The command tent smelled of ink and old leather.
Li Běichén paused at the threshold, letting his eyes adjust. Maps lay spread across the central table, weighted at the corners with stones. Pins marked borders. Threads traced supply lines. Nothing was placed without intention.
Zhou Yueliang looked up from a report and gestured him inside. No formal greeting. No ceremony. They had fought enough battles together to dispense with those.
"You asked for me," Li said.
Zhou nodded. "Sit."
Li did not. He stepped closer to the table instead, scanning the terrain without appearing to. Ashen Vale was marked in red. The ink had been refreshed recently.
Zhou noticed. He always did.
"How is the boy," Zhou asked, as if the question were an afterthought.
"Liang Wei." Li's gaze did not lift. "He adapts quickly."
"That is not an answer."
Li finally looked up. "He is disciplined. Skilled. More than qualified to stand as my peer."
Zhou's expression tightened, just slightly. "Your peer."
"If you had assigned him to any other unit," Li continued, "he would already be leading men."
Silence settled between them. Not heavy but measured.
Zhou folded his hands. "That is precisely why he remains where he is."
Li said nothing.
Zhou exhaled. "You were not told everything. Liang Wei was placed under your eye for training, yes. But also for observation."
"Observation of what."
"Origin. Loyalty. Timing."
Li's fingers rested on the table edge. He did not grip it. "You suspect him."
"I suspect everyone," Zhou replied. "Especially those who arrive with skill and no clear past."
Li considered that. "You think he is from the Central Kingdom?"
"I think he could be useful to them." Zhou hesitated. "Or already is."
Li's eyes narrowed. "That judgment did not come from the field."
Zhou smiled thinly. "No." He reached for another report. A different seal. "Tang Yaojun shares my concern."
Li dismissed the name almost at once. Court bred. Clever with words. A man who survived by standing behind others. "Tang Yaojun has never seen a battlefield from the front."
"We cannot have spies." Zhou said mildly. "He sees patterns, and he has friends."
"So do rats," Li replied.
Zhou did not rise to it. He turned the map instead, tapping Ashen Vale with one finger. "This is what concerns me."
Li followed the motion. "The war is over."
"The victory was too clean."
Li studied the markings. Supply routes cut with precision. Encirclement executed without hesitation. No wasted movement. "The Crown Prince commanded." His finger traced the routes drawn on the map. "He is competent."
Zhou's gaze sharpened. "That is an understatement."
He looked over the border with his eyes. "He committed early. Accepted losses where others would stall. His army did not fracture."
Li straightened. "Victories like this do not come from inspiration alone."
"No," Zhou agreed. "They come from preparation."
The Crown Prince was not named again. He did not need to be. His presence lingered in the ink, in the careful placement of pins, in the quiet respect Zhou's voice could not fully hide.
Li turned away from the map. That was when he noticed the drawing.
It lay half tucked beneath a ledger, charcoal lines softened by use. An old man stood there, sketched with restraint. Grey hair pulled back. Face lined not by age alone but by endurance. He wore a plain dark changshan, unadorned. In his hand rested a sword that did not gleam, yet commanded attention all the same.
Li reached for it before he thought better.
Zhou stiffened. "That is nothing."
"Who is he," Li asked.
Zhou waved it away. "Xu Yuncheng."
Li's eyes returned to the blade in the drawing. The hilt. The guard. The crest worked into the metal. Familiar. Too Familiar.
"Was he a general," Li asked.
Zhou's mouth thinned. "No. And not worth discussing."
Li folded the paper carefully and set it back where it had been. He did not comment on the sword. He did not comment on the lines of the man's face. He did not comment on the echo that settled low in his chest.
"I will continue the training," Li said.
Zhou nodded. "Keep him close."
Li inclined his head and turned to leave.
As he stepped outside, the sounds of camp rushed back in. Orders called. Steel rang. Life pressed forward without pause.
Behind him, the map of Ashen Vale lay open. The Crown Prince's path cut clean through ink and paper. Somewhere beyond that, threads were moving that had not yet shown themselves.
Li Běichén walked on, already thinking of a boy who fought as if restraint were a habit, and of an old man drawn with a sword that refused to be forgotten.