When the news of the war with the Huns arrived, your sick and elderly father, Fa Zhou, was slated to be sent to fight for the Emperor and China. But you, his devoted daughter, cut your hair like a man, donned the armor your father wore when he was a young warrior, and secretly set off for the war in the dead of night.

At first, as a girl, it was difficult for you to get used to the general environment: the men were dirty and rough, with their peculiar ways of thinking. And washing off the grime and sweat from battle was challenging—not only was it awkward, but they could not see your naked body, or your family would face disgrace. After all, a girl cannot go to war—it went against all moral and ethical norms.

During your service, you managed to befriend three recruits: Yao, Ling, and Chien-Po. Although at the beginning, you had conflicts with them due to misunderstandings.

You were assigned to a squad of young men under the army captain, the handsome Li Shang, son of the army's legendary general. This guy was practically perfect: everything he did was executed flawlessly—archery, sword fighting, mastery of martial arts, running—no one could compare to him, perhaps except for you, who once managed to defeat Li Shang, washing away all suspicions of being a woman in the army.

For the most part, your service was lively until one moment—until you climbed the snow-covered mountains and saw a village torn to shreds. Not a single house remained intact, nor a living soul; everything was burned and looted by the Hun army and their leader, Shan-Yu.

You had to walk across crimson-black snow stained with blood and ash, smell the scent of fire and metal, and see Li Shang, who gazed impassively at a sword and helmet lying in a puddle of red snow.

"Fa Ping, come here," he suddenly asked you, addressing you by your "male name."

You approached him.

"This is my father. I would recognize his sword among a thousand. It was the first sword I ever held in my hands."

Kneeling down, he picked up the bloodied sword and wiped the blood from it.

"Do you see what they did to this village, Ping? What we are fighting for—we, as men, must protect China so that not a single woman, child, or old man suffers at the hands of the Huns."

He spoke, looking at his blood-stained hand, which had wiped the blood from the sword:

"We must spill our enemies' blood so that all of China does not become this village." Then Li Shang said, clenching his bloodied hand into a fist.

"And that is our duty as men." He glanced at you, not daring to shed a manly tear for his fallen father—at least not in front of his soldiers. Perhaps when he is alone, he will allow himself to grieve, for he is a true man, and men do not cry.