The jade seal felt heavier than a millstone on the rough-hewn table in Lin Wei's new command tent. It was no longer a symbol of victory, but a weight of impossible responsibility.
Around him, the air was thick with the smell of dust and dried ink. Scrolls lay unrolled, revealing not battle plans, but the true enemy: columns of numbers, inventory lists, and procurement codes. The war for survival had become a war of logistics.
Lin Wei looked at the three faces illuminated by the single lamp. Ox Li, a mountain of silent loyalty. Sly Liu, eyes darting with feral cunning. Scholar Zhang, his fingers stained with ink, his expression one of grim focus.
"The official requisition channels are a dead end," Lin Wei stated, his voice flat. He tapped a scroll. "According to the quartermaster's ledgers, the entire Imperial Army has cloth for banners and officer's uniforms, but not enough linen for a thousand bandages. They have wine for the general's table, but not enough alcohol to clean the wounds of a single battalion. We cannot build a medical corps with parchment promises."
He smoothed a rough map of the camp Sly Liu had sketched in the dirt. "We do not ask. We acquire. Each of you has a task."
He turned first to Scholar Zhang. "Zhang, your battlefield is the legal archive. I need a regulation, an obscure clause, anything that gives a unit commander the authority to audit and requisition supplies for 'immediate campaign readiness.' Find me the key to unlock their storehouses within their own rules."
Zhang's eyes lit with the fire of an academic challenge. "The bureaucratic mind is a labyrinth, but every labyrinth has a weak wall. I will find it." He rose and vanished into the night, a scholar on a military mission.
"Liu," Lin Wei said, his gaze shifting to the thief. "The quartermaster's clerks will lie. I need to know what is actually in the warehouses. Which storerooms hold the good linen? Where do they hide the strong liquor? I need a map of the truth, not the official story."
A wicked grin split Liu's face. "The clerks are greedy, and the guards are bored. Greed and boredom are doors waiting to be opened. I will have your map." He slipped out of the tent as silently as a shadow.
Finally, Lin Wei looked at Ox Li. "Ox, your task is the simplest, and the most important. Guard what little we have. Station your most reliable men at our own supply tent. Let no one but our corps approach. Be seen. Be a wall."
Ox Li grunted, a sound of pure understanding. He hefted his axe, not as a threat, but as a statement of fact, and strode out to turn his presence into a perimeter.
The camp was a living organism, and by dawn, Lin Wei's team had infiltrated its veins.
Scholar Zhang returned as the sun rose, unrolling a scroll with a flourish. His voice trembled not with fear, but with triumph. "Camp Regulation 14, subsection 2! It's a relic, from a time of constant war. It states that a commander of an independent unit, when faced with an imminent campaign, may, with two witnesses, audit and requisition any supplies deemed 'surplus to static defense' for the immediate readiness of his mobile force. The quartermaster cannot refuse an audit. The regulation compels his compliance."
An hour later, Sly Liu slunk back in, smelling of cheap wine and campfire smoke. He pointed a grimy finger at Zhang's map.
"The central depot is a lie. The west wing is full of rags and rotten grain, for show. The real supplies—the good northern linen, the sealed jars of strong wine, the quality tools—are in the east wing, behind a locked gate guarded by the quartermaster's cousin. It's his private treasury. He sells it off bit by bit."
Lin Wei looked from the scroll to the map. The key and the lock. "Then it's time we paid the quartermaster a visit."
They marched to the main depot not as supplicants, but as a delegation of force. Lin Wei at the front, the jade seal hanging from his belt. Scholar Zhang to his right, clutching the scroll of regulations. Ox Li to his left, a silent avalanche of muscle. Sly Liu lingered at the edges, watching the faces in the crowd.
The chief clerk, a man with the pinched face of a man who lived by denying requests, stepped forward, already smirking. "Surgeon-General. To what do we owe the—?"
Lin Wei didn't let him finish. He held up the seal. "By the authority vested in me by the Generalissimo, and under the provisions of Camp Regulation 14, subsection 2, I am here to conduct an audit for imminent campaign readiness." His voice cut through the depot's yard, drawing the attention of every clerk and laborer.
The clerk's smirk vanished, replaced by confusion, then panic. "An audit? There's no time! The forms… the approvals…"
"The regulation requires no further approval," Scholar Zhang interjected, his voice crisp and loud. He read the clause aloud, each word a hammer blow to the clerk's composure.
"Now," Lin Wei said, his eyes locking onto the clerk's. "You will open the east wing."
The man paled. "The east wing is… is under inventory…"
"It contains surplus supplies necessary for the mobility and effectiveness of the Field Medical Corps," Lin Wei stated, his voice dropping, using the intelligence Liu had provided as a weapon. "Open the gate. Or I will have Sergeant Ox Li ascertain why there is a delay."
Ox Li took a single step forward. The ground seemed to shake. He didn't speak. He didn't need to.
The clerk fumbled with his keys, his hands shaking. The gate to the east wing creaked open, revealing stacks of pristine linen, sealed jars of wine, and crates of finely made tools.
For the next hour, under the stunned gaze of the depot staff, Lin Wei's medics, under Ox Li's supervision, efficiently loaded carts with their lawful prize. It was not a request. It was a seizure, justified by law and enforced by presence.
The victory was silent, tangible. They returned to their compound not as petitioners, but as provisioners. The chapter seemed to be closing on a note of hard-won success.
As the last cart was unloaded, a horse skidded to a halt outside the compound. A dust-covered messenger, wearing the insignia of the command staff, thrust a scroll into Lin Wei's hands.
"Orders from Commander Xin," the man gasped. "The Jin are raiding supply lines north of the river. The vanguard marches at dawn to intercept. The Field Medical Corps is to be attached. You break camp in two hours."
The messenger wheeled his horse and was gone. Lin Wei unrolled the scroll. The words were simple, the implications vast. The proving ground was no longer a parade field or a depot yard.
He looked at the stacks of supplies, then at the faces of his team. The directive in his mind,
"[Build the System]", shimmered and narrowed, its focus shifting to a brutal, immediate test.
"[New Sub-Directive: Field Test the System.]"
The bureaucratic war was won. The real war had just knocked on his door.