Tale of Zhen'er

Unmasking

A last gamble, that utterly failed. And now, for the sake of lives that could be saved, surrender.

Thus, shackled and bound, they followed the ponderous wallow of the supply wagons as the enemy made their inevitable way towards the Capital.

But to wrangle the spirit of men is a difficult task. They may have be beaten, but they're not broken. Yet.

As their numbers grew, by the defeated troops to the invaders, so does mutterings of possible revolt.

Li Zhēn tried to convey the utter uselessness of such actions, but was counseled by her personal troops to hold her silence. Perhaps a miracle may occur. They've certainly suffered enough tragedy. May any Benevolence that observe be charitable, she prayed.

However, as she suspected, the Xings were waiting for just such an attempt. The culprits were harshly rounded up to be dealt with.

A mass culling, an example of the merciless fate of the disobedient. Death, not only for the few, but also for all that was even peripherally connected.

She could no longer hold her silence. Not in the face of such brutality. Holding aloft the silver token, proof of her command, she bargains for mercy. Despite the horror on the faces of her men, who had beg and pleaded for their Young General to keep his identity a secret.

Furiously wracking her brain for anything that might turn the situation around, she remembered an old tradition from the times when the Xings were still divided between clans and banners.

Challenge to a knife dance.

Tickled with the notion of a mere sapling dared to reach beyond his grasp, the boldface challenge was accepted. They had long sought to capture the famed Young General Li of the Dunes. And lo, behold!  The Young General himself was walking amongst them!

Terms and conditions were laid out cleanly and clearly, by grizzled old bears and warhorses, used to such things. To be held by both sides, Mother Sun as witness.

Her death, if she loses.
The lives of 10 souls, if she wins.
First blood marks the end.

Praying to any Benevolence that observe, she drew upon every last drop of cunning and endurance she had left. She cast all pride aside as they began. Survival is the only goal left, now.

Armed with a single knife in her right hand, she quickly observed her first opponent, as the leather cord with the length of a man's stride were tied to their left hand, binding the two challengers together.

10.

All those years of dance lessons paid their due today.

20.

Knives flashed in the sunlight. Weaving and ducking, she employed every little trick in her arsenal.

30.

Mutterings amongst the Xings were gaining volume.

40.

A hint of cruelty. There's no place for chivalry in war. He wasn't expecting that.

50.

Perhaps they are beginning to take her seriously.

60.

Her energy is flagging fast.

70.

It was a lucky stroke. Both of them knew that.

80.

A sympathiser. A grace she humbly accepted.

90.

Both of them understood that was the last dregs of her life. A flash of admiration, useless now. But a part of herself, buried deep, exulted. Her end is nearing, no denying it now. But this triumph is sweet despite the bitterness of her impending death.

Her 10th opponent strode forth. From her rude, exhausted squat on the ground, she squinted against the glare of the sun.

In her dazed condition, she failed to realised that the crowd had gone silent. Pushing the ground, she swayed to stand up even as the newcomer reached a helping hand.

His clothing were different, her mind erratically noted. There's a significance to the designs on his garments but the meanings escapes her. Exhausted, parched, and shaking from her previous bouts, his voice failed to reach her.

The world darkens as her body flew, weightless.

'Is this how I die?'

***

Murong Jūn swore as he hefted the enemy general and swept into the healer tent.

Disregarding the armour, he is much too light! Is this really the Young General Li?

Beneath the soot of war and the grimes of a long march, his face is far too thin to be contemplated!

Is this really the Scholar General that gave him endless troubles during the siege? Look at his wrists! How can any man hoped to swing a sword with such frail appendages?!

Then again, his greatest weaponry exists in the mind hidden behind those closed eyes.

And there's no denying his valour. Withstanding 9 opponents, seriously contending or not, is something no man would disdain. All for the sake of his countrymen. Such is the stuff of fireside legends!

And now he has fallen into the hands of Murong Jūn.

The Healer had his apprentice remove the armour and sent the child out for more supplies. Ignoring his liege lord helping himself to his drinking water, he undressed the unconscious young man and saw the bindings.

The Healer gasped.