Jinghe Year Fifteen, the eighteenth day of the eighth month.
More than a month had passed since Zhou Quan left Datong.
The Western Campaign General's seal hung at his waist as he traveled south through Taiyuan, then turned west into Shaanxi.
A hundred mounted guards accompanied him, with neither baggage train nor families, riding day and night.
In that month, he changed mounts three times and covered a thousand li without stopping to rest.
When Zhou Quan passed through Taiyuan Prefecture, he had not intended to disturb the local authorities.
The city's Military Defense Intendant heard of his arrival and came out to greet him, waiting beside the official road with wine and food.
Zhou Quan reined in and said only, "Fresh mounts."
The intendant looked embarrassed and was about to arrange the horses when an old soldier suddenly pushed through the rear of the crowd. He stared straight at Zhou Quan and asked in a trembling voice:
"G-General, are you Zhou Dongning?"
No one had called him that in fifteen years.
Zhou Quan held his reins and looked down at the old soldier.
The old soldier shuffled forward two steps on his knees, then stopped.
"I served under you at Black Mountain Ridge, General!
That night you held the rear-you were fierce as hell!" The old soldier's voice shook.
Zhou Quan said nothing.
He studied the old soldier for a long time, then suddenly swung down from his horse and strode up to him in two steps.
"Still alive?"
"Alive!"
"Good. That's good." Zhou Quan released his hand, turned, unfastened a flask of wine from his saddle, and thrust it into the old soldier's arms.
"Take this wine."
The old soldier clutched the flask, his eyes red.
"Zhou Dongning, what are you going there for?"
Zhou Quan swung