The oppressive heat inside General Yuan Shikai's command tent was nothing compared to the glacial frost that had settled between its two most powerful occupants. The air was taut, humming with the unsaid animosity of two alpha predators forced to share the same territory. Colonel Liang, Yuan's sycophantic chief of staff, stood at the center of the tent, his voice swelling with a triumphant, vicarious satisfaction as he read the Emperor's first decree aloud.
"…and thus, General Meng Tian is reminded that unity of command is paramount for the success of this campaign," Liang recited, puffing out his chest. "All necessary measures for the swift and total pacification of the northern territories remain under the full and direct authority of the Northern Pacification Command. Signed by the Son of Heaven, blessed by the Mandate of Heaven."
He finished with a flourish, rolling the scroll shut as if he had penned it himself. Yuan Shikai leaned back in his massive campaign chair, a broad, self-satisfied smile spreading across his face. He laced his fingers over his stomach and looked at Meng Tian, his eyes gleaming with victory.
"Well, General," he said, his voice dripping with condescension. "It seems His Majesty, in his infinite wisdom, appreciates the practical necessities of warfare over the… finer points of battlefield etiquette. Your concerns, while nobly intended I am sure, have been noted and set aside. The Emperor wants results, not rhetoric. Now, as I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted by your moralizing, about the punitive action against the Tergin clan…"
Before Yuan could savor his victory further, the tent flap was thrust open again. A second Imperial Courier, his uniform coated in the dust of a hard ride, strode in, bypassing Colonel Liang completely. He marched directly to Meng Tian, bowed low, and presented a sealed, crimson scroll.
Meng Tian took it. The silence in the tent was absolute. All eyes were on him as he calmly broke the wax seal and unrolled the document. His stoic expression did not change as he read the elegant, forceful script, but for the first time in days, the heavy tension in his shoulders seemed to ease. A new light entered his eyes—not of triumph, but of purpose. It was the keen, focused glint of a master hunter who has just been shown his quarry.
Yuan's smile faltered, replaced by a frown of impatient curiosity. "Well?" he snapped. "What is it? Orders for your reassignment back to the capital, perhaps? Has the Emperor decided he needs a parade commander more than a frontier general?"
Meng Tian slowly rolled up the scroll and tucked it neatly into his wide leather belt. He looked directly at Yuan Shikai, and for the first time since this conflict began, the faintest hint of a smile touched his lips. It was a cold, sharp smile.
"Not exactly, General. His Majesty has seen fit to create a new, independent command. He has named it the Dragon's Claw Division. I am to be its commander. My forces—the Imperial Guard and the 3rd and 7th Elite Cavalry Regiments—are hereby detached from your authority, effective immediately."
Yuan Shikai sat bolt upright in his chair, his face a mask of disbelief. His victory was dissolving like smoke. "What? Independent? What is the meaning of this? The first decree gave me supreme command!"
"The first decree gave you command of the pacification," Meng Tian corrected him, his voice precise and cutting. "A Warden's duty. My mandate is different. It is simple, and it is clear. I am to hunt and destroy the specific enemy cell responsible for the poisoning at Blockhouse #73. My sole targets are its leader, the woman known as 'Altan,' and her foreign handlers. I am to operate as I see fit, wherever the intelligence leads me. The Emperor has given me a scalpel and has pointed me directly at the heart of the cancer." He paused, letting the devastating implication hang in the air for a moment. "While you, General, are left to manage the… messy symptoms."
The insult landed with the force of a physical blow. Yuan was the blunt instrument for crowd control; Meng Tian was the elite weapon for the real war. The Emperor had publicly affirmed Yuan's methods but had privately trusted Meng Tian with the more critical, more prestigious mission. Yuan's face darkened, flushing with a wave of humiliated fury. He had been given authority on paper, but he had been strategically and publicly neutered.
"So," Yuan snarled through gritted teeth, his voice a low hiss. "You get to play the hero, chasing phantoms across the steppe with your elite pets while I do the hard, thankless work of holding this godforsaken territory. Very well. We shall see whose methods bear fruit first. We shall see whose name the Emperor speaks with favor in a year's time, yours or mine."
"Indeed we shall," Meng Tian replied coolly. He turned his back on Yuan, a gesture of ultimate dismissal, and addressed the spymaster. "Shen Ke. My first request as commander of the Dragon's Claw. I need everything you have on this Altan. Her clan, her family history, her habits, her allies, her enemies. I am not interested in where she was. I want to know how she thinks. Where would she go for shelter? Who would she trust among the tribes? I will not hunt the wolf's tracks. I will hunt the wolf's mind."
Shen Ke, who had watched the entire exchange with the dispassionate interest of a scholar observing chemical reactions, gave a slight nod. He was intrigued by this new, intelligence-led approach. "A full psychological and network profile will be prepared for you within two days, General. We have already begun."
Meng Tian gave a sharp, single nod of acknowledgment. Without another glance at the seething General Yuan, he strode out of the tent into the cleansing sunlight, his purpose renewed, his step light. He was no longer a reluctant subordinate; he was a commander on the hunt.
Yuan Shikai was left staring at the decree that had felt like a glorious victory only moments before, but which now felt like a gilded cage, a public insult wrapped in imperial silk. He felt the eyes of his staff on him, saw their uncertainty. His authority, so absolute a moment ago, now felt hollow.
He slammed his fist on the heavy oak desk, the impact rattling every inkwell and canister. "He thinks he is clever!" he bellowed, his rage finally boiling over. "The Emperor thinks he is so very clever! Fine! If my method is terror, then I will provide terror on a scale they cannot possibly imagine! If I am to be a sledgehammer, then I will shatter this entire land to dust! Colonel Liang!"
"Sir!" the colonel snapped to attention.
"I am scrapping the 'collective responsibility' policy. It is too slow. Too reactive. It leaves too much to chance. Issue General Order 118, effective immediately. We will begin The Iron Census. We will sweep through the territories west of the Clear Zone, clan by clan. We will register every man, woman, and child. Their names, their lineage, their allegiances. We will confiscate all weapons—every sword, every spear, every bow. No exceptions. Any clan failing to report for the census on the appointed day or found with so much as a single unregistered arrow will be declared hostile and liquidated. We will burn the grass that feeds their horses and divert the streams that give them water. If Meng Tian wants to hunt one clever wolf, then I will starve the entire pack to death. We will see which method breaks this land first. His scalpel, or my fist."
Yuan's fury had pushed him past the point of strategic cruelty into the realm of nihilistic destruction. He was no longer just trying to pacify the north. He was in a direct, personal competition with Meng Tian, and he was determined to win, no matter the cost in blood or devastation. The Emperor's "competition" had immediately and irrevocably escalated the brutality of the conflict, unleashing two opposing but equally ruthless forces upon the long-suffering steppe.