The Logic of the Hunt

The camp of the newly-formed Dragon's Claw Division was a stark contrast to Yuan Shikai's sprawling, quasi-permanent headquarters. There were no large command tents, no bustling clerks, no sense of bloated bureaucracy. It was a spartan, mobile, and lethal-looking encampment, composed of low, easily-struck yurts and disciplined pickets of elite cavalry. It was designed to move, to strike, and to vanish.

Inside the command yurt, Meng Tian stood before a map, but it was not a standard military chart gridded for artillery. It was a topographical map, painstakingly detailed, its surface overlaid with a web of fine, colored lines indicating seasonal grazing routes, hidden water sources, and the traditional migration patterns of the major clans. It was a map of life, not of war. He was not looking for fortifications; he was looking for lifelines.

"Yuan sees this land as a grid to be controlled, a chessboard for his brutish pieces," Meng Tian said, his voice a low, contemplative rumble. His audience consisted of only two men: Shen Ke, the spymaster, and General Dai, his most trusted senior officer from the Imperial Guard. "He is wrong. It is a living thing. A network of veins and arteries. It has a rhythm. To find Altan, we must first understand that rhythm, and then wait for her to move against its current."

Shen Ke, ever the pragmatist, unrolled another document on the campaign table. It was not filled with numbers, but with narrative. "My profile is complete, General. Altan of the Borjigin. Age nineteen. Her grandfather, Khan Enebish, was a renowned traditionalist, proud, stubborn, and respected for his strength, if not his foresight. Her father was killed in an inter-clan dispute years ago, leaving her to be raised by the old Khan. She is known throughout her clan's territory for two primary skills: her unparalleled ability with horses, said to be able to calm the wildest stallion, and a quiet, observant intelligence that her grandfather often dismissed as 'un-Mongol' and too much like the Han."

Meng Tian nodded slowly. "A thinker, then. Not an impulsive raider."

"Precisely," Shen Ke affirmed. "The attack on the well was not an act of blind rage over her family's death. The timing, the method, the psychological impact… it was a calculated move, designed for maximum disruption with minimal risk. She is a chess player, not a brawler. That, as you say, makes her predictable in her own way. She will not make the same move twice. She will anticipate our conventional responses because she knows how men like Yuan think."

"What about her support network?" General Dai asked, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"The Russian agent, Dmitri Volkov," Shen Ke replied, tapping a name on the report. "Not a soldier. A political agitator, formerly of the University of St. Petersburg. He was exiled for revolutionary leanings and was co-opted by the Tsar's intelligence service, the Okhrana. He provides the modern tools—the chemistry for the poison, the knowledge of explosives, perhaps communications. But the strategy, the local knowledge, the will… my analysts are now convinced that comes entirely from her. They are a partnership, a fusion of native cunning and foreign technology."

General Dai scowled. "Sir, our scouts have returned. They confirm that General Yuan's 'Iron Census' has begun. He is marching two divisions westward, burning pastureland as he goes. The reports say he is driving thousands of refugees before him, creating a tide of chaos and misery. It will make finding our specific targets more difficult. It is like trying to find two specific fish by stirring the entire lake into a muddy frenzy."

A grim, thin smile touched Meng Tian's lips. It was the smile of a predator that sees a complex problem simplifying itself. "On the contrary, General Dai. It makes it easier. Yuan is a beater in a hunt, thrashing through the bushes and flushing the game from cover. He thinks he is controlling the population. In reality, he is creating a river of desperation, and Altan, our quarry, will have no choice but to swim in that river with all the others."

Shen Ke tilted his head, intrigued. "Explain your logic, General."

"Altan is intelligent," Meng Tian began, tracing a line on the map with his finger. "She knows she cannot fight Yuan's army head-on. She has proven that. She also knows that her own people are suffering. A leader, even a vengeful one, cannot ignore the cries of her people for long, or she loses their silent support. She needs a safe haven. A place to rest, to rearm, and to plan her next move. A place far from Yuan's reach, where the clans are still strong, defiant, and deeply resentful of the Qing. There is only one such place in this entire region that fits all criteria."

His finger tapped a rugged, mountainous area on the western edge of the map, a jagged spine of rock and shadow. "The 'Wolf's Jaw Pass.' A natural fortress of canyons and caves. It has been a haven for rebels, smugglers, and outcasts for centuries. The land is too poor for farming, too rugged for large herds. The Qing army has never been able to fully pacify it. It is a symbol of Mongol defiance."

He looked up, his eyes burning with certainty. "She will go there. Not directly, not in a straight line. She will move with the columns of refugees, hidden among them, just another face in the crowd of suffering. She and the Russian will use Yuan's chaos as their camouflage. Therefore, we will not look for her in the chaos. We will not chase her across the plains. We will wait for her at her destination. We will let the river flow to us."

"A sound strategy, sir," General Dai said. "And what do we do when she arrives? Do we surround the pass and lay siege?"

"No," Meng Tian said sharply. "That is Yuan's method. A siege is a blunt instrument. The pass is too large, with too many hidden escape routes. We would trap a thousand innocents to catch two enemies, and likely fail. We will not attack the fortress from the outside. We will infiltrate it from within."

He turned his full attention to the spymaster. "Shen Ke, this is where your true work begins. I need agents inside that pass. Not soldiers. I need men who can pass as Mongol traders seeking refuge, as deserters from other clans, as anything. They must be fluent, they must be believable. I want eyes and ears in every camp, at every fire. When Altan and the Russian arrive, I want to know the moment she takes a drink of water. We will isolate her. We will learn her patterns, her protectors, her plans. We will capture her not with a wide net, but with a single, perfectly-placed snare."

Shen Ke allowed himself a rare, brief smile of professional admiration. "A patient, intelligence-led operation. I have the men for it. It will take time to get them in place."

"We have time," Meng Tian stated. "Yuan's rampage will take weeks to push the refugees that far west. Let him be the hammer that drives the nail. We will be the fingers that pluck it from the board."

His strategy was the polar opposite of Yuan's. He would not use terror, but patience. Not brute force, but surgical precision. He was treating his enemy not as a pest to be exterminated, but as a worthy opponent in a deadly game of wits. The hunt for Altan had truly begun, and it would be a contest of minds, not of armies.