A divine healer, a general, a young marquis! Who can rival them!

The front camp beyond the Great Wall was located 320 li directly north of Qingshikou, nestled against a mountain ridge called Heishiliang.

Yang Hu arrived on the tenth day of the ninth month.

Autumn comes earlier in the borderlands than in the interior. When the wind rises, the grass turns half the hillside yellow, and the sky is so high that it makes one feel empty inside. The gate of the front camp is supported by two thick wooden beams, with knife marks still visible on the wood. Two guards at the gate, carrying long spears, do not shout when they see this group of people coming; they just glance at them sideways.

A sign was nailed to a wooden stake on the left side of the gate, bearing the words "Front Camp," the characters worn away by wind and sand to the outline. Beneath the sign lay a pile of discarded armor fragments, rusted a reddish-brown.

Yang Hu reined in his horse in front of the gate and handed over the documents from the Ministry of War.

The guard took it and looked at it for a long time, then looked up at the man on horseback, looking at him twice.

"General Yang?"

"Yes."

The guard's eyes lingered on his face for a moment longer. The frontier was bitterly cold; there were plenty of soldiers in their early twenties, but no generals in their early twenties.

The guard read the document over and over again before slowly turning around and going inside to report.

A group of people entered the gate, and the soldiers on both sides were watching. They weren't looking at Yang Hu, but at the long string of things behind him: a team of 120 military doctors carrying medicine boxes, a dozen large iron pots pulled by carts, and cart after cart of neatly tied white cloths.

A young soldier couldn't help but ask the old soldier next to him: "New general, why are you carrying so many pots?"

The old soldier didn't answer. In the past five years, he had seen three different generals enter this gate, and he had never seen anyone bring a pot with them.

Five people were sitting in the main hall of the forward camp.

The head seat was empty. The first man on the left was a dark-faced man around fifty years old, surnamed Cui. He was the commander of the central army of the vanguard. Before Yang Hu arrived, he had been in charge of the vanguard's affairs. Below him were three captains and a quartermaster.

When Yang Hu went in, all five people stood up.

The manners were correct.

"This humble general, Cui Ting, greets General Yang."

"Greetings, General Yang."

The people in the room clasped their hands and bowed deeply, but not a single one of them looked up.

Yang Hu placed the official seal on the table and said, "Please be seated."

Five people sat down.

Then no one spoke.

Cui Ting lowered his head and drank his tea. The three captains stared at the tips of their boots. The quartermaster had been flipping through an account book since he entered the room, flipping through it very slowly, taking half an incense stick to read a single page.

Yang Hu had seen too many of these people in Qing Shi Kou. It wasn't disobeying orders; it was waiting. Waiting for you to show weakness, waiting for you to say the wrong thing, waiting for you to pack your bags and leave in three months.

Yang Hu didn't urge him. He unfolded the scroll of official documents from the Ministry of War that he had brought, read it aloud from beginning to end, and then asked, "How many men are there in the vanguard right now?"

Cui Ting put down his teacup: "Reporting to the General, six thousand three hundred."

"Are they capable of playing?"

Cui Ting paused for a moment: "...Six thousand three hundred."

"That's not right," Yang Hu said. "When I entered the camp, I saw that the area to the east was a wounded and sick camp, with about forty tents. Forty tents could house at least five or six hundred people. Can those five or six hundred people even go into battle?"

Cui Ting's expression changed.

"General, you are wise," he said slowly. "The army has always reported the registered numbers. As for the wounded, sick, on leave, or unable to walk, they have never been reported separately."

"From today onwards, separate reports will be issued."

The room fell silent.

"General." The captain on the left finally raised his head. He was a man in his thirties with a horizontal scar on his face. His surname was Pang. "What's the point of reporting it? If we report it, the Ministry of War will only ask one question: 'The vanguard has such a large vacancy. How did you manage to lead your troops?' In the end, we're the ones who will be punished."

"Only after reporting it will the Ministry of War know how much medicine, cotton, and grain to allocate," Yang Hu said. "If we don't report it, the allocated amount will still be counted as 6,300 people. Those 500 or 600 lying in bed are as good as non-existent."

Captain Pang smiled. The smile was brief and meant no harm, but it just made people uncomfortable.

"General, you come from Qingshikou," he said. "I've heard about the brilliant battle at Qingshikou. But Qingshikou is a city, with walls, grain, and wells. This is beyond the Great Wall; eighty li outside the gates lies the barbarian's pastureland. The rules here are different from those in the city."

These words were spoken with great tact and were all true, but the underlying meaning was clear to all five people in the room.

Yang Hu did not respond to that sentence.

He stood up, put away the documents on the table, and said only one sentence: "That's all for today. Tomorrow at Chenshi (7-9 AM), I need to see four things: the roster, the list of the wounded and sick, the logbook of military supplies for the past three months, and the battle losses of the vanguard over the past six months."

Cui Ting's brows furrowed instantly.

"General, these four things..."

"Tomorrow at Chenshi (7-9 AM)."

Yang Hu left the main hall and walked into the autumn wind.

Su Heng was waiting outside, and she could tell just by looking at his expression.

I won't listen to you.

“They didn’t disobey,” Yang Hu said. “They were very polite. But I asked three questions, and I only got an answer to one.”

Why?

"Because of that imperial decree from the capital." Yang Hu stood at the gate of the camp, looking at the bare ridge of Black Stone Ridge. "The report said 'Great Victory,' but the approval was 'Meritorious Defense.' Of the 3,162 names, only 2,317 made it to the Ministry of War. When these two things reached here, it all boiled down to one sentence: In fact, we didn't win much in the Battle of Qing Shi Kou. That doctor was just lucky."

"There's another layer," Yang Hu said. "Qingshikou is a defensive city. The merit of defending a city ultimately lies in the strength of the walls and the strength of having a large number of people who can endure the storm. The borderlands are different. The borderlands require sending troops, pursuing enemy forces, and fighting barbarian cavalry on the open field. I've never done any of those things."

"They know you didn't do it."

"They know."

Su Heng remained silent for a while.

"So they see you as a general who rose to power by saving people, a general who doesn't live up to his title."

"right."

"So what do you plan to do?"

Yang Huxian remained silent.

He gazed for a long time at the wounded and sick camp to the east. There were about forty tents, some with tattered curtains, others collapsed, and several soldiers squatted outside, basking in the sun, their faces pale and emaciated. The wind blew in from there, carrying a familiar smell: pus, rotting cloth, unwashed wounds, and a faint, indescribable sweet and fishy odor.

That's the smell of gangrene.

He had smelled it too many times in Qing Shi Kou.

Su Heng followed his gaze and remained silent.

The forty tents were set up haphazardly, lying haphazardly, with only two or three steps between them. In the middle, on a dirt path worn into the ground, a soldier carried a wooden basin from one tent to another, the water in the basin being murky.

"Don't rush into it." Yang Hu withdrew his gaze, dismounted, and handed the reins to the soldier behind him. "Let's go take a look over there first."

"Visiting the wounded and sick camp?" Su Heng was taken aback. "You just arrived today, and the first thing you did was visit the wounded?"

"The first thing is to go see the group of people in this camp who died most inexplicably." Yang Hu untied his medicine chest from his horse and slung it over his shoulder. "There are five or six hundred people lying in these forty tents. We'll know how many of them died from their injuries and how many could have recovered but were forced to stay afloat once we take a look."

He took two steps to the east, then suddenly stopped and turned around.

"Su Heng".

"exist."

"Go and call the medical team. Bring them a pot."

Su Heng responded and turned to leave, but was stopped by him.

"Boil the water first," Yang Hu said. "Don't do anything else for now, just boil the water. Once it's boiling, send the tents over one by one."

Su Heng took a few steps and glanced back. The newly appointed general, carrying his medicine chest, was already walking quickly towards the tattered tents to the east.