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

On the first day after leaving the camp, they traveled sixty li.

The old path on the eastern slope of Black Stone Ridge hugged the mountain's base; the wind was less intense, and the grass still had stubble. Yang Hu rode in the center of the army, doing only one thing along the way: counting those who had fallen behind.

Two people fell off the horse on the first day. One sprained his ankle, and the other had an old injury, but both were still able to ride.

When they were encamped, Captain Pang came to report that all three military orders had been passed down, but there was something else going on below.

"What did you say?"

"They said they walked sixty li during the day and were all exhausted. They still had to dry their shoes, boil water, and tend to the wounded and sick—nothing could be neglected," said Captain Pang. "Several centurions asked if they could sleep first and dry their shoes the next morning."

"cannot."

"General, I also have a question," Captain Pang paused, "Is it really just one night that makes all three of these things different?"

Yang Hu dismounted, handed over the reins, took two steps toward the fire, and squatted down.

"Press the ground."

Captain Pang also squatted down, placed his palm on the ground, and then withdrew it.

The soil is cool, much cooler than during the day; if you press your finger down, you can press out a layer of dampness.

"It's warm during the day, but freezing at night," Yang Hu said. "Your shoes will be wet, but after a good night's sleep, they'll be hard again by morning. If you wear those hard shoes and walk another thirty li, you'll have blisters all over your feet. When the blisters burst, they'll be filled with mud."

He wiped the dirt off his hands on the corner of his robe.

"If we walk for another two days, that foot will rot. The rotten foot needs to be carried, and it takes two people to carry one person."

Captain Pang stood up, clapped his hands, and turned to give the order.

That night, dozens of fires were lit in the camp of two thousand people. The smell of roasting shoes mixed with the smell of damp grass lingered until the middle of the night.

On the afternoon of the third day, they encountered the first group of barbarians.

About forty or fifty riders lingered on the northeastern slope. Commander Pang's vanguard split into two groups and circled them off. The barbarians turned and scattered, dispersing swiftly, like sand scattered into grass. They pursued them for about ten li, killing three of them.

Those three were all horses that fell into mouse holes.

Cui Ting gazed at the scene from horseback for a long time before turning back to Yang Hu and saying, "General, this is what I meant by 'scattering'."

"I saw it."

"Continue pursuing?"

"Pursue them," Yang Hu said. "Even if we can't catch them, we'll still pursue them. The order says 'mopping-up operation,' so we have to go all the way to those eighty li."

Upon returning to camp that day, Captain Pang was unable to contain his anger. He slammed his riding whip to the ground.

"Forty riders! We can't handle forty riders with two thousand men!"

"Those who can keep things under control aren't called cavalry," Yang Hu said.

"Then what are we doing out here?"

"Walk eighty li, then walk back."

Captain Pang stared at him for a while, then picked up the whip, turned around, and walked away. He took seven or eight steps, then stopped.

"Does the general truly intend not to report even half a head?"

"I plan to apply," Yang Hu said. "I'll apply for three."

The incident on the fourth day involved water.

One group of men in the rear camp complained that boiling water was too slow, so they found a muddy pond during the night and filled their water bags. By noon the next day, eleven men from that group had collapsed.

When Yang Hu arrived, the man was already curled up on the ground, his face pale, and his intestines looked like they were being twisted. He pressed him down one by one and asked three questions: When did you drink it? How much did you drink? Were there any dead animals near the pond?

The third question revealed the answer. Twenty paces ahead of the pond, lay a half-frozen wild goat.

"Empty all the water bags," Yang Hu said, "and empty the dry rations for that team too."

"General, the rations have run out; this squad will go hungry today."

"You won't die from hunger for a day." He took off his medicine box. "Those who drink this water are not allowed to ride a horse for two days."

Su Heng arrived with her medical team. She knelt down and looked not at the people, but at the filth on the ground. After looking at it, she looked up and shook her head at Yang Hu.

"It's not an epidemic."

"Um."

"It's that half-sheep." She wrung out the cloth in her hand. "General, these eleven will be able to get up in two days."

"Three days," Yang Hu said. "One more day. I'd rather make the numbers look worse along the way."

Eleven men and eleven stretchers. The stretchers were made of long spears and felt, and the stretcher bearers were drawn from each team.

That day, the two thousand people only traveled twenty li.

At night, when the wounded were being assessed, Captain Pang reported the number: thirty-seven had fallen behind or were lying down.

"Thirty-seven." Yang Hu wrote the number down in the booklet. "Tell the people below that twenty-three of these thirty-seven were caused by drinking raw water."

"Does the general intend to punish me?"

"No punishment," Yang Hu said. "Report the numbers. Every night after counting the wounded and sick, read this number aloud to the entire camp."

Captain Pang hesitated for a moment.

"General, this number grows larger every day. We remember it daily, and the brothers keep it in their hearts..."

"We know what's going on," Yang Hu said. "They can see who's lying down. Reading it out loud lets them know that those who are lying down are being cared for."

From that night on, the forward camp had an extra task every night: after counting the wounded and sick, they would read the number aloud in front of the entire camp. The first night, no one uttered a sound after it was read. The third night, after it was read, someone in the rear guard shouted, "Six are missing today!" and then laughed at himself.

The incident on the fifth day involved horse feed.

Commander Cen's battalion complained that the horses carrying beans took up too much space, so they secretly reduced the daily bean ration by half a liter, saying they still had enough grass roots to eat. By the evening of the fifth day, the horses in that battalion had lost weight and had to stop after walking a short distance.

When Cui Ting found out, his face fell, and he wanted to go to the military law department to request a beating.

Yang Hu stopped him.

"Bring the horses of both battalions together."

Twelve hundred horses were led to a low-lying area, where men from both battalions were present. Yang Hu remained silent, only allowing his men to touch the ribs of each horse one by one.

The horses in Captain Pang's battalion had flat ribs. The horses in Captain Cen's battalion had ribs so prominent that you could count them through the skin.

There were sixty-four horses that could be counted.

"Sixty-four horses, five days," Yang Hu said. "In previous years, when the vanguard went out to fight, thirty-seven horses would fall behind due to weight loss. The few beans you saved were exchanged for these."

Captain Cen's face turned bright red, and he was about to kneel down on the spot.

"No need to kneel," Yang Hu said. "Make up for the lost beans, and starting tonight, add half a liter for three days."

On the sixth day, they caught up with him to a point eighty li north of Heishiliang.

The boundary marker, stretching eighty li, was just a pile of old stones. The barbarian scouts appeared nine times in six days, each time disappearing in less than half an incense stick's time. The army's total spoils over those six days amounted to seven.

Seven.

When Cui Ting announced the number, no one in the central command tent responded.

"What about the losses?" Yang Hu asked.

"Eighty-one, with injuries and illnesses," Cui Ting said. "None of them were frostbitten, and none of them fell behind due to weight gain."

"How many died?"

"Two. One is from falling off a horse and hitting the back of my head that day, and the other is from an arrow wound from last year that flared up again."

Yang Hu spread the booklet on his lap and, by the light of the lamp, wrote down the numbers for the past six days, line by line.

Seven were captured. Eighty-one were lost. Two died.

In previous years, the camp launched three expeditions before winter, achieving a victory of 170 and suffering 431 casualties. The next expedition resulted in a loss of 144.

He put down his pen.

He had predicted six days ago that this trip would be unsuccessful. The numbers now on the paper were both uglier and better than he had anticipated. The uglier one was the seven, the better one was the eighty-one.

The Ministry of War doesn't look at the number eighty-one.

The Ministry of War was looking at number seven.

Seven heads, two thousand soldiers, and a one-month deadline. Looking at these three things together, anyone would only conclude: this general doesn't know how to fight.

He closed the booklet and glanced at the top of the tent. The felt on the tent roof billowed in the wind, causing the flames to flicker.

The document arrived in October, via the northern route. The twelve boxes of good medicine also arrived in October, via the same northern route. The only thing they wanted, from beginning to end, was this one piece of paper.

"General," Cui Ting's voice lowered, "Turn around tomorrow?"

"Turn around."

Cui Ting responded, but did not leave.

"I've served in the vanguard for five years and gone out three times," he said. "The three times I returned, the tents were all empty. This time... this time the brothers still had the energy to curse at night."

"What are you cursing about?"

"He scolded the general for not allowing him to drink unboiled water."

Yang Hu then lowered his head and dipped his brush in ink again.

"It's good to scold them."

On the morning of the seventh day, they broke camp and had traveled less than ten miles when the scouts returned.

Two riders arrived, their horses galloping very fast, only reining in when they were close.

"General, there is a camp three miles ahead."

"Barbarians?"

"It's the barbarians' winter camp," the scout said, catching his breath. "Empty."