A Single String's Hum, a Thousand Arrows Fall; Ten Thousand Barbarians Startled, Their Courage Shattered

On the border between Donghu and the Xiongnu, a fierce wind swept up sand and gravel, skimming over the rolling military camps. Countless banners snapped loudly in the wind, creating an imposing spectacle.

From afar, the tents stretched for dozens of li, cooking smoke curling upward as voices roared like a boiling cauldron. An army of eighty thousand stood ready in tight formation, brimming with killing intent, as though it would march forth the very next moment and drive straight into the heart of Xiongnu territory.

Yet only Meng Wu knew that all of this was nothing more than a show of strength.

Though there were many tents, half of them stood empty. Though the banners were densely packed, most were merely props meant to bolster their apparent momentum.

The army of eighty thousand looked massive, but in truth, it had been cobbled together from every corner—

Half of it consisted of Yan Army soldiers who had surrendered after their previous defeat. Their morale had yet to stabilize, and their combat strength was weak.

Of the remaining Qin Army troops, more than half were logistics personnel responsible for escorting provisions and guarding the camp.

The true elite capable of taking the field numbered only thirty or forty thousand.

Inside the central command tent, the furnishings were sparse. A map of the border terrain lay spread across a desk.

Meng Wu sat at the head of the table, holding a cup of hot tea. His expression was composed as his fingers lightly tapped the rim, his calm gaze resting on the border defenses marked on the map, without the slightest trace of panic.

The sounds of patrolling soldiers' footsteps and banners snapping in the wind came from outside the tent, yet within, all was exceptionally quiet.

As he drank his tea,