Chapter 22: I Ask You

The khan glanced at the men beside Li Shimin and remarked, “I think those around you will do. They’re strong enough to show respect to the heavens.” Seeing Li Shimin remain silent, the khan continued with a broad grin.

“You jest, Great Khan. These men are my closest ministers—how could I let them be killed? Let it be thus: this white steed under me has followed me through countless battles, saving me from peril more than once. Today, I shall kill my white horse to seal our alliance.”

Having spoken, Li Shimin dismounted, reluctant as he caressed the horse’s mane. The horse nuzzled him affectionately, but Li Shimin turned away, drew the guard’s long blade, and, steeling himself, severed the horse’s head with a single stroke.

“I’m sorry…”

He murmured softly; only those who have faced war could understand the bond between a warrior and his steed. Aside from comrades, only a loyal horse would risk all to save its master.

“Great Khan, since our alliance is forged, the tribute will be presented shortly. Now that we are allies, is it not time to release my people whom you hold captive?” Li Shimin steadied himself and spoke loudly.

“Haha, tribute is expected. But, Tang Emperor, perhaps you do not realize: those we Turks have seized are now our slaves. If you wish them freed, you’d best ask my warriors if they’ll allow it.” The khan laughed, his gaze predatory as he fixed his wolf-like eyes on Li Shimin.

“No! No! Absolutely not!”

Hardly had the khan finished speaking when the voices of hundreds of thousands roared in unison, echoing for miles, their thunderous shouts shaking the very earth. Witnessing this, Li Shimin and his men clenched their teeth in agony, unable to recall how many times they’d been humiliated that day.

The khan raised his hand and the tumult subsided. Now, in a tone of utter arrogance, he declared, “My warriors refuse, so it cannot be done. These slaves will return with me—men to labor for my people, women to bear more warriors for the Turks.”

“I am willing…” Li Shimin began, but fell silent. The imperial coffers were empty—he had no means to ransom his people.

“Your Majesty, why not fight them? Tens of thousands of our people—if they’re taken, their lives will be worse than beasts, especially the women… You know what the Turks are like, they’re animals!” Yuchi Gong gripped his weapon, his posture fierce and ready for violence.

“We cannot. As many as they are, the safety of Chang’an is more important. We can’t take that risk,” Fang Xuanling interjected immediately. Such words could never come from the emperor’s lips—if the historians learned of them, it would be a blemish for a thousand years. Moreover, having only just killed his own brother, Li Shimin’s reputation could suffer no more scandal, so Fang Xuanling spoke up in haste.

Yuchi Gong glanced toward Chang’an, then, in frustration, hammered his fist against his thigh and said no more.

“If the emperor asks and you refuse, what if the Imperial Preceptor demands it—will you refuse him too?”

A booming voice rang out.

All eyes turned. Upstream, a few hundred cavalrymen escorted a dilapidated carriage slowly across the bridge. The speaker was a burly man riding at the front, his gaze cutting across the distance, oppressive as he stared down the khan.

Li Ji and Fang Xuanling, terrified, felt as though their very souls had fled. Such provocation—war seemed inevitable now!

“Who are you to meddle in the affairs of the Khan and the Tang Emperor?”

“Imperial Preceptor, why are you here?”

The khan’s angry roar and Li Shimin’s startled exclamation came almost simultaneously. The khan glanced in confusion at the carriage, then at Li Shimin, noticing for the first time a note of respect in the emperor’s tone.

“Salute the Imperial Preceptor!”

As if rehearsed, tens of thousands of Tang soldiers bowed in unison. The khan felt his mind falter—he had never even heard of this Imperial Preceptor.

“If I hadn’t come, Emperor, your tens of thousands of subjects would soon be driven off by these barbarians to toil like beasts.” The voice from within the carriage was wise and ancient.

“Insolence! I asked you a question—who are you to speak so rudely? Do you wish to die? Tang Emperor!” the khan thundered, livid at being called a barbarian.

“Peace, Great Khan, and peace, Imperial Preceptor. You are both among the world’s most exalted—let there be no anger between you. Great Khan, allow me to introduce our Imperial Preceptor, the Divine Envoy of Heaven to Tang. He seldom involves himself in mortal affairs, but when he does, I can but advise, not command.”

Li Shimin now played the mediator, speaking across the distance between them.

“Are you lying to me, Tang Emperor? Since when does Tang have an Imperial Preceptor? Why have I never heard of him?” the khan demanded furiously.

“There are many things of which you are unaware. I ask you: will you return the thirty-six thousand captives or not?” The voice from the carriage was calm, but withering in its disdain.

“Ha! Who do you think you are? I’ve said it—these are my slaves. Why should I give them to you? Men, kill twenty more before the Imperial Preceptor, so he knows that the fate of my slaves is mine alone to decide!”

Seeing the khan’s arrogance, the burly man before the carriage glared and shouted, “Barbarian! Harm a single soul and my divine army will slaughter a hundred of yours in vengeance!”

Within the carriage, Pei Dong and Cai Cong sat face to face. Cai Cong’s expression was calm, but his eyes burned with madness. In his previous life as an international thief, he had deceived many powerful corporations and even high officials of some states, but he had never before dared to dupe the most powerful nation and the most exalted of men. His blood ran hot now—madness awakened in his bones.

Pei Dong was but a small man, sweating profusely as he wiped his brow and sipped water to soothe his throat.

He pinched his throat, caught Cai Cong’s encouraging look, and then spoke in a voice aged and serene, as if everything were within his control: “Baolai, stand down—mind your manners.”

“Scorn Xiuli as you will, you can decide life and death with a word. Don’t be afraid! Now you are the most powerful man in the world—do well and the Emperor will surely reward you.” Seeing Pei Dong turn pale, Cai Cong encouraged him, slipping him a page of written notes.

Pei Dong glanced at it, composed himself, and said, “Xiuli, I propose an exchange: the lives of your people on the steppe for the captives you hold. What say you?”

“Absurd! My Turkic warriors are unmatched—wherever we go, all submit. At this moment, your Tang Emperor is offering tribute to appease me—what gives you the right?”

Xiuli’s laughter was edged with anger and scorn as he waved his hand. Archers quickly lined the riverbank, their arrows aimed at Cai Cong, fully intending to turn these insolent fools into sieves and demonstrate the might of the Great Khan.

Tension gripped the world as everyone watched, knowing one wrong move could spark a war.

Then, from the carriage, came another voice: “Because, four days ago, I dispatched thirty riders.”

Hearing this, the Turks across the river burst into laughter. What could thirty riders do? Even if the Turks had dispatched so many, which tribe had no garrison? Thirty riders would not even make a meal for their warriors!

“I never said those thirty riders were sent to the steppes. In Longyou, I have an army. Those thirty carry my divine edict; they ride to Longyou, changing mounts as they fall, running when they must, day and night without rest. In about seven days they’ll reach Longyou. Then they will strike the steppes—leaving neither man nor beast alive.”

“What are you planning? Are you not afraid I’ll slaughter every soul in Chang’an?” Xiuli’s eyes gleamed with malice as he looked past the Tang army to the majestic city beyond.

“I, unlike the emperor, need not consider so much. If you refuse me, I will wipe out every living soul on your steppe. I forgot to mention: my divine edict forbids them to carry any provisions. If you do not release the captives, they will take the steppe people as food. Twenty thousand ogres—how long do you think it will take them to devour your people? Without heavy baggage, who could ever catch them?”

The voice from the carriage turned cold and venomous, sending a chill through all present. Was this madness? Cannibalism!

“If you refuse, then let us fight! The emperor’s army is not weaker than yours. At worst, you both suffer and bleed. Pity that my twenty thousand warriors can never return home.”

“Hmph! Should they dare such a thing, not one will live—I’ll have them all executed by a thousand cuts!” Xiuli spat each word, murder flashing in his eyes. He knew the Tang army in Longyou—never had he expected such a threat.

“You?” The voice from the carriage was scornful, then turned mournful: “Once they have eaten human flesh, they are no longer men. Even if they return, there will be no place for them in Tang. I order them, after slaughtering every Turkic woman and child, to kill themselves. Then they may be venerated.”

“You! You demon—what sort of divine envoy are you? Believe me, I’ll kill you right now!” Xiuli raged, his voice hoarse. Such a desperate threat was truly vicious. Should they fight to mutual destruction, the Turkic supply lines would be cut, and Tang reinforcements would surround them—death would be inevitable.

(End of this chapter)