Chapter Twelve: The Answer

The door that had just opened was quickly closed again, and a warm, fragrant breeze swept through the room. Liu Ji couldn’t help but frown—was it a woman?

He looked up to see a graceful, slender figure gliding toward him in delicate, mincing steps. Her embroidered cloak and floor-length skirt shimmered, and her hair was swept high into a jeweled floral crown, with two pearls dangling from a hairpin, swaying gently with every step. Though her face was veiled in gauze, the slender, fair hands crossed at her waist were so refined and delicate, it was clear she was not born of an ordinary family.

She stopped a step away from him and, with a natural movement, raised her arm, revealing a wrist as pale as new snow. With elegant, slender fingers, she drew aside her veil. Her lips, as red as petals, moved softly, and a voice like a drifting mist floated into the room, light and elusive.

“Was it you who killed Danangqi?”

His girlfriend in his previous life had also been a soldier like him, sometimes applying a light touch of makeup, but never exuding the beguiling allure of the woman before him. When that veil was lifted, he was momentarily entranced, forgetting even to answer her question.

He realized then that true beauty in a woman did not require the common, uniform features of internet celebrities, nor even the bloom of youth. Her face was as luminous as a polished silver basin, her eyes curved like crescent moons, willowy brows sweeping gracefully, and though fine lines graced the corners of her eyes, they did nothing to diminish her beauty—if anything, they added an air of nobility.

It was a strange feeling. Perhaps there really were people born with an innate sense of grace. Liu Ji composed himself, but before he could speak, that voice sounded again.

“Forgive my forwardness. I am the Gisang Yangcuo you are seeking.”

Liu Ji snapped back to himself. This woman, dressed in Tibetan attire with a curious name, spoke flawless Tang court speech.

He said nothing, but his gaze grew colder. The moment grew awkward, but fortunately, there was another person in the room. Yang Yu, whether equally stunned or not, finally took his proper place.

“I am Yang Yu of Hexi,” he announced, gesturing toward Liu Ji. Noticing the look in Liu Ji’s eyes, he left the introduction unfinished and turned to the woman. “Madam, you do not seem Tibetan.”

“Indeed not. My surname is Zeng, ninth in my clan, from Longyou. Gisang Yangcuo is my Tibetan name. The reason, well, is much like this gentleman from Kang. Would you not agree?” She answered calmly, as if expecting the question.

Liu Ji’s confusion deepened, but within he was shaken. Just now, he had finally heard his companion’s name—a name rarely mentioned in the histories, but to one who had studied the Silk Road as he had, it resounded like thunder.

Yang Yu, courtesy name Zhilie, hailed from the Yang clan of Ganzhou. If history ran its course, in ten years’ time he would become the Military Commissioner of Hexi and the highest civil and military authority in the Western Regions—the Deputy Marshal west of the river. By then, the three garrisons of Anxi, Beiting, and Hexi would be cut off from the court by the Tibetans, fighting alone in isolation.

Liu Ji couldn’t help but glance at him. Yang Yu couldn’t have been thirty yet; according to the records, he should still be a junior officer under the Anxi Protectorate.

“If the gentleman does not believe me, then allow me to explain myself.” Seeing Liu Ji still silent, the woman moved with a hint of resignation. “May I sit and speak?”

Without waiting for a reply, she took the seat Yang Yu had vacated, her brow slightly furrowed, exuding a mature, graceful charm.

“Are you wondering why Danangqi tried to kill you?”

To their surprise, Liu Ji shook his head. “What puzzles me is why Danangqi spared us in the first place.”

At these words, even Yang Yu was taken aback. Liu Ji’s reminder seemed to awaken him, and he quickly moved to Liu Ji’s side.

“So you guessed it. Then allow me to start from the beginning.” The woman picked up a piece of tiger skin from the table, turning it over in her hand.

“In the sixth year of Tianbao, Gao Kaifu attacked Lesser Bolü. To cut off the Tibetans’ reinforcements, they destroyed the vine bridge over Boyi River. After the Tang withdrew, only three thousand soldiers remained to garrison the post. The Tibetans were constantly scheming to reclaim their lost ground, but internal strife and external threats kept them away for five years of peace.”

She spoke in detail, and Liu Ji listened intently—these were the details he needed most.

“Last year, after Gao Kaifu was defeated by the Arabs and reassigned from Anxi, the Tibetans saw their chance. They rebuilt the vine bridge in seven months. It was I who sent word of this, which led to your mission.”

“Everything was going smoothly until your return, when you were discovered by the garrison. They sealed off the riverbanks, forcing you to flee back. To allay Tibetan suspicions, I had no choice but to order the killing of your attendants.”

She met their eyes and shook her head with a wry smile. “That’s right. Danangqi and his team are all my people.”

“No wonder, no wonder,” Yang Yu exclaimed, suddenly enlightened. “I carried a wounded man on my back and still managed to escape pursuit, thinking I was clever. How laughable.”

“There was nothing else to be done. If any other team had handled it, you wouldn’t have survived.”

But the woman’s explanation no longer occupied Liu Ji’s thoughts. Those events happened before he came to this world. Now, his concern was another matter.

“So, killing me wasn’t your own idea?”

“It was not my order—yet it is related to me.” She nodded, then shook her head. The pearls on her hairpin chimed softly, like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. “Once I learned what happened, I formed a theory.”

“Danangqi hoped to use your death to enrage the Tang—especially the generals of Anxi—and provoke open war between the two states.”

Liu Ji was utterly unprepared for this answer. Instinctively, he asked, “Why?”

His surprise was understandable. If the woman’s theory was correct, Yang Yu would have been the better target—not only because of his background and status, but also because his father was a senior officer in Anxi. By any measure, he was far more important than a Sogdian merchant.

The woman seemed startled by his question and studied him carefully. Seeing that he wasn’t joking, a smile gradually curved her lips, her eyes rippling like autumn water. She raised her arm in a natural gesture, covering her mouth as she laughed.

“I have treated you as a confidant, and this is how you repay me?” she teased, then began to chant softly: “White Tiger Devours, Shining Unrivaled, Yang the Swan… Xie Fifth Son.”

She lingered on the last three words, her gaze fixed on Liu Ji, making him feel rather uncomfortable.

“One day, I meet two of the Four Talents of Anxi—how fortunate am I? First the Lord Yu, then you.” Her slender brows arched. “The Liu family of Jingzhao, legitimate son of the top scholar, the youngest officer under the Anxi Protectorate.”

“Fifth Son, shall I go on?”