The Weight of a Name
Lord Xinling descended the watchtower, passing us by as she headed toward the battlefield. Wondering if we should follow, I unconsciously took a step forward, only for her to stop us with a raised hand.
In normal circumstances, the supreme commander should remain at the rear. But Lord Xinling was an exception. The army she led was not a unified force with a single chain of command. It was a coalition of several independent armies joined together. By assigning each contingent its role as supreme commander, she had already fulfilled her duty. This granted her a rare freedom of movement.
Without hesitation, Lord Xinling cast herself into the very heart of the battlefield.
"Soldiers of Wei!"
She advanced from the rear watchtower—positioned for safety yet offering a clear view of the entire field—calling out as she moved steadily forward. Her voice rang toward the men who had gathered to protect their homeland.
"Have you forgotten? The days when the fame of the Wuzu shook the world! The day we crushed those treacherous dogs of Qin!"
The current state of Qin had risen on the foundation of Shang Yang’s reforms. The national spirit he had instilled—centered on the iron principle of strict rewards and punishments, pouring every effort into strengthening the state—still endured. It remained as Qin’s merciless legal code of blood and iron.
Then, was Qin weak before Shang Yang’s reforms? Yes. Before those changes, Qin had never been the terrifying foe it was now. But that had not always been the case. On the contrary, as one of the Seven Warring States, Qin had once stood proudly as a great power. They had subjugated the western barbarians, the Rong, secured the west, seized the fertile Guanzhong region, and steadily built their strength.
Even their greatest rival, the state of Jin, had fractured into Zhao, Wei, and Han during the Partition of Jin. With Jin disintegrating, it seemed Qin would finally realize its long-cherished dream of advancing into the Yellow River basin.
"At Yinjin! With merely fifty thousand soldiers, we shattered five hundred thousand of Qin’s troops! And now? We number seventy thousand, and when combined with the forces of the other states that have gathered to aid us, we reach two hundred thousand! We have triumphed over ten times our number before—why should we fear an enemy that is not even twice our size!"
The Battle of Yinjin. In that legendary clash, the state of Wei had overcome an overwhelmingly inferior position and achieved a crushing victory. The Wei army, led by Wu Qi—the brilliant general who had ushered in Wei’s golden age and whose Art of War stood alongside Sun Tzu’s—had miraculously crushed Qin’s massive host. The aftershocks of that victory lasted a full thirty years.
Qin, which had been on the verge of becoming a thousand-chariot state and revealing its ambitions toward the Central Plains, suffered a devastating blow before it could even begin. It was reduced to a minor border power. Wu Qi’s life had been the very model of enriching the state and strengthening its military.
Thanks to the lessons I had once received from Han Jing, I could perfectly understand Lord Xinling’s intention. She was trying to make them remember. The great victory that Wei had once claimed. Though Wu Qi had left Wei, Lord Xinling now stood in his place. Though the Wuzu he had trained were gone, the Grand Coalition now stood with Wei.
The moment Lord Xinling stepped personally onto the front lines and declared that victory was possible, the wavering morale of the Wei troops steadied in an instant. On the other hand, the Qin formation began to falter at the mere news that she had appeared.
It was almost unbelievable—the sheer influence one individual could exert. Although Lord Xinling had left Wei for Zhao’s sake, the reverence the people of Wei held for her remained unchanged. Simply knowing that she was fighting alongside them caused the Wei soldiers’ fighting spirit to surge so fiercely that one could hardly believe they were the same army from moments ago.
Individually, the quality of Qin’s soldiers was undoubtedly superior. In numbers as well, Qin held the advantage. And yet, despite holding absolute superiority in both quality and quantity, the sight of Qin’s army being pushed back was nothing short of astonishing.
Why was morale so important? The answer was unfolding right before our eyes.
I had roughly understood, through the later concept of “moral collapse,” just how critical morale was in battle. But witnessing its power firsthand made me realize my previous knowledge had been nothing more than scratching the surface.
If a commander possesses absolute presence, can any numerical disadvantage be overcome…?
In this era, before the development of firearms, morale was an especially decisive factor in cold-weapon warfare. And it wasn’t just what was happening before us. Soon enough, an unprecedented event would occur that would dwarf even this—an event where Xiang Yu would devour an enemy force of five hundred and sixty thousand with only thirty thousand men at the Battle of Pengcheng.
Yet something still nagged at me. No matter how important a commander and morale were, it felt shameless to expect Qin’s army to collapse from that alone. Their discipline, forged by an uncompromising military code, was ironclad. At first they had faltered at the cry that Lord Xinling had appeared, but that hesitation lasted only a moment.
Above all, a commander stepping forward in person was a double-edged sword.
"Going that far ahead… isn’t that too reckless!" Xiang Tai spat out a near-scream of shock.
Lord Xinling had already advanced close to the front lines. In response, the Qin soldiers attacked with even greater ferocity. This was exactly what I had feared.
A commander beloved and respected by the troops could raise their fighting spirit through presence alone. But if that commander were to fall to the enemy? While it might drive some to frenzy with thoughts of revenge, in most cases morale would plummet far lower than it had risen. And once morale crashed into the abyss, defeat usually followed. Lord Xinling’s advance to the front was a high-risk, high-reward gamble.
No wonder Admiral Yi Sun-sin hid his own death.
Even Yi Sun-sin had chosen to conceal his death because he could not predict how his soldiers would react. Lord Xinling might be extraordinary, but she could hardly possess the power to foresee the future that had eluded even him.
Unless she had assumed from the beginning that she might die and had already positioned people to manage the aftermath… but that doesn’t seem to be the case.
Xiang Tai, whose eye for the battlefield was sharper than mine, had judged her action reckless for that very reason. Yet Sima Shang, who possessed an even keener vision, reacted differently.
"I knew Lord Xinling was a terrifying person, but seeing it in person… she’s even more so."
"What do you mean?"
Had Sima Shang seen something that neither I nor Xiang Tai had noticed? When I asked her—since her assessment stood in complete contrast to Xiang Tai’s claim of recklessness—she answered without taking her eyes off the battlefield.
"All warfare is based on deception. Lure the enemy with profit, take advantage of disorder, prepare against the strong, avoid the powerful, anger them to create chaos, feign weakness to breed arrogance, tire them by keeping them moving, attack where they are unprepared, and strike where they do not expect it. This is the way to victory—ensure the enemy never understands your true intent."
"The Art of War…?"
Xiang Tai muttered in a daze, recognizing the passage Sima Shang had quietly recited.
"Then is Lord Xinling’s move meant to lure them with profit?"
"It’s one of several possibilities."
"Raising morale and drawing in the enemy… that means she must have another true objective!"
"Most likely."
Even under Xiang Tai’s urgent questioning, Sima Shang answered in a dry tone and smoothly shifted her gaze.
"Looks like the left wing."
Meng Ao was carefully observing the battlefield where the Qin army was fiercely pressing its attack. The moment he noticed the change in the front lines, he instinctively understood.
"So she has finally stepped forward… Lord Xinling."
He knew at once that she had personally entered the fray.
"Inform the entire army! Do not waver at the name of Lord Xinling! Our right wing already holds a clear advantage! This is our chance—capture her here and now! To any man who so much as wounds Lord Xinling, I grant a first-class title! To the one who captures her alive or delivers her head, I promise ten thousand gold and the rank of feudal lord!"
Though Meng Ao spoke to calm the soldiers, claiming it was nothing, no one understood the truth better than he did. He had been present at the Siege of Handan, where Lord Xinling’s name had shaken the world. At the time, Wang He had been the commander and Meng Ao his deputy, but that shocking defeat had reversed their positions.
Yet Meng Ao was certain that even if he had been in Wang He’s place, the outcome would not have changed. That was how overwhelming Lord Xinling’s displayed ability had been.
"She is the most fearsome enemy under heaven. If we can eliminate her here, even if a hundred thousand men die in this battle, we will still have won."
Some claimed that Lian Po was Qin’s greatest foe. But Meng Ao could declare with absolute certainty that the greatest wall Qin must overcome was not Lian Po, but Lord Xinling—Wei Wuji. Lian Po was comparatively easier. He was a lone general with a fiery temper that created enemies on its own, effectively shackling him. His past terrifying divine might had only been possible with the perfect support of Lin Xiangru. The moment Lin Xiangru fell ill, Lian Po had crumbled helplessly before Qin’s simple internal divisions. Having traded tactical defeat for strategic victory, he had been forced to leave Changping.
But Lord Xinling was different. Unlike Lian Po, she had far too many followers—even within Qin itself.
She must be eliminated here.
Steel in his resolve, Meng Ao stepped forward to further encourage the troops. It was then that an anomaly appeared at the edge of his vision.
"What in the world is…!"