Chapter Twenty-Four: A Slight Insight

At this moment, though they were still subordinates under another’s command, Liu Ji could see that the bond between these two men had already run deep. They spoke with utter frankness, without the slightest reservation, and perhaps even more than that...

Li Siyie, with his rough and imposing exterior, was surely not as simple as he appeared. If these words he spoke were unintentional, Liu Ji had to admire his emotional intelligence. Those seemingly irreverent remarks were wielded with perfect skill—what risk was there in offending a superior who was already at death’s door? Yet in so doing, he had, by accident or design, drawn them closer together. As long as Duan Xiushi harbored no intent to report him, he would inevitably lean toward him instead.

Liu Ji smiled to himself ruefully. Was it an occupational hazard from being an intelligence officer, always seeing the complexity in human nature?

But this unconscious gesture of his was noticed by Duan Xiushi, who read it differently.

“Wulang, do you disagree?” he asked.

At this, Li Siyie, who had his back turned, also looked over. Under the burning gaze of both men, Liu Ji reached into a lacquered tray and took a small handful of fragrant spices, turning them deftly in his hand. These, which would be called “cumin” in later times and revered as the secret to perfect skewers, he sprinkled evenly over the sizzling meat. The spices hit the bubbling fat, sending up an intoxicating aroma.

For a moment, the fragrance enveloped them, and all three felt their spirits lift.

“How is it that Wulang seems a different man these days?” Li Siyie finally remarked. “In the past, he’d never deign to do such a thing.” He looked more closely now.

Duan Xiushi added, with perfect timing, “And he does it with such finesse.”

He accepts the food but not the slight, a true partner in crime, Liu Ji thought to himself. With his short blade, he carefully sliced off the crisp, golden outer layer, placing the pieces on a lacquered tray and handing them to the two gourmands.

Both men had long since felt their throats tighten and their mouths water. They didn’t even care for the heat; grabbing the meat, they stuffed it into their mouths, drawing breath and praising the taste between bites.

“Mm, fine roast! Marvelous!”

“Roast” was the ancient term for barbecue. Both men had hearty appetites, and soon the heaping tray was empty. Setting it down, Li Siyie casually wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, then on the edge of his robe, his eyes immediately drawn to Liu Ji’s dagger.

“A fine blade indeed. Was this the weapon with which you killed that villain, Danangqi?”

Here we go again, Liu Ji thought. Unless he explained the matter, everyone would end up asking about it. As he turned the skewer, he replied, “If it were you, could you have killed him with this dagger?”

Li Siyie paused, thought seriously, and shook his head. “Unless I struck a vital point with the first blow, even if I severed his limbs, that brute would never let go. And to drive this blade to his heart or throat, you’d have to be within half a pace. He wouldn’t even need a weapon. His bare hands could finish you off. I, for one, could not do it.”

“Your words are true,” Liu Ji agreed, recalling the battle with a shudder. “His strength was almost inhuman. My victory was pure luck.”

But after this modesty, his tone shifted. “In a fair fight, I couldn’t last three bouts under his hands. But if it were a battle to the death, I’d still find a way to leave him defenseless.”

Under their curious gazes, Liu Ji recounted the ambush in the forest. The peril left the other two sweating cold, his improvisation in the face of danger almost impossible to guard against. Li Siyie knew full well—even without underestimating the enemy, in such circumstances, he would struggle not to make a fatal error. A single slip would be deadly.

Their gazes changed once again. There was no shortage of warriors in the army, men of unmatched bravery, but who could claim they would certainly slay a champion like Danangqi, let alone when outnumbered five to one?

Liu Ji now exuded a confidence so powerful it was almost frightening—a stranger among them.

There could be no doubt; the evidence was right before their eyes.

When his tale ended, his second batch of roasted meat was ready, and the leg of lamb was nearly gone. He tossed the remaining bone into a clay pot to make soup, then gathered up the heap of meat slices and joined the others.

“Just now, you asked a question. I do have some humble thoughts,” he said, dividing the meat among them as he spoke, returning to the earlier topic.

“You are both men of experience. In your opinion, what is the most important element in a campaign?”

At these words, Duan Xiushi, about to pop a piece of meat into his mouth, paused mid-motion, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. His next question changed the atmosphere, making the other two serious at once.

“Last year, why did Governor Gao suffer defeat?”

In the Grand Protector’s hall of Kucha, with the attendants dismissed, only two men remained. Wang Zhengjian was not seated behind the large desk, but at the seat of honor above Cheng Qianli. Only at such close distance could their conversation proceed without strain.

“On my return, I passed through the Karluk encampment. Not only did they not hinder me, they even offered many gifts. Their chieftain, Mouluo, kept apologizing, hinting at submission.”

“The Karluks?” Wang Zhengjian was surprised. “Where did you encounter them?”

“A dozen miles north of Suyab.”

Wang Zhengjian stroked his white beard, pondering the implications. Four years ago, he himself had led the siege of Suyab, then the encampment of the Turgesh. To eliminate future threats, he had ordered the city destroyed. That the Karluks had now advanced so far—how could it be?

“Treacherous rats, always changing sides. They think a stroke of luck erases past debts?” Wang Zhengjian said bitterly, agitation plain on his face.

Cheng Qianli remained silent. He knew the source of the Commissioner’s anger: the crushing defeat they had suffered the previous year.

The Abbasids had halted at the river, the city-states of Transoxiana cowering under their wings, while the Tang army, battered and bloodied, withdrew west of the Pamirs. Only the Karluks, who had betrayed them at the critical moment, reaped the greatest benefit: expanding their nomadic lands from the southern slopes of the Golden Mountains to the Seven Rivers region—what would one day be the Ili and the shores of Lake Balkhash.

Now, seeing that Tang and the Abbasids were no longer at odds, they sought alliance once more. But what of the sixteen thousand Tang soldiers who perished at Talas—how could their deaths be reconciled?

“Long ago, Marquis Wu of Shu, Zhuge Liang, remarked on war: ‘Cao Cao’s army, coming from afar, was exhausted. When he heard of pursuit in Yuzhou, his cavalry rode over three hundred li in a day and a night. This is the last gasp of a spent crossbow, which cannot even pierce a thin silk.’ Thus, the art of war warns against this: ‘It is sure to bring disaster to the general.’ If this is true in the Central Plains, how much more so in foreign lands?”

At the mention of that campaign, Wang Zhengjian could not contain his frustration. “But what did he do? He neither waited for the elite reinforcements from Anxi, nor informed the nearby Northwestern Command. With just thirty thousand men, he marched eight hundred li in a lightning strike, including ten thousand foreign auxiliaries!”

“Who but Gao Xianzhi would dare such recklessness? If defeat had not come, it would have defied heaven’s will!”

Wang Zhengjian could no longer contain his agitation; he coughed repeatedly. Cheng Qianli rushed forward to support him, but the old man, unable to suppress the surge of his emotions, spat up a mouthful.

The bright red stain on the floor was a chilling sight.