Chapter Ten: An Appointment

He'bulao City was built along the Sigar River, nestled in a narrow valley filled with block-shaped structures of varying sizes. These houses, piled up with earth, stones, and rough wood, were so common that even in later eras, one could still find their like in less developed countries.

At noon, the sun grew scorching, and the dry streets were swept with dust, kicked up by the feet of passersby. When the mountain winds funneled through the valley, the dust instantly shrouded the entire neighborhood.

Yang Yu emerged from the haze, squinting as he caught sight of the old Shi family inn’s sign. He hurried over, rushing inside and stamping his feet, coughing dryly from deep in his throat.

“Swallowed a mouthful of sand, didn’t you? I’ve told you before, in weather like this, even if you go, you might not be able to wait,” Shi Chongzhi beckoned him over. Yang Yu approached in surprise, and the former lowered his voice, murmuring something quietly into his ear.

“He’s here. Upstairs.”

“What?”

Seeing Yang Yu’s disbelief, Shi Chongzhi quickly recounted the situation.

“The man is about six feet tall, speaks perfect Sogdian, gave the right password and token. It all checks out, but…”

“But what?”

“But he’s dressed in full Tibetan heavy armor, with four horses for himself. I can’t quite make sense of it.”

Shi Chongzhi stammered out his concern, and Yang Yu fell silent, pondering. It was true that Tibetans kept many horses, so one man with several mounts was not uncommon. But heavy cavalry served as the emperor’s guards—this was far from ordinary. How could he know to come here? The two of them suddenly thought of a disturbing possibility; Yang Yu’s expression changed at once.

“Where are the horses?”

“In the rear stable,” Shi Chongzhi raised his hand, pointing toward the back courtyard.

Without another word, Yang Yu strode off. The inn was quite spacious, with a main hall on the ground floor, guest rooms above, and a rear courtyard where staff lived. There was also a yard for merchants’ camels and horses, ringed by feeding troughs.

The stable was crowded with over a hundred animals. After asking around, Yang Yu was led to the edge by a stable hand, who pointed him toward a small trough. There, four horses of varying colors were eating. At a glance, it was obvious these were fine warhorses—tall at the shoulder, strong of chest and back. One black stallion was particularly imposing. Yang Yu’s mind raced; he circled behind the horse and swiftly lifted its long tail.

“Careful!” the stable hand cried out, seeing his move.

Yang Yu was ready; before a hoof could lash out, he sidestepped nimbly. In that instant, he clearly saw a distinctive brand on the horse’s flank—a cluster of leaping flames.

He checked the other three in the same way, and, as expected, they bore the same mark. The truth was plain: these were not only Tibetan warhorses, but all came from the Subi tribe.

Back in the main hall, Shi Chongzhi signaled with his eyes. Yang Yu nodded silently, both their faces grave. Had things reached the worst-case scenario?

If Wulang had fallen into Tibetan hands and revealed all their secrets, would they not also be in danger?

“You’d best go. Just say you were acting on someone’s behalf. As long as they can’t find the real person, this little inn shouldn’t come to harm,” Shi Chongzhi said helplessly.

But Yang Yu shook his head. “We must know for certain whether he’s alive or dead. Did the guest request anything?”

“Food, water, and a sewing kit,” Shi Chongzhi replied, then guessed Yang Yu’s intention. “You mean to pose as a servant and see him yourself? That’s a sound plan.”

It was meal time, and the inn was busy; with so many guests, the food could not be prepared quickly. By the time Yang Yu returned, the order was still waiting. When all was ready, he disguised himself as a serving hand, gathered the items, and knocked on the guest room door.

“Come in.”

The voice stunned Yang Yu—it was Wulang himself!

On the street outside the Shi family inn, a group of five halted near the entrance. The veiled woman leading them glanced inside, saw the place was crowded, and signaled to her attendant. He nodded and slipped away, while the others, under her lead, turned into a small eatery across the street.

This was a local establishment, not very prosperous. At that hour, fewer than a third of the tables were occupied. The four of them found a spot in the corner. Before sitting, the leading woman took out a silk handkerchief and wiped the dark, oily bench.

“A pot of butter tea, a plate of mutton, three portions of flatbread. Do you serve wine?” One of the two men, all dressed in Tibetan garb, called the proprietor over and ordered in Tibetan.

“Only last year’s aged barley wine,” replied the local owner in halting Tibetan.

“Bring a pot.”

The owner bowed and backed away. Judging from their attire, the guests were likely city nobles; small establishments like his could not afford to offend them.

Since all the food was cooked and ready, it was quickly set out. The flatbreads, crisp and the size of wooden basins, were especially tempting. The leading woman broke off a piece and chewed silently, her attendants not daring to speak until a figure rushed in.

“Madam, I’ve found out—they’re in the inn,” the newcomer whispered in her ear.

“Are you certain?” The woman’s eyes brightened, replying in fluent Han Chinese.

“No mistake. Four horses in the rear stable; I checked myself. Each bears the Subi mark.”

Her eyes widened in astonishment. To kill and rob, not fleeing but swaggering into the city and lodging in an inn—were they not afraid of being recognized?

“Shall I go sound them out first?”

The woman hesitated, then shook her head. “They won’t see you. This time, I must go myself.”

“Madam…” All the attendants stood up.

“You stay here. If I’m not back in an hour, do as we discussed.”

Her tone brooked no argument. With that, she turned and crossed the street to the foot-and-horse inn.

Shi Chongzhi was distracted. Ever since Yang Yu had gone upstairs, he glanced at the stairway every so often. So when a woman’s voice rang out, he had not yet looked over, and his face showed some impatience.

“Sorry, all rooms are full. If you’d rather not wait, I can have a servant find you another lodging nearby—quiet, I assure you.” Decades of experience kept his words polite and watertight.

“No need. I have an appointment with a guest here. May I trouble you to show the way?” The woman’s voice was soft and pleasant in Han Chinese.

Shi Chongzhi paused. “Oh? May I ask which guest?”

“Mister Kang from Xizhou.”