Chapter 115: The Hunt

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Nepal is a peculiar country; from its geographical location to its national environment, it seems to have remained unchanged for thousands of years. After the continent below unified from chaos, it struggled to survive in a narrow space, and when the Tibetans were strong, it naturally had to rely on them, yet always managed to maintain a certain degree of independence.

In the eleventh year of the Tianbao era, this country was under the grip of the Tibetans. When Liu Ji and his group arrived, this was the scene they witnessed.

Almost every checkpoint was manned equally by Nepalis and Tibetans, but judging by appearances, the collected commercial taxes were not necessarily split evenly. At least by the time they reached Nepal’s capital, the herd of sheep had dwindled to just one lamb cradled in Zhuoma’s arms. Of course, even that lamb was ultimately lost, for it was too small—to be either made into food or tossed into the pen to nurse.

Old Kang, the fourth brother, donned a brocade robe and took on the air of a swaggering Western merchant, a rare sight in this region. Nepal’s location served as a link between India and Tibet; those coming from the Western Regions heading south to India or east to Tibet had no need to pass through here.

When he generously tossed out a golden Hu pancake—an ancient coin from Fulin—he promptly rented a large plot of land, including several single-story earthen houses and a courtyard for feeding packhorses, enough to accommodate over a dozen people.

After sending the locals away, Liu Ji gathered everyone to assign tasks: “Two things. First, gather information about the local customs, political trends, military structure, and defenses—essentially, everything—to familiarize and understand this place in the shortest time possible, with priority on the Tibetans’ situation.”

“Second, make contact with some merchants from India to learn about conditions over there. Old Kang, you will handle this personally. Spend some silver if necessary, but the most important thing is not to reveal our whereabouts.”

“Commander…” Old Kang was about to respond when he caught Liu Ji’s gaze and immediately corrected himself, “I’ll go at once.”

Soon, most of the group set out without even a moment’s rest. Liu Ji had no choice; the journey took over ten days in this era, and the inefficiency was frustrating. He could only do his best.

Historically, the Battle of Dolu ended here. Because of this achievement, Feng Changqing secured the position of military governor of the Four Garrisons. A year later, he also served as the Protector General of Beiting, dedicating his remaining two-year term to consolidating Tang’s rule in the Western Regions. It was precisely those critical two years that allowed Anxi and the greater Western Regions to endure for another fifty years after the chaos.

And that was with no reinforcements or communication for fifty years!

Liu Ji believed that every step he took now was history in the making, and this small country beneath his feet was the starting point.

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Nepal first entered Chinese history due to a chance event in the seventeenth year of the Zhenguan era, at the end of the Tang dynasty’s first golden age. At that time, Princess Wencheng had just married into the Qiang, and relations between Tang and Tibet were relatively cordial. The mighty Tibetan ruler Songtsen Gampo had just neutralized the threat from Nepal, gradually turning their relationship toward vassalage.

That same year, a man named Wang Xuance accompanied a Tang delegation through the Western Regions—specifically through the Greater and Lesser Dolu—to India. By then, India had fractured into a collection of small states. The Chinese divided them roughly into upper, middle, and lower regions due to the complicated array of names.

What followed became well known: a rebellion in a foreign land tens of thousands of miles away. Wang, single-handedly and holding only the rank of deputy envoy, traveled to Nepal’s capital. Under the banner of a Tang emissary, he persuaded Nepal and its overlord Tibet to join forces and crush the rebellious small state in one stroke, creating an unparalleled miracle in diplomatic history.

This miracle happened right here, in a place now called “Kantipur.” Back in the seventeenth year of Zhenguan, it bore no such name nor was it so prosperous.

Its location roughly corresponds to the future Nepalese capital of Kathmandu, situated in the pleasant Kathmandu Valley. Nestled on the southern slopes of the Himalayas, towering mountains shield it from the biting cold of the Qing-Qiang Plateau, while warm, moist air from the Indian Ocean brings abundant rainfall—truly an excellent place to live.

Walking through the streets of this city of miracles, Liu Ji brimmed with confidence. He was not without hope to create a miracle of his own.

Looking around, compared with the Kathmandu of later times, Kantipur a thousand years ago seemed smaller and rather bleak, with few tall buildings and scarcely any grand stupas, as it had yet to reach its peak.

Dusty streets wound upward along mountain paths. Ahead, Zhuoma hopped and skipped, looking around curiously. The exotic and varied customs of this foreign land held a special fascination for a child.

Duoguli carried a wooden bow on his back and shouldered several animal pelts from hunting. Liu Ji dressed like him, carrying some smoked meats. The neighborhood they passed through appeared quite dilapidated; most pedestrians wore worn-out clothes, and hardly anyone had shoes.

The three traveled farther, nearly reaching the city’s edge. Beyond lay dense forest. Suddenly, Liu Ji stopped. Across the way, two Tibetans had stopped a group of men dressed like mountain villagers. Liu Ji quickly pulled Zhuoma close and signaled Duoguli. They slipped behind some nearby trees, peering cautiously at the scene.

The Tibetans wrestled briefly with the mountain men, seizing their mountain goods—mostly small deer and wild boar. From the faint whispers, the Tibetans were forcibly collecting taxes from the mountain villages. An older villager with a graying beard pleaded desperately but to no avail.

Soon, the goods were taken. The two Tibetans slung the spoil over their shoulders, cursing as they walked away. The villagers were furious but, urged on by the elder, had no choice but to turn back, apparently exchanging their hunted game for rations and necessities from their village.

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Once the villagers had gone, Liu Ji furrowed his brow, struck by an idea. He pulled the little girl close and whispered, “Follow those people. If you meet any children your age, tell them the Tibetans are dead and might come to the village for revenge. Once you’ve given the warning, leave immediately. Remember the way?”

Zhuoma nodded without a word and ran off in the direction the villagers had disappeared.

“You want to kill those two Tibetans?” Duoguli immediately saw through his plan. Liu Ji nodded.

“Hunters who kill can’t let anyone notice. No knives, no bows—that makes too much noise. And no sounds at all. Do you have a good idea?”

Liu Ji was confident he could kill two unsuspecting men barehanded, but that would prevent further action. As a mountain man, Duoguli surely had other methods.

Sure enough, Duoguli loosened a belt at his waist, revealing it wasn’t an ordinary belt but a lasso. “Use this to snare small prey. It’s better than bows.”

Perhaps because of the Tibetans’ notorious reputation, no other pedestrians appeared. Silently, the two crept forward, leaping almost simultaneously behind the Tibetans. Before acting, Liu Ji even tapped one on the shoulder.

The swaggering Tibetans never expected an attack here. Duoguli’s lasso first snared one man’s neck from behind, while Liu Ji looped his belt around the other’s head and quickly tightened it.

“Ugh!”

The Tibetans only managed a sound before it was cut off in their throats. The two limp bodies were gently laid beside a tree. Shouldering the stolen mountain goods, Liu Ji and Duoguli swiftly fled in opposite directions.