Chapter Sixteen: Escape

According to the Tang method of keeping time, the fourth watch of the Yin period had just passed. The area surrounding the old Shi family shop in Hepola City was illuminated brightly by the torches, and countless Tibetan soldiers had encircled the entire block, leaving only a single path open in front of the shop.

Xidongzan, draped in a long Tibetan robe with his hair loose, walked slowly and deliberately amid a cluster of guards. He glanced at the few people bound by the roadside, his expression shifting between gloom and uncertainty.

“When did they leave?” he asked.

“According to the shopkeeper, fifteen divisions ago,” his subordinate replied.

In the Tibetan system, a day is divided into sixty divisions—five divisions make an hour, compared to the Tang reckoning. Counting this way, they had already been gone for three hours?

At that time, he had just ordered his men to act, deliberately choosing the latter half of the day to reduce casualties and avoid suspicion. Who would have thought he’d miss them entirely?

How did the information leak? He didn’t dare dwell on it now; this was not the moment for investigation.

“None of the patrols noticed anything unusual in the streets?” he pressed.

“I’ve asked. No Tang people left,” the subordinate said, head bowed in shame for the failed mission.

“No?” Xidongzan said coldly. “Do you think the Tang would be foolish enough to leave disguised as themselves?”

A sudden realization struck him. “They must have donned Tibetan heavy armor and ridden our warhorses. Where could they have gone?”

Staring into the dark night sky, his tone quickened. “Gather the men now—only the light cavalry. Follow me in pursuit.”

“After this long, can we still catch up?” someone asked.

“If we can’t, we’ll at least see them off. I’d like to witness first-hand just how capable this so-called Wulang really is.” Xidongzan turned to leave, not even bothering to don armor.

“What about these people?” a subordinate called after him.

He continued his stride, throwing back a single reply, “Have them write guarantees, pay their ransom, and let them go.”

Riding into the mountain winds, Yang Yu felt a chill of fear. Had Liu Ji not infiltrated the Tibetan official residence with him to gather intelligence, he would surely have met a bloody end by now.

Who could have guessed that Xidongzan, that schemer, would deceive even the woman he loved, never intending to let them leave alive? Perhaps from the start, the plan was to lure them here—not for bridges or reinforcements, but for the thrill of two bloodied heads.

He could clearly imagine his father’s fury upon hearing of his death! The Tang would not raise an army for a single man, but never would they let two officers die in enemy territory without response. It would be a heaven-sent excuse for war. The eager generals of Anxi, desperate for border victories, would seize the opportunity without hesitation.

Thinking of this, he glanced ahead at the tall, armored figure riding before him. Just as when they entered the city, Liu Ji was clad in full heavy armor, while Yang Yu wore the garb of a menial servant. Four horses, two per person, allowed them to ride without rest night and day.

Yang Yu sighed deeply. Wulang had foreseen this day when he killed in the woods; the armor and clothing of Danangqi and his men now provided the perfect disguise for their escape.

Hepola City enforced a nighttime curfew, and after dark, Tibetan patrols crisscrossed the streets. Without these disguises, escape would have been impossible. Just hours earlier, they had boldly ridden through the city, meeting the patrols head-on; the soldiers even stopped to salute them!

Such courage, such calculation.

It was almost unbearable. Liu Ji could not see the admiring gaze behind him; he felt as if lead weights hung from his body. The mask covered mouth and nose, making even breathing difficult. How the original wearer tolerated it, he had no idea.

But he had no choice. His appearance would betray him at a glance, while Yang Yu needed no mask; among the Tibetan servants, many were actually Tang people, captured in wars over the years.

The night was deep and the wind carried a chill. Following the murmuring river, they had no fear of losing their way. From the Skar River valley where Hepola City stood, through the Indus valley, to the distant Boyi River a hundred miles away, four hours had passed, and dawn was breaking.

“Let’s rest,” Liu Ji said, tossing aside his torch and gently pulling his horse to a stop.

In those four hours, the two men switched horses every hour, yet after eight hours of desperate riding, man and beast alike were exhausted. Yang Yu dismounted and took the reins, leading the horses to the riverside for feeding.

Liu Ji removed his iron helmet and mask, greedily inhaling the fresh air, then collapsed onto a rock, his legs nearly numb.

“I never imagined that woman would be so ruthless,” he muttered.

At some point, Yang Yu had approached, handing him a bag of water. Liu Ji took a sip; it was cold and pleasantly sweet.

“She may not have the means. That Tibetan man and she were merely using each other for their own ends,” Liu Ji said, unwilling to discuss the woman further. He shifted topics: “Now that we’ve left, will the Shi lord be in trouble?”

Yang Yu was obviously worried, glancing back in the direction they’d come. “Old Shi is no novice; he knows how to handle himself. The Tibetans won’t slaughter merchants without reason—at worst, he’ll lose some money.”

At this point, they could only comfort themselves so. Both men fell silent, gazing at the distant expanse of dazzling white glacier, more widespread than in later times. Something occurred to Liu Ji.

“How far is it to the Boyi River now?” he asked.

Yang Yu shaded his eyes, peering toward the river, and estimated, “Less than thirty li.”

The location of the Boyi River would later be disputed by historians, but it could not be separated from a tributary of the Indus. As the boundary river between Greater and Lesser Bolü, it now marked the frontier between Tang and Tibet in the Western Regions. Naturally, it was heavily guarded.

“How deep is the water? Can the horses swim across?” Liu Ji asked.

“About as wide as an arrow’s flight. Depth, I don’t know. It’s in a valley below; a man could climb down, but how would a horse descend?” Yang Yu replied.

Hearing this, Liu Ji immediately understood—it was a gorge river with steep cliffs on both sides. Such a river would be swift; even if one swam across, climbing up the rocky banks would be no easy task. Scaling bare rock without tools was perilous.

In modern times, there were many routes from Baltistan to Gilgit; he believed it was the same a millennium ago. But some roads could only be known by traversing them, and now they had no time.

Only one method remained.

Liu Ji clapped his hands and stood, heading for his mount. “Let’s go. Time to go home.”