Chapter Ninety-Four: Inertia

The name was originally a Chinese phonetic rendering of a Tibetan title. After he became the Tibetan emperor, an honorific was added to it, and history would remember him by that later name.

Trisong Detsen.

He was hailed as the most accomplished ruler in Tibetan history. During his forty-four years on the throne, Tibetan expansion reached its peak. He wrested Longyou and Hexi from the Tang, seized the entire Western Regions, and even fought the Arabs several times for control of Central Asia. His boldest feat of all was the incursion into the Tang capital, Chang'an.

For a foreign hero, there is often a price paid in the suffering of his own people. Each time Tibetan power expanded, countless Han Chinese were plunged into ruin, for Tibet was a society built on serfdom, and its greatest talent was turning the peoples of conquered lands into its own slaves, creatures ranked in their social order lower than livestock.

At this moment, that Tibetan hero was still nothing more than a child of barely ten years old. One of the four lapdogs he would one day possess was right before Liu Ji’s eyes, his face gone pale with terror, then dark with panic, then red again. His lips trembled, yet no sound came out.

"Can’t answer? Then you’re useless."

Liu Ji’s words were as cold as ice, and Shang Jiezan could not help but shiver.

"I’ll speak. I’ll speak." He lowered his head, his voice shrinking as well. "After Princess Jincheng died, your armies pressed us year after year, forcing us back step by step. It got to the point where even Qinghai seemed impossible to hold. Every envoy we sent out was turned away without exception. We could no longer ask the Heavenly Khan to halt the war in the princess’s name. We had no choice but to think of this plan: to have Trisong Detsen claim to be the princess’s child. With blood between us, perhaps you would stop for a while."

So that was the reason.

Liu Ji’s face did not change, but his heart surged with shock. No wonder so many absurd theories had sprung up. Clearly, by the time this child was born, the princess had already been dead for years, yet people still invented those stories; the source had been here all along.

It seemed the Tang had put them under such enormous pressure over these years that they had reached the point of caring about nothing else. That also explained something else: why, only three years later, a coup would break out, with the Tibetans discarding their own emperor and putting a thirteen-year-old boy on the throne. It was all an attempt to force a family tie with the Tang.

And the most ridiculous part of all was that, even after the crisis had passed and the Tang had declined in the wake of that great upheaval, they still pressed forward step by step, even storming Chang'an at one point, yet still set up a descendant of Prince Bin as a puppet emperor. So this emperor had truly come to believe himself descended from Han blood.

Sadly, a lie was still a lie. And now, one witness to that clumsy falsehood stood right before him.

"Let me guess. The child of Princess Jincheng was killed by you, wasn’t he?"

Shang Jiezan trembled all over, then pleaded with a pained face, "I don’t know. I really don’t know. Back then I wasn’t even a minor official. I was still fighting you in Qinghai."

Liu Ji could see that this time he was not lying. Yet to say he knew nothing of the inside story would not be entirely true either. Still, the matter was long past, the people involved long dead, and what he wanted now was nothing more than a bit of curiosity. He had thrown out a baited question, and the result was as expected.

He had no interest in learning too much about the inner workings of Tibet. How to deal with this man now, however, had become a problem. This tent was not occupied by his own people. At the time, command had been taken over by Yang Yu’s men; later, when Feng Changqing’s army arrived, it passed into the hands of Duan Xiushi’s people. Though they had all spoken Tibetan just now, how could the military scribe responsible for recording the interrogation not understand the language of the enemy?

Most crucial of all was that Liu Ji had not expected this fish to be such a very big one. So big, in fact, that he wanted to kill him without regard for consequences, rather than let Feng Changqing and the others handle him.

The Tibetans now looked half dead already. Even if they captured their grand minister, he would likely just be sent back to the capital for show. This man might not be the grand minister, but he was a highly dangerous future rival. Since there was an opportunity to remove him, how could he possibly let it slip away?

History might not change because of one person alone, but at crucial turning points there was always deviation. And if the result was already destined to be rotten beyond repair, then what more could a deviation ruin? Once Liu Ji made up his mind, he no longer hesitated. He had already earned enough merit to justify himself; he was not likely to lose his life over this.

"If you don’t know, then there’s nothing to be done."

He said this in Han Chinese. He could not be sure whether that scribe truly understood Tibetan. Then, under the other man’s terrified gaze, he stepped forward, clamping one hand over Shang Jiezan’s mouth, while his other hand instinctively reached behind his waist.

Nothing.

Damn it. The short blade had been taken off by the physician while his wound was being treated.

With no blade in hand, Liu Ji immediately changed tactics. Two hands would be enough to finish this. Before he could get both hands into position, a voice came from behind him, followed by hurried, disordered footsteps.

"Fifth Brother, no!"

It was already too late. The voice belonged to Feng Changqing, while the one who rushed over and grabbed his arm was his own master and immediate superior, Tian Zhen. In the face of those great hands that could swing a long halberd as though it weighed nothing, his strength was a joke.

"Save me, please, save me. I’m a Tibetan noble. Send me to Chang'an, and you’ll earn great merit."

Shang Jiezan, as if granted a pardon from heaven, recognized at a glance the rank of the men before him. Having just walked once around the threshold of death, he no longer possessed even a shred of dignity. Even these words of supplication were spoken in Han Chinese.

"I saw his hair was in a mess and wanted to help him straighten it."

Liu Ji naturally would not act recklessly in front of them. Some things, it seemed, were truly fated. He used his other hand to make a show of smoothing Shang Jiezan’s tangled hair, then laughed lightly as though nothing had happened.

Feng Changqing did not laugh. In that instant just now, he had clearly seen murder flare in Fifth Brother’s eyes. There was obviously some hidden matter here, but it was not the time to ask. He exchanged a look with Tian Zhen, who understood at once, released his grip, and put an arm around Liu Ji’s shoulder to lead him outside.

"Have you lost your mind? To kill someone here? The imperial envoy is still in the camp. If something happens, even the censor-in-chief cannot shield you."

As they walked, Tian Zhen spoke softly into his ear.

It was clear that this master truly cared about him. Warmth rose in Liu Ji’s heart, and he gave him a reassuring look. "A few of my brothers died at his hands. I got a little worked up and couldn’t hold back the anger for a moment. It won’t happen again."

Tian Zhen nodded in understanding. "The more noble his status, the less we can touch him. Send him to the capital, and the Son of Heaven will deal with him. If you still can’t let it go, wait until we capture more Tibetans. You can butcher them and offer them as sacrifices at the graves if you wish."

Liu Ji tacitly accepted the suggestion. Before leaving, he glanced back. From beginning to end, Duan Xiushi had never joined in. From the moment he entered, he had stood in front of the scribe, taking the finished records in his hand, his expression grave beyond measure.

So there were plenty of people in the army who understood Tibetan after all. History, in the end, had its own inertia. He could not take every merit for himself. Duan Xiushi still stood in that place marked out for him in the histories. Perhaps that was the true face of history after all.