Xu Anping calmly observed his surroundings as he entered the grand pavilion of the rebel camp. The air was thick with anticipation, and the murmurs of soldiers and commanders outside echoed like a distant hum. Inside the main tent, a large wooden table groaned under the weight of maps and scrolls, illuminated by torches that cast flickering shadows on the canvas walls. The thick, rough fabric of the tent walls barely muffled the commotion outside, but within the pavilion, the atmosphere was charged with tension—the kind of tension that arises when decisions made at a command table can alter the course of a war.
Every corner of the pavilion seemed to breathe with its own life, from the flickering candles to the faded banners hanging in the corners—emblems of rebel factions and minor houses now united in a common cause. The scent of melted wax and aged wood filled the space, mingling with the sweat of men who, despite their attire, could not hide the exhaustion of weeks of fighting. The maps spread across the table, covered in notes and ink marks, stood as silent witnesses to countless strategies and defeats, but also to the rare victories that kept hope alive in the hearts of those present.
As he entered, several leaders were already seated, their faces serious, eyes inquisitively scanning every detail of the tent. Xu Anping's heart raced, but outwardly he remained impassive. His face, trained to show no emotion, was a mask of calm and control. He knew he was being watched, scrutinized carefully. He was only beginning his ascent within the rebel structure, and now he found himself at a meeting that included the high command—a place he had not imagined reaching so soon. Every glance, every barely audible whisper behind faces weathered by war reminded him that his position was precarious, and that any misstep could mean the end of his career, or worse.
The room was thick with latent rivalries and fragile alliances. One by one, leaders began to arrive, each imposing their presence with different energies. Some murmured among themselves, openly ignoring Xu Anping as if his youth made him invisible to their war-hardened eyes. Others glanced at him from the corner of their eyes, sizing up the young commander who had earned a place among the rebel ranks with a mixture of skepticism and curiosity. It was clear that his presence did not go unnoticed, though the more calculating minds in the room knew that someone like him could be useful—or easily discarded, if necessary.
The leaders slowly took their seats, each one marking their territory at the table. The wood creaked under the weight of their bodies and their weapons, and the shadows cast by the torches seemed to reflect the shifting nature of their loyalties. In the end, sixteen people gathered around the table, including Xu Anping, along with a young woman who drew everyone's attention with her bearing. Her posture was elegant yet firm, each movement measured with precision, giving her a quiet authority. Xu Anping did not know her, but the way the other leaders eyed her with caution made it clear that her presence was far from ordinary.
The young woman, though not the tallest or most imposing in the room, had a presence that commanded respect. Her dark hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, and her gaze, steady and penetrating, seemed to study every gesture, every unspoken word. She wore a simple travel dress, appropriate for the military setting, but made from fabrics of a quality that suggested she came from an important family. There was no need to ask who she was; her demeanor and the way the other leaders glanced at her left no doubt that she was no ordinary person. Even those who usually held the highest authority maintained an air of deference toward her, though none expressed it openly.
Amid this charged atmosphere, Li Heng, the leader of the faction, entered shortly after, his mere presence silencing any lingering conversation. He was a sturdy man, with a severe gaze and a face hardened by years of battles. His light armor, worn but well-kept, gleamed under the torchlight, and his eyes, like two burning coals, scanned the table with a mixture of calculation and resolve. He stopped in front of the table, crossing his arms over his chest, and observed each of those present with an intensity few could endure without averting their gaze. Finally, his eyes settled briefly on Xu Anping, and a barely perceptible smile crossed his lips before he began to speak.
"I have called you here today for two important reasons," Li Heng began, his deep but controlled voice effortlessly filling the space. "The first is to introduce a new commander to our faction. Xu Anping."
The words seemed to hang in the air for a moment, and immediately, all eyes turned to Xu Anping. He felt the weight of every gaze on him, some filled with genuine interest, others with barely concealed mockery. It was no surprise; his rise through the rebel ranks had been swift—too swift for some. He had yet to prove much beyond his bravery in battle, and many of those present saw him as an inexperienced youth, perhaps a promise, but still untested in the more complex aspects of war and politics.
Li Heng continued unperturbed, as if the palpable skepticism in the room was beneath his notice.
"Xu Anping has shown remarkable skills in the last campaign. He currently commands 500 troops, and I am confident that in time he will prove to be as capable as any of you."
The applause that followed was brief and clearly perfunctory. It was a mechanical gesture, lacking in genuine enthusiasm. Some leaders exchanged glances, and though none dared speak openly, the faint smiles and gestures of condescension were impossible to ignore. To them, the mention of Xu Anping's 500 troops was little more than a trivial anecdote, an insignificant number compared to the thousands of men other commanders controlled.