Chapter Forty-Four: The Sand Table Simulation

Li Zisheng was intimately familiar with the workings of simulations; in later generations, commercial companies would use sand tables to model scenarios. Now, though the setting had shifted to the battlefield, the principle remained the same—its essence unchanged.

“A sand table simulation is a method used by the Great Tang army, employing special models to imitate the battlefield. Each side commands an army of one hundred thousand, and the battle is played out in simulation. Whoever reaches the opponent’s base wins and earns a point,” the bearded general explained, casting a glance at Li Zisheng. This eight-year-old child—how would he respond to such a challenge? If he lost, he would have no hope of rising in the academy.

“General, I have something to add,” the supervisor interjected, cutting off the general’s words.

The general was momentarily stunned, eyeing the supervisor with thinly veiled displeasure. “The arrogance of power,” he thought. “Just an academy supervisor, yet he acts so brash.” But he could do nothing about it.

“Supervisor, you jest. Of course, please go ahead,” the general replied, gesturing politely.

“This time, Wang Shizhen of our academy has suffered serious injuries in the physical contest and is therefore withdrawing from the sand table simulation. Thus, ten participants remain for the subsequent trial. For fairness, the order will be randomized so the general’s soldiers and the academy students compete in mixed order,” the supervisor said, stroking his beard and smiling at the general.

“Supervisor, if that’s the case, I have no objections. What about you lot? Any complaints?” The bearded general turned to the soldiers and academy scholars standing aside. None voiced any concern.

A cold gleam flashed in Li Zisheng’s eyes; he said nothing, merely nodded along with the others.

“Very well, the sand table trial begins. With Wang Shizhen withdrawing, it remains a ten-versus-ten match. Wang Zheyuan versus Liu Er, Feng Hai versus Zhang Ling…” The matchups were announced one by one. When it came to Li Zisheng, the general paused, glancing at the supervisor.

“Li Zisheng versus Liang Fu.”

Li Zisheng immediately recalled Liang Fu, who had bested Shi Kai moments ago—three moves had left Shi Kai defenseless, forced to surrender. Unlike the other soldiers, Liang Fu stood out; his frame was a bit leaner, and a murderous glint lingered in his eyes.

“He must not be underestimated,” was Li Zisheng’s only thought.

To inspire the academy’s spirit, the first to compete was Feng Hai of Tian Deng, matched against Zhang Ling.

The sand table simulation relied on the commander’s strategic acumen, meant to expose flaws in one’s approach and hone strategic ability. In the Great Tang, with its vast lands and myriad enemies, such simulations were indispensable—every military camp was equipped with one.

“This time, the selected battle is the Battle of Five Dragon Slope. During that engagement, His Majesty Taizong of Tang commanded with unmatched skill, employing superior strategy against overwhelming odds, repelling the Turkic forces and displaying the majesty of our empire. Each side will command either the Tang or the Turkic army, reenacting this historic clash,” the bearded general declared, his spirit stirred at the mention of Five Dragon Slope, awed by Taizong’s prowess. Thus, the simulation was set.

Li Zisheng composed himself, admiration rising for the brilliance of this campaign.

“Feng Hai commands the Turkic side; Zhang Ling commands the Tang army.”

On the battlefield, conditions changed in an instant. Taizong’s legendary power was widely acknowledged, but now, given the circumstances, everyone understood the battle’s dynamics. Superior strategy depended on exploitable factors, yet in this one-on-one simulation, Tang’s odds of victory were slim. Most believed that in a replay, the Tang side would surely lose.

This was beyond dispute.

Feng Hai eyed the burly Zhang Ling with contempt.

Zhang Ling, holding the Tang army, seemed resigned to the outcome.

“Three thousand troops deployed at the Boulder Flats, fifty thousand stationed at Lingxi Mountain, twenty thousand guarding both banks of Lingwu River, twenty thousand remaining at the main camp. The remaining seven thousand mounted soldiers will harass the border between the two armies,” Feng Hai swiftly assigned his forces.

“Ten thousand strong, fifty thousand stationed upstream at Lingwu River, damming it with sand and silt to block the waterway. The other fifty thousand block the passage to the outside, cutting off supplies and closing the Turkic army’s supply routes,” Zhang Ling replied, calm and methodical.

Feng Hai sneered at Zhang Ling’s arrangements.

The Turkic army, being nomads, were adept at traversing plains and mountains alike; for their cavalry, such terrain was trivial.

“Troops at Lingwu River will mount horses, cross the mountains, and launch a raid on the Tang army—leave none alive!” Feng Hai’s eyes glinted blood-red, watching Zhang Ling’s defenders.

It was the rainy season; Tang troops, exhausted from prolonged marches and deprived of rest, were frail. Defending Lingxi Mountain would be exceedingly difficult, even with only twenty thousand men. The enemy troops were strong and robust, superior to Tang’s own.

Zhang Ling began to panic, urgently redeploying the soldiers who had dammed the river to reinforce Lingxi Mountain, knowing the supply route was vital and could not be lost.

“Hmph, just as I hoped you'd reinforce. Three thousand troops will charge, and those stationed on both banks of Lingwu River will also attack, life and death disregarded,” Feng Hai’s bloodlust deepened.

Witnessing Feng Hai’s reckless strategy, Zhang Ling’s expression changed drastically. Such tactics disregarded all caution, risking soldiers’ lives without concern—a madman’s approach.

Zhang Ling hastily withdrew all troops from Lingwu River, massing them at the Lingxi Mountain pass, the key to supply lines. Even if they couldn’t hold it, they would defend to the death; his entire force of one hundred thousand gathered at the pass.

But Feng Hai seemed to have anticipated this. Suddenly, seven thousand troops appeared atop the mountain, somehow having hauled massive boulders up. These were sent rolling down, crushing the Tang army into disarray.

Zhang Ling paled, helpless to comprehend how those seven thousand had reached the summit or when the boulders had been moved there. Everything happened so swiftly, and in his confusion, he hurriedly surrendered.

The outcome was clear: the Turkic army triumphed, Tang forces routed.

Yet this was expected; no one was surprised. Instead, Feng Hai’s ferocity earned him cheers from the Hui Le military camp.