"Mingli!" Yin Changpu ran to the freckled young man.
Fan Mingli turned to him, brows wrinkled. "What?"
"Here. I want you to have this. You know, just while I fight off in battle." Yin Changpu pulled out something from his pocket and handed it to him.
Glancing down at his palms, Fan Mingli tilted his head, confused. In his hands was an old rusty silver coin, the edges jagged.
"What is this?" He couldn't understand why he would hand him such an old coin.
"It's my lucky coin. Well, my grandfathers. He gave it to me when I went to train in the army. He said it would give me good fortune and luck when I fought." Yin Changpu said with a smile, his eyes crinkled with reminiscences.
Fan Mingli was surprised. "Then why...Why are you giving this to me?"
Yin Changpu shrugged. "I think I wore it out already. Besides, it'll be in better if it's in the hands of someone hardworking like you."
Looking up, Fan Mingli pursed his lips. He looked down at the coin in his hand, rubbing his thumb along its carved lines. His mind dwelled on the warm feeling in his heart.
"Thank you. I will take good care of it." He smiled.
Grinning as well, Yin Changpu patted his shoulder. "I know you will."
At that moment, General Donghai's voice sounded from nearby, shouting for all the troops to gather. They were leaving for battle.
"Well, see you around." Yin Changpu adjusted the sword on his waist before turning around to leave.
"Be safe." Fan Mingli shouted, earning a shoulder glance form the man and a smile.
Then, he walked away, marching closer to a future of uncertainty.
...
Dawn broke that morning on the western center field, but the sun did not shine on the approaching crowds. Out of the west and out of the north came two armies, full of bloodthirsty raging men.
The sound of the horn shuddered through the field, faint and far, yet unmistakable. They could hear the army before they saw it; roaring, clattering weapons, blowing horns.
An Sun held his sword aloft as he galloped his horse across the earth. His golden shield was uncovered and low. It shone like the sun, and the grass flamed into green about the white feet of his steed. Bai Han came up beside him, his army behind him swelled like a tide.
Above, the morning clouds began to bleed red, reflecting its glow against the Tuhan army that was approaching from the west. They arched in the sky gracefully, seemingly slow because of the great distance.
Descending the hill, there they saw them; a bristling sea of men laid out in neat squares. Each was marked with a red symbol of the An Clan. A bright and scarlet hawk, its image like blood.
A horn blew, and practically every man's chest heaved. General Donghai waved his huge sword and bellowed a command, and a thousand other voices screamed back at him. In a clanking, clattering mass, they all lurched into a run.
Half the horses shied the last second, breaking their charge before the row of spears. The others died, sharp steel points ripping through their chests. An Sun saw a dozen men go down.
It was at that moment, explosions shook the ground. The traps they had lay had set off. Nearby screams rose to accompany the thunder of hoofbeats. The front lines collided in an explosion of sound, a burst of spraying splinters and bronze and blood. Still, men fought, charging and slashing forward with a roar.
