The steppe at dusk stretched shadows long across the ground. Gu Kai led the squad toward the granary, ten pairs of boots crunching over dry grass with nothing but faint shh-shh sounds. He walked in front, clutching the crude map Old Ba had drawn, fingertips rubbing again and again over the red circle marked Minefield—Ira's men had planted traps around the granary, closer than Gu Kai had expected.
"Mr. Gu, my feet are raw from this damned road. You really think we'll reach the granary?" one soldier behind him grumbled, gun slung awkwardly across his chest. He was one of Kalon's "crippled veterans"—three men in their fifties, two with old arm injuries, already wheezing after just a short march.
Gu Kai glanced back, tongue sharp as ever. "Feet hurt? Then turn around right now. Go tell Kalon, 'My feet blistered, I quit the fight.' See if he rewards you with horse milk or a bullet."
The soldier choked silent, face pale. He lowered his head and kept trudging. Aji tugged Gu Kai's sleeve nervously and whispered, "Kai-ge, don't fight with them. We still need their help."
Gu Kai didn't answer, but he understood—their resistance wasn't about disobedience, it was fear. Fear of the minefield. Fear of Ira's guards. Fear that none of them would come back alive. He slowed down, handed Aji the map. "Remember what Old Ba said about the shift change? How much time do we have?"
Aji squinted at the sinking sun, then fished out his father's battered pocket watch. It wasn't accurate, but close enough. "About one hour. The guards will go to the noodle shop nearby, and we'll have only five minutes of gap."
Suddenly Aji gasped, freezing mid-step. His face turned paper white. "Kai-ge… look."
Gu Kai's heart dropped. He turned—and saw Aji's boot pressing on a frayed hemp cord stretched out of the dead grass. The other end disappeared into the weeds, where the rusted edge of a tin can poked through. An improvised mine, rigged with a tripwire—one tug and it would blow.
"Don't move." Gu Kai's voice was low, steady. He crouched, heart pounding. Grandpa's words from The Thirty-Six Stratagems flashed in his mind: Find opportunity in danger, avoid the strong and strike the weak. His fingers brushed his pocket. He pulled out the lighter Old Mu had given him—its tin shell worn shiny from use. Then he slipped out the book itself, the stiff cover just sturdy enough to part the grass.
"Aji, ease your foot back, slow. Don't touch the rope. Inch by inch." Gu Kai's tone stayed calm, but his hands trembled. He used the book to push aside the dry weeds, revealing the mine—a tin can wired to the cord, fuse made of match heads. Sensitive, but at least not damp.
The squad held its breath. Even the wind seemed to stop. Aji clenched his jaw and inched his boot back. The moment it lifted clear of the rope, his knees buckled, nearly dropping him on top of it. Gu Kai grabbed him fast. "It's okay. You're fine."
Aji's chest heaved, eyes red, but he gripped his watch tight. "Shift change… forty minutes left."
No time to calm him. Gu Kai flicked the lighter. The flame hissed alive, licking at the tripwire. The fuse sparked, racing along the hemp. Gu Kai yanked Aji back behind a dirt mound.
Boom! The mine went off with a muffled roar, dirt spraying high, tin shards whistling through the air.
"Lucky it was a small one. If it'd been bigger, we'd all be gone." Gu Kai brushed dust from his shoulders. Relief barely set in when the sound of hooves thundered closer. Old Ba came tearing across the steppe on horseback, waving a sheepskin pouch.
"Mr. Gu! Bad news! Ira's added guards. The soldiers won't go to the noodle shop anymore—they're eating right at the granary gate! The gap's down to three minutes!"
Gu Kai's gut sank. The plan was ruined. Three minutes wasn't enough to drive the sheep through the barbed wire, let alone ignite the cloth strips. He snatched the pouch—kerosene, meant to soak the strips. Now it felt like a curse in his hands.
"Mr. Gu, maybe we should quit," one soldier muttered. The others nodded quickly, eyes darting with retreat.
Gu Kai glared. "Quit now? After we already crossed the minefield? You think Ira's men won't find us if we turn back? Either way, it's death." He stopped, turned to Aji. "That sheep bleating you practiced—can you make the granary's flock follow it?"
Aji blinked, then nodded hard. "Yes! My mom always said my bleating sounds real. I can get the sheep to follow!"
An idea snapped into place. Gu Kai pulled Old Ba and Aji close, voice low. "Old Ba, drive your sheep to the west fence—your blind spot. Aji, climb the north slope. When I signal, bleat like a ewe. Pull the sheep at the gate toward the west, distract the guards. The rest of you, come with me to the east. We'll fake an assault and draw them over."
"What about the cloth strips and kerosene?" Old Ba asked.
Gu Kai grinned, pulling out the neon-green sunhat. "This will do the job." He dunked it deep into the kerosene, then lashed it to a long branch. "Once the guards are pulled east, I'll light it and throw it onto the granary's canvas roof. Kerosene burns fast—it'll go up in flames."
The last rays of sunset bled across the grassland. Twenty minutes till shift change. Old Ba spurred his horse toward the sheepfold. Aji clenched his pocket watch and headed for the slope. The soldiers hefted their rifles, eyes less timid now, more steeled.
Gu Kai touched The Thirty-Six Stratagems in his pocket. The pages fluttered in the wind as if whispering: This will work.
He drew in a deep breath. "Move. Let's show Ira's men we're not sheep to be slaughtered."
The ten figures melted into the twilight. Only the granary's barbed wire loomed ahead, glinting cold in the fading light—waiting for a gamble of sheep, a sunhat, and sheer cunning to decide its fate.