The patriarch, Zhao Wenhai, cast a solemn gaze over everyone seated in the hall. The warm light from the hanging lanterns flickered softly against his weathered face, emphasizing the weight of his words even before he spoke. The room grew quiet, the faint crackle of the brazier in the corner the only sound that dared interrupt the stillness.

  “I’ve summoned you all today,” Zhao Wenhai began, his deep voice resonating through the hall, “because troubling news has arrived from the northern borders. The barbarian tribes are stirring once again. The border guards have reported heightened activity, and they are now on high alert.”

  Murmurs rippled through the room like a soft breeze, but they quickly faded as one of the elderly men on the left, Elder Zhao Ming, leaned forward slightly. His sharp, discerning eyes met the patriarch's as he stroked his long, silver beard.

  “The barbarians have always been restless,” Elder Zhao Ming remarked, his tone both curious and skeptical. “What makes this different? Surely, their usual skirmishes aren’t enough to unsettle our seasoned guards.”

  The patriarch nodded slowly, acknowledging the elder’s point, but his eyes darkened with the gravity of what he would say next.

  “You’re right, Elder Ming. The barbarians’ raids and provocations are nothing new to us,” Zhao Wenhai agreed. “But this time, it’s different. Reports confirm that their Wolf Cavalry has been sighted near the border.”

  A heavy silence fell over the hall. The mere mention of the Wolf Cavalry sent a chill through the room, as if the winter winds outside had suddenly crept into the very walls of the Zhao manor. The Wolf Cavalry were not mere raiders—they were the elite vanguard of the northern tribes, infamous for their brutal tactics and lightning-fast attacks. Their presence was no small threat.

  Zhao Wenhai continued, his voice steady but laced with concern. “That is why the border guards have requested reinforcements. As you all know, our Zhao clan and the Bao clan are the closest to the northern frontier. The responsibility falls on us to answer this call.”

  Zhao Liang's gaze sharpened, while his elder brother Zhao Rui’s brows furrowed thoughtfully. The patriarch pressed on.

  “We will send both reinforcements and resources to fortify the border. However, the journey from Yunshan to the frontier will take nearly a month for our forces. The Bao clan’s soldiers may take about a month and a half to arrive. We cannot predict when the barbarians will strike.”

  He paused, his eyes sweeping across the room, gauging the reactions of those present. “This is why this meeting has been called. We must decide swiftly how to proceed. Delay could cost us dearly.”

  The room remained heavy with unspoken tension, each member of the Zhao clan understanding the gravity of the situation. The barbarians were more than a distant threat now—they were a storm on the horizon, and the Zhao clan would be among the first to face its fury.

  Elder Zhao Qian, seated beside Elder Ming, adjusted his sleeves and leaned forward slightly, his expression calm but measured. His eyes, sharp with years of experience, swept over the gathered family members before settling on the patriarch.

  “Patriarch Wenhai,” Elder Qian began, his voice steady and authoritative, “while the situation at the border is indeed concerning, we must not act rashly. The barbarians are unpredictable, yes, but we do not yet have confirmation of an imminent attack. Even if they were to strike, the border guards and fortress are fortified enough to withstand such pressure. They’ve held firm before, and as long as no major breach occurs, they should be able to endure for at least half a year.”

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  A murmur of agreement passed through a few of the seated elders, but Zhao Wenhai’s expression remained stern. He raised a hand, and the hall quieted once more.

  “Elder Qian, your caution is understandable,” the patriarch replied, his voice slow but resolute. “However, this year’s winter has been harsher and longer than any in recent memory. The snows came early, and they have lingered well into the season. This has strained the border’s resources severely.”

  Zhao Wenhai’s gaze hardened as he continued, “For months now, the guards have been surviving on dwindling supplies. Their strength is not what it was. Even the bravest soldiers cannot fight on empty stomachs. Hunger dulls the blade and weakens the arm. If the barbarians time their assault well, our forces might falter before reinforcements can arrive.”

  The room fell into thoughtful silence. The reality of the prolonged winter and its toll on the border defenses weighed heavily on everyone present.

  After a moment, Zhao Rui, the eldest son, spoke up. “Father, even if we send reinforcements, moving with the necessary rations through the snow will slow our soldiers down. The treacherous terrain will delay them, perhaps pushing their arrival beyond a month. The Bao clan will face the same difficulties.”

  Zhao Wenhai nodded, acknowledging his son’s point. “That is why I propose a different approach,” he declared, his tone firm. “We will divide our forces into two groups. The first batch will depart immediately, carrying only minimal rations to ensure speed. Their mission will be to bolster the morale and defense of the border until further help arrives.”

  He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing.

  “The second group will follow, tasked with transporting the bulk of the rations and supplies. Though they will move slower, their arrival will be crucial to sustaining the defense in the long term. This way, we balance speed with sustainability, ensuring our forces are both timely and well-provisioned.”

  The elders exchanged glances, nodding slowly as the strategy settled in their minds. Elder Qian, though still cautious, gave a slight bow of his head in acknowledgment.

  “A wise plan, Patriarch,” he conceded. “It balances both prudence and action.”

  Zhao Wenhai looked over his family, his eyes lingering on Zhao Rui and Zhao Liang.

  “This will not be an easy task,” he concluded. “But our Zhao clan has never shied away from responsibility. We will protect our land, our people, and our honor.”

  The hall echoed with a unified, solemn nod, as the Zhao clan steeled themselves for the coming trials.

  Patriarch Zhao Wenhai's voice resonated through the hall with authority, leaving no room for doubt.

  "The first division will be under your command, Zhao Rui," he declared, his gaze fixed firmly on his eldest son. "You are to depart by tomorrow at first light. The morale of the border depends on your swift arrival."

  Zhao Rui, clad in a deep blue robe befitting his status, rose from his seat with measured grace. He stepped forward, clasping his hands in a respectful salute before bowing deeply to his father.

  "I, Zhao Rui, swear upon the honor of our clan," he proclaimed, his voice steady and resolute, "that I and the soldiers under my command will not disappoint you, Father. We will reach the border swiftly and stand firm against any threat."

  Zhao Wenhai gave a slight nod of approval, his eyes reflecting both pride and the heavy burden of responsibility. "Good," he replied curtly. "You may leave now to make your preparations. Ensure everything is ready before dawn."

  Without another word, Zhao Rui straightened, gave a final respectful bow to the elders in the hall, and turned to exit, his footsteps echoing with purpose.

  The patriarch then shifted his gaze to his second son, Zhao Liang, who sat quietly but attentively beside his younger brother.

  "As for you, Zhao Liang," Zhao Wenhai continued, "you will lead the second division, responsible for transporting the rations and supplies. It is a task of equal importance. Without sustenance, even the bravest soldiers will fall. Your third brother will remain here—he is still too young to partake in this responsibility."

  Zhao Liang’s eyes flicked to his younger brother, Zhao Min, seated beside him. The boy, barely in his teens, had a calm demeanor but a hint of shyness lingered in his expression. Despite his youth, there was a quiet strength in his eyes that spoke of future potential. Zhao Liang offered him a reassuring smile before rising to his feet.

  With deliberate grace, Zhao Liang stepped forward and performed a formal bow, the sleeves of his white winter robe cascading down like falling snow. "I, Zhao Liang, swear upon our family’s name that I will deliver the supplies safely to the border. I will not fail you, Father."

  Zhao Wenhai studied his second son for a long moment before nodding with approval. "See that you do. Both of you carry not just the hopes of this family, but the lives of many on your shoulders." His gaze softened slightly as it moved between Zhao Liang and Zhao Min. "You may both leave now. Prepare well."

  Zhao Min, though young, rose with respectful composure. Bowing first to his father and then to the elders, he murmured softly, "I will honor the clan here in Yunshan, Father."

  The patriarch gave a small, approving nod.

  With that, Zhao Liang and his younger brother turned, their steps light but purposeful as they exited the grand hall. The heavy wooden doors closed behind them with a deep, echoing thud, leaving the elders and the patriarch to contemplate the weight of the days ahead.