Chapter Fifty: Parting Ways

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After this incident, by the time Feng Changqing found a moment to spare, night had already fallen. He entered Liu Ji’s camp accompanied by his attendants, and saw that every soldier wore a look of pride on his face. Clearly, Liu Ji’s earlier brawl had reignited the vigor and spirit of these veteran troops.

This was no small matter. Accustomed to life and death, these old soldiers, when compared to the newly recruited men, displayed a steadier composure but lacked some of the youthful passion. Such steadiness meant they were less likely to break under pressure, but it also made miraculous victories hard to come by.

Evidently, Liu Ji was dissatisfied with their current state and was actively seeking ways to change it.

“Where is your captain?” Feng Changqing asked as he walked, greeted by Zhang Wuji.

“He’s already had medicine applied. By now, he should be asleep,” Zhang replied.

Feng Changqing knew Zhang was a man of few words and didn’t take offense. He had asked on purpose, just to observe the other’s reaction. Zhang’s answer was perfectly natural, a sign that their relationship was now normalizing.

He hadn’t expected that this youngster would be so adept at winning over hearts.

When they reached the entrance of Liu Ji’s tent, before the curtain was lifted, voices drifted out from within.

“You were impressive today! I was still outside when I heard about it—you actually dared to take on Li’s men, outnumbered as you were. Truth be told, that brute Li Feiyuan is notorious for his cruelty, beating and berating soldiers at will. Many have long wished to teach him a lesson, but you actually did it,” Yang Yu said, clicking his tongue with admiration. “That’s the Liu Wulang I know. Pity I didn’t see it myself.”

Perhaps Yang’s movements were too bold, for Liu Ji scolded him, “Pity as it is, keep your hands off me—I’m still injured, you know.”

“Heh, next time something like this happens, don’t leave me out…” Yang Yu’s words trailed off abruptly as he saw the tent’s curtain lift and a short figure entered, his sharp gaze making Yang Yu spring to his feet and bow respectfully.

“Subordinate pays his respects to the Sima.”

“Yang the Goose, you’re already thinking of a next time?” Feng Changqing ignored him and went to Liu Ji’s bedside.

Twenty blows had left Liu Ji’s back and buttocks a bloody mess, a sight that made one wince, though fortunately the injuries were only to flesh, not to the organs.

“Don’t move.”

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He stopped Liu Ji from shifting, examined the wounds carefully, and only then did he truly relax. There was no telling how hard the beating had been—punishments like these could easily go too far. He’d worried Liu Ji might have internal injuries, which at his young age would be a lifelong affliction.

“How did you get in here?” he asked Yang Yu.

Zhang Wuji had just said the tent was empty; he trusted Zhang wasn’t lying, as that would be far too easy to expose.

“Xu Guangjing went to the rear camp for some leather robes. I was curious and decided to tag along—mostly to check on Wulang’s injuries, of course.”

So that was it. The boy had blended in with Xu Guangjing’s men, and Zhang Wuji hadn’t noticed.

“Have you seen enough?” Feng Changqing said sternly.

Yang Yu, not quite catching on, blurted, “Yes, I have.”

“Then why are you still here?” Feng Changqing, exasperated, gave him a kick.

In truth, Yang Yu had also wanted to ask about those strange items Liu Ji was making, but that question would have to wait. With a look of grievance, he slunk from the tent.

Feng Changqing’s thoughts were much the same: since the injuries were not serious, he turned his attention to the pile of leather robes in the tent. Freshly made, they still smelled strongly of animal hide. With Liu Ji unable to move, Feng Changqing picked one up himself—and was shocked by its weight.

It was as heavy as an iron cuirass, requiring both hands to lift. Clearly, it was made very thick.

“These leather robes—are you planning something in the snow mountains?”

Feng Changqing’s insight was keen; he saw Liu Ji’s intention at a glance. There was no hiding it from him. Liu Ji, lying prone on the bed, nodded.

“I asked the locals in Hepolao City. It turns out there are people who have crossed that way before, and an idea took root in my mind.”

“I’ve heard the same rumors, but never found anyone who actually made the journey. Rumors are just rumors. Even if it’s possible, you couldn’t take an army that way. Now that you’ve found a route, what do you plan to do with it?”

“You don’t need an army. A few dozen men will suffice,” Liu Ji replied with conviction, forcing Feng Changqing to take him seriously. But what could a few dozen men accomplish? Suddenly, a thought struck him.

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“The vine bridge?”

“The vine bridge,” Liu Ji confirmed.

Feng Changqing fell silent, weighing the risks. The Tubo had clearly prepared for this; their failure to destroy the vine bridge perhaps signaled some hidden agenda. If the bridge could be seized, it would afford immense strategic flexibility—a truly valuable target.

But to risk Liu Ji’s life for it? He hesitated. Last time, Liu Ji had gone scouting not on his orders, nor on Duan Xiushi’s suggestion, but entirely on his own initiative. Feng Changqing had assumed Liu Ji was eager to redeem himself with a meritorious deed and had chosen to turn a blind eye, reasoning the boy was clever enough to survive.

But this time, it was defying heaven itself. The idea of braving those icy, snowbound mountains was terrifying—purely a gamble with one’s life.

“Perhaps it’s not necessary to go this far.”

“Sima, the court is advancing on five fronts at once—victory is imperative. If you believe that avoiding mistakes is the same as achieving merit, you are gravely mistaken. If any of the other routes falter, you’ll be the scapegoat. You should remember how Grand Marshal Wang fell from favor.”

Wang Zhongsi!

How could Feng Changqing forget? In the sixth year of Tianbao, Wang Zhongsi had been at the height of his power, commanding the armies of Hedong, Hexi, Shuofang, and Longyou—half the empire’s forces were his to command. Had he ever harbored treasonous intent, no one could have stopped him.

But because of a trivial matter—one not even directly connected to him—he had been dismissed from all posts, demoted to a minor magistrate in the wild south, and died of illness within two years.

Officially, the charge was “failure to support allied forces.”

Everyone knew he was wronged, even the emperor did, but still, he was punished without hesitation. The secret behind it—whether it really was the powerful prime minister’s doing—remained a mystery. But every frontier general learned a lesson: anyone obstructing the emperor’s will to expand the borders would share the fate of that once-favored commander.

Liu Ji’s words were like a heavy hammer striking Feng Changqing’s heart. The imperial edict had not yet arrived, and he was only acting as governor in name; whether or not this battle would be fought was not for him to decide.

Since it must be fought, victory was the only option. In that instant, Feng Changqing made his decision.