Lin Han knelt in the barracks' shadow, the night air heavy with the scent of pine and sweat. A week after the borderland battle, whispers of Lord Zhao's stolen grain had spread among the recruits. Bo, the lanky conscript, had proven useful, his loose tongue gathering rumors from the camp's cooks and stablehands. The empire was starving, and Zhao's men were selling its lifeblood to rebels for coin.
Lin Han met Bo and three others, a grizzled archer named Chen and two peasant brothers, in a ditch beyond the camp's torches. Their faces, lit by a sliver of moon, were taut with fear and hope. "We're with you," Chen said, his voice rough. "But if we're caught, it's the executioner's blade."
"Stay smart, and we won't be," Lin Han said. He'd chosen them carefully, men with grudges against the empire's lords. His plan was simple: intercept one of Zhao's grain caravans, redirect it to a starving village, and plant the first seed of rebellion. No grand speeches, no heroics, just results.
The next dawn, they shadowed a caravan rumbling toward a border fort. Lin Han's crossbow hung heavy at his side, its bolts tipped with blackened iron. The brothers, armed with stolen spears, scouted ahead, while Chen and Bo trailed the wagons. Lin Han crept closer, spotting the guards: six soldiers, lazy and well-fed, Zhao's sigil on their armor.
The attack was swift. Lin Han's bolt took the lead guard's throat before he could shout. Chen's arrows felled two more, and the brothers tackled the rest. The caravan was theirs in minutes, its grain sacks untouched. Lin Han's chest tightened with something like pride, but he buried it. Pride got men killed.
As they redirected the wagons toward a nearby village, Mei-Ling appeared on the ridge, her bow drawn. Lin Han froze, his hand on his knife. "You followed us," he said.
Her eyes flicked to the grain, then to him. "Zhao's men will hunt you for this. You're a fool if you think this saves anyone."
"Then help me," Lin Han said, his voice steady. "You hate them as much as I do."
Mei-Ling lowered her bow, but her face was stone. "My family's bound to Zhao. One wrong move, and they're dead. You're playing with fire, Lin Han."
Before he could answer, Bo stumbled from the trees, blood streaming from his side. "Ambush," he gasped. "Zhao's men. They knew."
Lin Han's blood ran cold. Someone had betrayed them. Chen and the brothers were already running, but hooves thundered closer. Mei-Ling's eyes met his, a storm of doubt and decision. She nocked an arrow, aiming not at him but into the dark.
As the first enemy rider broke through the trees, a cloaked figure stepped from the shadows. Xun. His voice was low, urgent. "The jade seal lies in Xianyang's forbidden vaults, beneath the terracotta guards. Find it, or this spark dies tonight." He vanished as quickly as he'd come.
Lin Han gripped his crossbow, Mei-Ling at his side, her arrow ready. The riders were almost upon them, and the grain, their rebellion's first hope, was at stake. He had no time to wonder who had sold them out, or why Xun's words felt like a chain tightening around his neck.