My time spent huddled over a desk with a servant boy was about to be weighed and measured.

  I gave the steward a slight nod. I carefully rolled up the large sheet of paper containing my detailed trebuchet diagram. I gathered a few of my newly-made pencils and a small, soft lump of resin that, through trial and error, I'd found worked as a surprisingly effective eraser.

  "Xiao Qi," I said calmly. The boy, who had been practicing writing his own name with an intensity that bordered on religious fervor, immediately put down his charcoal stick and stood at attention. "Could you help me carry these?"

  I handed him the roll of paper and the small bundle of pencils. His face shone with terror warring with an immense pride at being included in a summons from the master himself. He took the items with a reverence typically reserved for a priceless relic.

  I followed Steward Feng, my own steps falling into a measured cadence on the stone path. Behind me, I could hear the soft patter of Xiao Qi's feet, the sound of a boy trying his best to be unobtrusive. I felt… bad for him. I hoped in time I could guide him to become more of an apprentice than a servant.

  Ahead, the Steward seemed to glide, his own steps making no sound at all.

  He led us not to the gardens, but to a different building in the Eastern Wing. A library. The moment he slid open the heavy door, the air that spilled out smelled of ancient paper, fragrant cedar wood, and a profound, scholarly silence. It was the scent of power, distilled and bound in ink. Shelves reaching to the high ceiling were packed with thousands of scrolls, a silent army of knowledge awaiting a commander. Vast maps of the empire and its frontier prefectures, drawn with meticulous care, adorned the walls.

  This time Vice Minister Feng was not practicing calligraphy. He sat behind a massive desk of dark, polished wood, the surface so reflective it looked like a black mirror. He was examining a bronze artifact, a ritual vessel from some long-dead dynasty, turning it over in his hands. He looked up as we entered, his obsidian eyes immediately flicking from me to the nervous boy and the roll of paper he clutched.

  "Steward," Lord Feng said without preamble, his voice a soft murmur that filled the silent room and the bronze vessel was laid softly on a lacquered box on a side table. "You may leave us."

  Steward Feng bowed low and retreated, sliding the door shut with a soft click. The sound was deafeningly final. It was just me, my young servant, and the Vice-Minister of Rites.

  "You have been busy, Scholar Zhang," Lord Feng observed, his gaze resting on my creations in Xiao Qi's arms. "My steward tells me you have developed a fondness for charcoal and clay. How atypical for a man of learning. Show me."

  I motioned for Xiao Qi to come forward. With trembling hands, the boy placed the items on the desk. But before Lord Feng's eyes could focus on the war machine, he was drawn to the instrument that created it. The lines were not of ink and too fine, too dark and consistent for a common charcoal. He picked up one of my pencils, feeling its unfamiliar weight and balance, observing the strange, dark core set within its wooden shell.

  "What is this?" he asked.

  "A tool for drafting, My Lord," I replied. "It is cleaner and more precise than a brush for preliminary sketches. More importantly," I added, taking another pencil and a roll of paper, "what is drawn can be undone."

  I drew a firm, straight line on a scrap piece of paper. Then, I took the lump of soft resin and rubbed it over the mark. The charcoal line vanished, lifting from the paper and leaving only a faint mark.

  Lord Feng's eyes flickered with interest. He understood the utility instantly. The ability to draft, plan, and correct those plans without ruining the paper or starting anew… for a strategist or an architect, it was a significant convenience. He gave a low hum of approval, a sound of quiet, intellectual satisfaction. "A clever tool," he remarked, setting it down carefully. "Useful."

  Then, his gaze fell upon the drawing itself. His cultured demeanor sharpened, the scholar replaced by the tactician. He recognized the shape instantly.

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  "A siege engine," he stated. He studied it for a long moment, his expert eye picking out the details that made it different, alien. "But this is not one of the Imperial Army's 'Whirlwind' catapults. The arm on those is powered by a team of men pulling ropes."

  He tapped a long, elegant finger on the diagram, precisely on the large box I had drawn at the short end of the throwing arm. He motioned with his hand, as if working out how the device would throw.

  "This… this is the heart of it instead, is it not?" he murmured thoughtfully. "This great weight. It is not powered by the momentary strength of men, but by the unyielding power of the earth itself."

  He looked up at me, his eyes burning with an intense, acquisitive curiosity.

  "Explain it to me. In detail."

  "This is a counterweight trebuchet," I said, my voice even and measured, even though I was about to make up a story. This was a mistake and if Lord Feng pursued this further the consequences would be impossible to contain. "I cannot claim its invention, My Lord. I have seen it in my travels to the far west. The great weight is lifted, and as it falls, a much smaller stone is launched a great distance, the rope and pocket acting like the end of a whip. It can throw a payload of a hundred catties at more than a hundred paces. It is useful for besieging a thinly walled town, though careful calibration is required to ensure multiple stones land close together for greatest effect. The wooden arm is key, and must be reinforced to withstand the forces at work."

  I paused, letting him absorb the technical details. Then, I played my final card.

  "It is worth noting, however, that this machine is unlikely to be effective against the great walls of a proper city like Chang'an, or a major prefectural capital. The walls of the Empire are engineered works of packed earth, thick enough to absorb such impacts for weeks. Its true strength lies in its use against the lesser fortifications of provincial towns or against private, thinner fortifications. It is difficult to transport but designed to be easily fabricated so long as there are basic resources near the site of the siege."

  I spoke calmly, laying out my knowledge with the precision of a scholar and the pragmatism of a field commander. I had carefully framed myself not as an inventor, a role that invites suspicion and questions, but as a well-traveled man who observes and understands. It was a far more believable and, in many ways, more valuable persona.

  Lord Feng listened without interruption, his eyes fixed on the diagram as I spoke. He nodded slowly when I mentioned the need for concentrated fire. But it was my final points, the frank assessment of the weapon's limitations, that made him look up from the drawing and truly see me.

  A long silence filled the room, broken only by the faint scratching sound of Xiao Qi shifting his weight nervously. Lord Feng stroked his thin goatee, his expression thoughtful. He was no longer looking at a weapon design but now the person who had presented it.

  "Out west," he mused, his voice a low murmur. "It must be beyond the Abbasid Caliphate. Perhaps from the lands of Great Western Qin. Interesting."

  I supposed I shouldn't have been surprised he knew so much, considering the number of traders who arrived at Chang'an.

  He rose from his desk and walked to the window, his hands clasped behind his back, looking out over his perfect, controlled garden.

  "Many claim their sword can cut through any shield. They boast of its strength." He turned back to face me, a flicker of something that might have been respect in his eyes. "You bring me a new sword and are the first to tell me which armor it cannot cut. I like that."

  He knew that I understood. Power was not merely the possession of a weapon, but the wisdom to know precisely when, where, and how to apply it. And, most importantly, when to keep it sheathed.

  "This is a valuable perspective," Lord Feng continued, his voice shifting back to the crisp tone of a minister issuing orders. "And I have a use for it. I'll have my military advisors take a look at this device. In the meantime, your first assignment begins now."

  He walked back to his desk. "My family has ancestral lands in Yingchuan Prefecture, south east of the capital. The estate there oversees a number of lucrative iron mines. In recent years, with the Imperial Army's focus on the distant frontiers, local banditry has become… troublesome. The fortifications are old, designed to stop roving peasants, but there are now bands of desperate men, many of whom are former soldiers who know how to fight in an organized fashion."

  He looked me directly in the eye, his command absolute.

  "You will travel to Yingchuan as my personal inspector. You will assess the estate's defenses. You will use your knowledge" he gestured towards my diagram "to design appropriate fortifications. Not for a great city wall, but for a provincial estate against a serious, organized threat. You will draw me the plans. You will detail the costs, the manpower, and the time required."

  "Steward Feng will provide you with a budget, detailed maps of the region, and letters of introduction bearing my seal. You will have the authority to commission what you need on my account."

  His gaze shifted to Xiao Qi, who stood ramrod straight by the door, trying to make himself as small as possible. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched Lord Feng's lips. "And you will take your boy with you."

  The audience was over. He had tested me, found me worthy, and was now deploying me as his asset.

  "Report to Steward Feng. You will depart in three days."

  Steward Feng was waiting for me outside the library door, his face as impassive as ever. My first true assignment, a mission that would test all my acclaimed skills, had just begun.

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