Chapter 77: Seizing the Bridge (Part Two)

“Our men are here.”

Liu Ji was certainly not night-blind. Thanks to specialized training from later times, his eyesight might not surpass Duoguli’s by much, but his powers of observation were in no way inferior.

Through the darkness, the undulating, shifting shadows in the distance—if not wild beasts, could only be Tang soldiers on the move. He believed that in a place garrisoned by so many troops, a large pack of animals would never appear.

“Not good, the Tibetans are out on patrol.”

He had not been happy for long before Duoguli’s slightly accented Bolü dialect sounded in his ear. Liu Ji glanced back calmly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a group approaching. Since they came from the direction of the firelight, the leader’s face was clearly visible.

It was indeed a Tibetan.

Damn it, he cursed inwardly. It was the middle of the third watch, around four in the morning by later reckoning—the hour when people sleep deepest. Why weren’t these fellows in their tents waiting to be slaughtered, but instead out here?

“He’s the commander of this thousand-man unit, and the rest are his trusted followers. At this time, they’re usually asleep. But before the Tibetan noble left, he ordered us to hide by day and move by night. Tonight, he already patrolled once. I thought he wouldn’t come again, but here he is. Does he suspect us?”

Duoguli’s words left him speechless. Xidongzan, that troublesome man, couldn’t even leave without making a mess. As the group drew nearer, Liu Ji signaled his men to halt.

“Go up and block him,” Liu Ji murmured, addressing Duoguli.

At this point, there was no choice but to brazen it out. What they were moving were planks—the very planks dismantled by the Tibetans. If these men saw what was happening, even a fool could guess the truth.

Without the planks, this bridge was nothing but swinging vines. A handful of people might cross, but not thousands.

Duoguli understood—there was no other way. Drawing a deep breath, he signaled to his reliable men. Dozens quietly spread the word among themselves and quickly followed.

“Greetings, sir,” they said.

A few steps away, Duoguli and his men blocked Mardalqi and his party. Their numbers were roughly equal. Each of Duoguli’s men watched one of the Tibetans. The camp was close by; any fight would surely alarm the guards.

After all, Mardalqi’s thousand-man unit was only part of the three thousand defenders, closest to the bridgehead.

“Anything unusual?”

Mardalqi was unmoved by the Bolü men’s respect. He brushed past Duoguli, leading his men forward.

“Nothing unusual. There was a shadow at first, but I stood guard for a while. It seemed to be a wild goat passing by...” Duoguli’s explanation was clearly ignored. Helpless, he could only follow anxiously behind.

Mardalqi did not recognize everyone in the camp. These hastily conscripted Bolü men were just expendable cannon fodder. If Xidongzan hadn’t remembered this hunter from his last inspection, Mardalqi would never have bothered with him.

But even though he didn’t know everyone, the busy figures at the bridgehead and what they were moving aroused his suspicion. At that moment, another figure stepped in front of him.

“Sir, something’s wrong.”

His heart tightened. For a moment, he didn’t even notice the other’s imperfect Bolü accent—details that often decide victory or defeat.

“What’s happened? Is it the enemy—”

He couldn’t finish. A powerful hand gripped his shoulder. At the same time, pain stabbed his waist, and he heard a familiar Turkic phrase in his ear.

“You’re right. The Tang have already crossed.”

As Liu Ji spoke, he drove the forty-centimeter dagger in. At first there was resistance, then that all-too-familiar sliding sensation as the blade pierced organs. As he withdrew the knife, blood instantly flooded the abdominal cavity, and only then did the agony reach the man’s brain.

“Do it!”

This time, the words were in Chinese. Those left stunned included not only the Tibetans following Mardalqi but also the bewildered Duoguli and his men. Though they were prepared to turn against the Tibetans, none had expected the moment to come so suddenly.

Naturally, the task of striking fell to Liu Ji’s own men. Zhang Wuji, who had already led a few to circle behind the enemy, was the first to act. His bright saber flashed as he lunged, stabbing a Tibetan from behind.

“Aaah!”

“There’s a traitor!”

“The Tang are here!”

Mardalqi had brought nearly thirty men—hardly a number that could be slain in an instant. Death screams rang out first; then several Tibetans who reacted drew their swords. A man in their midst swiftly slung his bow and shot an arrow high into the air.

A sharp whistle, then a bang.

Not good—it was a signal arrow. Duoguli’s face turned pale. At this point, there was no choice left. The Tang would soon cross the river anyway. Gritting his teeth, he drew his blade and plunged into the fray, shouting, “Kill them all—let none survive!”

With Duoguli and his men joining in, the outcome was never in doubt. Soon, all thirty Tibetans lay slain. But the commotion had already roused the camp behind them. Liu Ji had no time to count his own casualties. Mind racing, he considered his next move.

The planks they had just laid covered only a small section. To deck the whole vine bridge would require time. Now, it was a matter of how long they could hold out.

“Quickly, send someone back to spread the word. Don’t go to the Tibetans, but to our fellow villagers scattered through the camp. Tell them the Tang have attacked, the officers are dead, and if they want to live, they’d better run—let them flee to the other two camps, but make sure the message spreads.”

Duoguli understood immediately. Night’s greatest fear was a camp panic. Once chaos erupted, if no strong force quelled it, it would only grow. They had already sown rumors before; now it was time to make them reality.

At his signal, a few men ran into the camp. Soon, there was movement in the main camp. Countless figures dashed about in the firelight in utter confusion—clearly, their men had done their work.

Liu Ji stood at the bridgehead, his face grim, hoping his men would work faster—faster still.