Chapter 127: Subversion (Part II)

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“Good!”

A chaotic roar of cheers erupted, all of it in the obscure mountain dialect.

Liu Ji raised both hands high and gazed provocatively at the surrounding mountaineers like a victorious champion. The young men who had been eager to test themselves had lost their nerve after he had thrown three of the stockiest fighters from the villages in succession. After all, he was not old himself, yet his skill was genuine.

When dealing with politicians, one had to speak in terms of interests. But with these simple mountain folk, Liu Ji went straight for the most effective methods: drinking and fighting.

“Hmph. If Timo were here, he could certainly knock him down.”

Among the onlookers were both men and women. A young woman spoke indignantly, immediately drawing agreement from those around her.

Timo was evidently the finest fighter in the village. Smiling, Liu Ji walked over and first bowed to an elderly man standing in the middle.

“Headman, thank you for your hospitality.”

“We Khas have never been stingy toward our friends.” The old man inclined his head.

Liu Ji raised his head with a grin and glanced at the young woman who had spoken. She glared back at him without the slightest courtesy.

“It is a pity your Timo is not here. Otherwise, we could have had a proper match. When will he be back?”

“The Tibetans captured him. How could he possibly return?”

At the mention of the man she loved, the woman muttered sullenly.

“Syndicate, do not be rude,” the old man barked from the side.

The woman fell silent, though the defiance remained on her face.

Liu Ji did not take offense. “Syndicate—is that your name? It means ‘clouds above the high mountains.’ Not bad. Not bad at all.”

“That is none of your concern!” She rolled her eyes at him and ran off.

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“Ah, she is my youngest daughter. She has no manners. Please do not take it to heart,” the old man explained apologetically.

As the headman of the village, he could tell at a glance that these people were not ordinary. The man before him looked neither Tibetan nor like their Bolor companions, and certainly not like the Indians from the city. It was impossible to tell where he had come from.

Yet this man could converse with them in the Kha language. His pronunciation was strange, but communication was generally not a problem. Even the locals from the city could not necessarily understand or speak it. That was what aroused the old man’s curiosity. Clearly, the Bolor father and daughter who had come with him knew only a few simple Tibetan phrases.

Curious as he was, he also wanted to know why the stranger had come so abruptly. Surely he had not traveled all this way merely to drink and fight. No one would believe that.

“Forgive the curiosity of an outsider, but why was Timo captured?”

At the mention of the name, the old man sighed. “Two Tibetan tax collectors were killed, and they demanded that our village hand over ten people. Timo confessed that he had done it himself, so they took him away. I hear they will execute him in a few days and hang his head from the city gate.”

Liu Ji put on a bewildered expression. “He did not kill them?”

“Of course not. Those two tax collectors seized the game our villagers had hunted. Timo and the others were angry and merely wanted to argue with them. I persuaded them to return to the village. Kill someone? How would they ever dare?”

“Is there nowhere you can appeal? Will the city officials—or the king—do nothing?”

“For people like us, our lives are cheaper than a dog’s. Who would care? The Tibetans are the kings here.”

The old man’s words won the assent of everyone around them. On their faces, Liu Ji saw resentment, but little anger. Matters like this could not be changed overnight.

“To be frank, my master comes from the west. He is a renowned and powerful merchant there. He has come this time to purchase furs—preferably unusual ones, such as white tiger pelts.”

Liu Ji revealed the purpose of his visit. The explanation sounded natural enough, and the wariness faded from the old man’s expression.

The villagers made their living from precisely such trade. It was merely unfortunate that the timing was poor.

“Ah, if only you had arrived a day earlier. Most of the village’s stock has been plundered. What remains is all ordinary merchandise, and it may not be worth your notice.”

“That does not matter. Making friends means the journey was not wasted. If it is convenient, Headman, perhaps you could introduce us to some villages you know well. We would like to travel farther afield.”

The old man agreed readily. His last remaining doubts vanished at once. These people truly had come to buy mountain goods, and a wealthy merchant with influence was certainly worth cultivating as a friend.

Thus, under his guidance, Liu Ji and the father and daughter, Du Guli and his child, visited all the nearby villages. The people of this region were relatively homogeneous: they were the famous Gurkhas of later generations. At this time they were called the Khas. They had arrived only a few decades after the rulers of the cities and had not yet reached the heights they would attain in the future, though the first outlines of that destiny were already visible.

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For instance, those curved knives had originally been used for cutting grass. In shape, they somewhat resembled the sickles of the Han Chinese. The latter were crescent-shaped, while the former were only half-curved, but the principle was the same: they conserved effort.

Now, at the waists of these mountain people, Liu Ji saw the curved knives known as “dog legs.” Indian smelting technology was quite advanced. The famed Damascus steel had first originated there, produced from iron ore found locally in Wootz and therefore also known as Wootz steel.

Of course, production of this steel was limited. Even in this age, it was an extremely precious material—far too extravagant to be used in the making of farm tools.

After establishing contact with the villages, Liu Ji arranged for the transactions to take place in the city three days later, giving them time to prepare their goods. It was the customary way of conducting trade, so no one objected, nor did anyone suspect another motive.

By the time they returned to the first village, two days had passed. As expected, bad news came from the city: the Tibetans would publicly execute Timo in the central square of Kamptir as punishment for his actions. The execution was scheduled for the following day.

When the news arrived, everyone in the village fell into sorrow. The younger villagers, however, were also filled with indignation.

“He gave his life for all of us. If you act rashly now, Timo will have died for nothing,” the old man urged them bitterly. Through threats and persuasion, he finally managed to still the restless hearts.

But that was not what Liu Ji wanted. As the group was leaving, he caught sight of what seemed to be a figure among the trees. His heart stirred, and he went over to take a closer look. It was indeed someone he knew—the young woman with whom he had exchanged barbs earlier.

“You intend to go into the city and rescue him?” There was no need to guess what they were planning. Ignoring their wary looks, Liu Ji asked the question directly.

“So what if we do? You are not to tell Grandfather,” the woman snapped, glaring at him.

Liu Ji was caught between laughter and exasperation. He could not tell whether the woman truly possessed some kind of sixth sense. Otherwise, why did she always seem to find fault with him?

“With just the few of you, you would be lucky to do anything more than throw your lives away.”

“Then let us throw them away. We are not afraid—not for Timo.”

Her words stirred the resolve of several young men. Two of them were among the fighters who had faced Liu Ji earlier and were considered some of the village’s best.

“Since you are not afraid of death, that makes things simple. Do you want to save him?”

Liu Ji revealed a harmless smile.