His shoulder stung as the men clumsily dressed his wound. Shang had had to be quite insistent that Ping be sent to Chi Fu, the only one with any medical knowledge, before himself. Shang's cut was only a surface scratch – it had stunned him a little, but his armour had protected him from any real damage. He shivered at the thought of Ping… Ping, the hero, the man who had saved his life, had lost a lot of blood. Even Chi Fu had looked concerned when he saw Ping's blood soaked tunic. Even victory, sighed Shang, would be embittered if it meant that he had lost little Ping.
And their victory had been colossal, the sort of victory that would be celebrated in songs and legends for generations. Shang was still barely able to comprehend it. It seemed churlish, even, to share the triumph, to try in any way to claim victory for himself when every success had so clearly been Ping's.
And Ping had been so pale and frail when he had lifted him unconscious into the tent… just a boy still and yet so brilliant. If Shang had always hoped he would one day be a general, like his father, he now realised how little he deserved any such an accolade, how little he possessed the tactical abilities that had made Ping's father, Fa Zu, so famous, and would in turn make his son so renowned. Renowned, even if…
He tried to get everything straight in his mind for his report. This would be crucial. He must recommend Ping for promotion without dishonouring himself in the process… he gulped as he heard a groan from the hospital tent. No, the main thing would be to honour Ping.
He remembered, distinctly, that the initial explosion that had given the Huns their position couldn't have been Ping's fault. Ping had been a good few feet away – admittedly, the boy must have packed the cannons badly, and a spark must have caused the explosion. No need to mention that. In any case, thought Shang, the Huns must have been so close that, had Ping not alerted them, they would have stumbled on them anyway. If their arrows had startled everyone – wounded him even – they had actually alerted them to the Huns' presence. The precious few seconds to get out of range and light the cannons had been crucial.
Shang had guessed they would be militarily under-prepared and out-numbered, but he could barely have imagined how exposed they would be, with literally only a few cannons between them and the Hun death charge. He understood, in the event of such an obvious impending disaster, the approved approach would be to target the enemy leader. That way, the enemy would usually be thrown into some confusion…but realistically, they were the Huns. He knew his plan had been desperate. Ping's, on the other hand, had been desperately brilliant.
It was, of course, tremendously risky. He had assumed Ping was about to commit suicide to better guarantee his last, doomed orders, and hurriedly tried to beg him not to be a martyr, to be realistic, to stay calm in the face of death. Ping, of course, had entirely different ideas. The mark of a good soldier, he guessed, was that they could follow orders. A great one knew when to disobey.
Ping must have angled his sword to start the avalanche. Within seconds, the enemy was finished, and all with a single shot… not even hand-to-hand combat. All the men had to do was run for their lives. After that, things seemed to grow hazy – he could remember grasping for Ping's hand as he was overwhelmed by the white flood. He must have passed out then - his head still stung, he realised with surprise as he stood up too quickly and had to reach out to steady himself.
He struck out towards the medicine tent to await Chi Fu's orders – they were isolated, but not so isolated he couldn't send out a runner for medical supplies if that were necessary. He would even go himself if horsemanship was required. He knew what was due a hero…