Chapter 116: Subversion (Part I)

Killing two unfamiliar Tibetans was not driven by any ethnic sentiment on Liu Ji’s part, nor was it an impulsive act to uphold justice. It was simply a calculated move to provoke a disturbance, aimed at gauging the local Tibetans’ speed of response and strength.

Of course, there was a deeper purpose behind it.

In the 8th century, Nepal was undergoing a transformation in its social structure. Compared to a century earlier, the rulers had shifted to Indo-European peoples from India, who had pushed the darker-skinned South Asians of the region to the margins of the cities. Although the Indian caste system had not yet been fully implemented, its influence was beginning to emerge.

Adding to this were the Tibetans who dominated them—a situation ripe for exploitation. At least for these outsiders, there was a clear difference in who governed, and Liu Ji hoped to make this distinction more palpable.

By the time Tsering returned, dusk was settling. Even the usually composed Dorje was somewhat restless. Fortunately, the child’s cleverness exceeded their expectations, sparing them the risk of venturing out to make contact.

“They’ve started fighting, the fight has begun,” Tsering said, gesturing animatedly, finally conveying what had transpired.

She had followed the mountain dwellers’ settlement, located some distance from the city. The Tibetans’ slow reaction meant that by the time of the back-and-forth, it was already late. Because the attack was carried out covertly, the Tibetans didn’t know which faction of mountain people was responsible. They launched a widespread search in the area, naturally clashing with the locals.

In the following days, the group continued gathering information, while Liu Ji compiled and sifted through the intelligence for useful insights.

Kang Laosi, through connections with wealthy merchants in the city, roughly understood the political landscape: this dynasty had ruled for just over a century, maintaining a policy of friendship with Tibet. The current king and most ministers upheld this stance, as did the aristocracy and wealthy classes they represented.

Others brought back more confusing news. The Tibetan garrison in the country was small, just over a thousand troops stationed in the capital, mostly composed of the kind Liu Ji had witnessed—arrogant tax collectors exploiting the populace. The number of actual soldiers was probably less than half.

As for the common people, they were divided. Order in the city was relatively stable, with limited resentment among residents. But the farmers, herders, and mountain tribes outside the city formed the lowest tier—largest in number, subjected to conscription and exploitation, yet too scattered to unite effectively.

This aligned with Liu Ji’s expectations; similar conclusions could be drawn anywhere. His choice of Nepal was deliberate—it bordered the Western Regions, India, and Tibet, lying close to the heart of Tibetan rule. Any upheaval here would have far-reaching consequences.

With intelligence in hand, plans could be made. In a cramped earthen hut, Kang Laosi and the others watched as Liu Ji produced a thick dossier seemingly out of thin air. The detailed provisions made their skin crawl. The cover bore an unusual Chinese title:

“Dawn Plan Implementation Draft.”

Liu Ji ignored their surprised looks, seemingly dissatisfied with the crude plan, mainly due to the tight timetable that left no room for refinement.

“Old Kang, tomorrow you must find a way to open channels with Indian merchants. Have them introduce us to discontented figures in the country—those of the highest status possible. No need to elaborate, just subtly hint at the Tang Dynasty’s military ambitions. It’s best if the Indians initiate the topic; you should then support it.”

“Dorje, you and Tsering go contact the mountain tribes. Once Old Kang has solid information, have them gather in the city. Make sure they believe there are powerful aristocrats backing them.”

In later eras, toppling a sovereign state involved just a few tactics. Liu Ji had always regretted never having enacted them himself. Now that the opportunity was here, he would not let it slip.

The key was finding a suitable entry point. In his view, this country’s contradictions were not yet sharp enough; his first task was to fan the flames.

No regime’s upper echelon was monolithic; for every favored individual, there was one disgruntled. He Dishi Yapo was such a figure—the king’s eighth son, with seven elder brothers ahead of him, making his chance of succession slim. His marriage was to a wealthy merchant’s daughter, granting him neither power nor influence, leaving him a nominal prince without real status.

It was precisely for this reason that Kang Laosi had singled him out.

“A Sogdian merchant?” He Dishi Yapo did not hesitate, partly out of respect for the gifts, agreeing to receive the visitor at his residence.

Also present was an Indian merchant. They regarded Western traders favorably, as that was the true wealth hub. Helping with introductions could forge useful alliances, so why not?

“Honored prince, your friend brings greetings from afar,” Kang Laosi offered a customary salute.

“The eagle cannot fly over the snowy mountains. Friend, what wind carries your greetings?” He Dishi Yapo responded without pretension. Whether aiming for future schemes or resigned to a peaceful life, he needed merchant support. They would not visit without purpose, especially not just to present gifts.

Kang Laosi stepped back, yielding the floor to the Indian merchant: “The news comes from our mutual friend. Old Kang merely admires the prince’s demeanor and is borrowing his favor.”

The humility won immediate goodwill. However, when the Indian outlined the situation, the prince’s polite smile vanished.

“What did you say? The Tang want to pass through the southern kingdoms?”

No wonder he paled. Tang and Tibet had been at war for a century, with battlefronts thousands of miles away from Nepal. The Tang were unaccustomed to the highlands, and Tibetans confidently asserted that even if the Tang advanced, they would not hold ground.

Indeed, that had been the case for years. But if the Tang could pass through the Indian states directly, bypassing the Xiangxiong region, it would be different. One could imagine the impact if Tang forces suddenly appeared deep in Nepal.

“Your Highness, when I set out, this was only a rumor. You know they prefer minimal involvement in the conflict between our two countries, unless...”

Unless what? The Indian left the sentence hanging. He Dishi Yapo guessed: people follow the victors, siding with whoever holds the upper hand. This was the survival strategy of small states—no one dared speak openly.

Nepal was such a small kingdom.

“Have the Tang won?” he muttered to himself.

“That question should be directed to our new friend,” the Indian said, nodding toward Kang Laosi.

Kang Laosi made a troubled face. Under the other’s eager gaze, he reluctantly spoke:

“I hadn’t planned to dampen spirits, but since you asked—We came from Bolu, now a battlefield. When we left, the Tang had crossed the Bayi River about two weeks prior. As to their current location, I cannot say without speculation.”

“My friend, thank you for bringing such vital news. Please stay the night at my home. Refusing a host’s sincerity would be unkind.”

“It is our honor.”

Both understood the unspoken—this was house arrest. Indeed, He Dishi Yapo did not appear even at meals, instead sending messengers to verify and confer—exactly as Liu Ji intended.

In this tranquil land, a ripple had been stirred.

Kang Laosi lifted a silver cup and gently clinked it with the Indian merchant’s, exchanging a knowing glance.

In the tide of history, not only the city’s rulers followed the currents—merchants who traveled far and wide were the most sensitive of all.