao found his own arguments dying in his throat. He gave a stiff, reluctant nod. "The requisitions… they will be approved," he mumbled, and then practically fled the room.
Major Han, who had witnessed the entire exchange, stared at his commander with open-mouthed awe. "How did you do that, sir? General Bao has refused my own supply requests for weeks."
Meng Tian turned back to the map, the projection of power leaving him feeling strangely weary and hollow. "I used the Emperor's trust as a weapon, Major," he said, his voice heavy. "A trust I earned with a lie."
He had succeeded. He had acquired the resources for his secret war. But he had done so by leveraging a fraudulent victory and a reputation that felt more tarnished with every passing day. And he knew, with a chilling certainty, that the price for this honorable deception would one day come due.