Gu Kai propped Old Mu up as they rested in the low shrubs of the grassland. The evening wind whipped sand into their faces, stinging so sharply it was hard to keep their eyes open. Since slipping past Ira's sentries, Old Mu had been coughing nonstop. Each cough forced him to clutch his ribs and wheeze—he hadn't admitted it before, but when he shielded Gu Kai from the soldiers' questioning earlier, a rifle butt had slammed into his side.
"Kai-ge, I'll go look ahead for water." Aji gripped an empty canteen as he stood. The hem of his canvas "herder's robe" flapped in the wind, revealing mud-stained pant legs underneath.
Gu Kai was about to stop him when the sound of hooves reached them. Not the rubbery thump of Ira's soldiers' boots—this was heavier, iron ringing against iron. Cavalry.
"Don't go! Hide!" Gu Kai yanked Aji back and shoved him and Old Mu deep into the shrubs. He himself pressed flat against the edge, peering through the leaves.
Moonlight revealed five horsemen in black leather jackets. Rifles slung at their backs, bronze badges gleaming coldly on their chests. Not Ira's men—this was another warlord's troop.
"It's Kalon's people!" Old Mu whispered into Gu Kai's ear, voice shaking. "Kalon's tribal fighters hate Ira's spies the most. If they catch us, they'll execute us right here. We have to move!" He tried to stand, but a cough burst out of him again, too loud in the still night.
"Who's there?!" One rider yanked his reins, flashlight beam slicing through the shrubs. Gu Kai could see his finger already curled on the trigger.
Gu Kai instinctively touched the canvas tied around his waist. The knot, loosened earlier at Ira's sentry, now hung loose—and the fluorescent green brim of his sunhat was sticking out.
"Come out! Or we shoot!" The soldier's bark was sharp, commanding. Gu Kai knew there was no way to stay hidden. Slowly, he stood, body angled to shield Old Mu and Aji behind him, hunching his shoulders, head lowered like a weary herder.
The flashlight beam slammed into his face. He squinted, barely able to see as the lead soldier swung off his horse and strode forward. His stubble-covered jaw and long scar across his left cheek gleamed in the light. His eagle-sharp eyes glinted as the rifle barrel pressed square against Gu Kai's chest.
"Ira's spy?" The scarred soldier yanked at Gu Kai's canvas wrap. The fluorescent green brim of the sunhat tumbled into the open, glaringly bright under the moon. The soldier's eyes iced over. He kicked Gu Kai hard in the knee.
"Thud!" Gu Kai collapsed to the ground, his kneecap smashing against a stone, pain shooting white-hot up his leg.
"Still pretending to be a herder?" The scarred soldier jabbed his rifle butt into Gu Kai's side. "This hat—something Ira's men wear? Speak! What messages have you sent for Ira?"
"I—I'm not a spy…" Gu Kai forced himself to stammer, words broken on purpose. "I'm just… just a herder, looking for family. This hat… I just picked it up…" His eyes flicked toward Aji—but two soldiers had already dragged Aji and Old Mu out of hiding. Old Mu coughed violently, while Aji clenched his fists, struggling to break free, only to be shoved down.
"Looking for family?" The scarred soldier sneered, pulling a rope from his belt. "Tie them up. Bring them to the chief. The chief's been wanting to interrogate Ira's spies anyway."
In moments, Gu Kai, Old Mu, and Aji were bound and dragged across the grassland. Horses clopped behind them, hooves drumming like an executioner's beat.
After half an hour's march, tents appeared ahead. Fires burned between them, shadows of patrolling soldiers flickering in the flames. The three were dragged before the largest tent, its entrance draped with a black flag stitched with a ram's head—the totem of Kalon's tribe.
"Chief, we caught three of Ira's spies. One yellow-skinned, wearing Ira's soldier's sunhat," the scarred soldier called toward the tent.
"Bring them in," came a low voice from within.
Gu Kai was shoved inside. A fire blazed in the center. On a sheepskin mat sat a towering man in a black leather jacket, a scar longer and deeper than the soldier's running down his left cheek to his jawline. This was Kalon—the most powerful tribal warlord around Locheng.
Kalon's eyes locked onto Gu Kai, lingering on the canvas at his waist and the sunhat on the ground. "Ira sent you? Here to scout my troops?"
"I'm not with Ira!" Gu Kai struggled to raise his head, knee throbbing in pain, but he forced himself to meet Kalon's gaze. "I'm Chinese. A tourist. When Ira's coup broke out, I just wanted to escape. That hat—I picked it up while hiding from soldiers. It's not mine!"
"Tourist?" Kalon's adjutant chuckled coldly. "What's there to tour in this dump? He's lying. Drag him out, deal with him like the others."
Two soldiers moved to grab Gu Kai. His stomach dropped into ice. He could feel Old Mu tugging weakly at his shirt behind him, and Aji shouting, "He's not a spy!" But the soldiers' grip was iron, dragging him toward the tent flap.
Then it struck him—the words he'd overheard earlier in the shrubs. The scarred soldier complaining: "Ira's granary's empty. If this keeps up, we'll starve."
Gu Kai wrenched free just enough to shout: "I know where Ira's grain depot is! I can help you burn it down! If you kill me, no one else will know this!"
The tent fell silent. Kalon froze mid-drink, his eyes boring into Gu Kai, weighing truth against lies. The adjutant opened his mouth to dismiss him, but Kalon raised a hand to silence him.
"You know where Ira's grain depot is?" Kalon stood, his massive frame blotting out the firelight. "Ira guards it heavily. How would a 'tourist' know?"
"I hid in one of Ira's hotel basements," Gu Kai lied smoothly, mixing in Old Mu's intel. "I overheard soldiers saying the depot's in the old flour mill by the north gate. Only fifty guards. And they've got enough food for three days, no more. Give me thirty men—I'll burn it down. Without grain, Ira's troops will have to retreat."
Kalon stared hard at him, firelight flickering across his scarred face, unreadable. Just when Gu Kai thought he wouldn't believe him, the tent flap rustled.
An elderly woman entered, silver-threaded hair neatly braided, a tribal robe heavy with embroidered silver. Kalon's mother—the clan elder.
"Chief," she said calmly, standing at Kalon's side. "Ira's pressing our west gate. Our food's low too. Why not keep him? If he truly can help, it's worth the risk."
Kalon was silent for a few long seconds. Then, finally, he relented. "Untie them. But post guards—if they run, they die." He turned to Gu Kai, his eyes sharp with warning. "You have three days. Fail to find Ira's depot or burn it down, and you know the price."
Relief flooded Gu Kai. The agony in his knee dulled. He glanced back at Old Mu and Aji—Aji was grinning wide, Old Mu exhaled in quiet relief, even gave him a hidden thumbs-up.
Outside, the bonfires still roared, and the wind still carried sand across the grassland. But Gu Kai knew—he had bought time.
This wasn't the end. In three days, if he failed, the execution ground would still be waiting.
He touched the Thirty-Six Stratagems tucked close to his chest, its cover soft with sweat. His grandfather's words whispered again: "Think with your head. Don't just charge in."
This time, survival would depend not on luck—but on the wisdom in that book.