Chapter Fourteen: Belief

In later generations, Liu Ji was selected by the General Staff’s intelligence division while he was studying at the military academy. At the time, he wasn't the most skilled in military techniques within his unit, but he possessed an exceptional advantage rarely found in others—a natural talent, one might say.

Languages.

Born in Jinling, he was stationed in Western Qiang after enlisting. In less than two years, he mastered the obscure and complex Qiang language, and gained a deep understanding of local customs, history, culture, and religion. It was this that drew the attention of his superiors and led to his selection for the military academy.

There was an amusing rumor in his unit at the time: the reason this young man was so determined to learn Qiang was because he’d fallen for a local Qiang girl.

After joining the intelligence service, this talent was used to its fullest. Under the influence of the New Silk Road policy, intelligence officers became the vanguard in opening up Central Asia. Whenever he entered a new country, he could swiftly master the local tongue. Within just a few years, his mind was filled with seven or eight lesser-known languages; he could even hold a conversation in Balti, spoken by only a small segment of the Kashmir region.

Now, he found himself at the very heart of Balti territory.

Gazing at the well-maintained, elegant face before him, Liu Ji couldn’t help but recall that old rumor—perhaps people truly need some sort of motivation to surpass their own limits.

Which brought him to a new question: if his own talent stemmed from a youthful pursuit, what, then, was this woman’s motivation for all she had done?

Under the gaze of the two men, Lady Zeng Jiu appeared utterly composed, even savoring the heat of their scrutiny. The business was concluded; it was time to depart. She set down the tiger-skin badge she’d been toying with, and rose gracefully to her feet.

“Gentlemen, such matters weigh heavily. You should make proper arrangements for your journey home. I shall take my leave.” With a deep, elegant curtsey in the Tang fashion, enhanced by her close-fitting attire, she exuded a unique poise.

“Our affairs have troubled you, Lady Jiu. I, Yang Yu, am most—” Yang Yu hurriedly bowed in return, but before he could finish, a shadow darted past him and a startled cry rang out.

“Ah!”

In an instant, Liu Ji had pinned the woman across the table. Zeng Jiu’s waist arched like a drawn bow, her curves accentuated; his iron grip encircled her slender neck, forcing her head back. Pain flashed across her delicate face and confusion filled her bright eyes.

Surprisingly, in only a few moments, Zeng Jiu met Liu Ji’s fierce gaze and began to laugh, her alluring form rising and falling with each breath. The sight left Yang Yu parched and bewildered.

Perhaps seeing that her laughter had no effect, she let it fade. Reaching out, she traced a finger lightly along Liu Ji’s arm, her eyes brimming with suggestive charm as her voice melted into a sultry purr.

“Is Fifth Master in such haste that he can’t even wait for the bed an arm’s length away? Perhaps I should serve you right here?”

Liu Ji was no innocent—he’d seen his share of women in the modern world, even if none were legendary beauties. Yet, confronted with this woman beneath him, he found himself at a loss. It was as if he were gripping a slender glass bottle, smooth and slippery; her bewitching grace stirred his heart, and most dangerously, her legs worked relentlessly against his most sensitive places.

He steeled himself and tightened his grip, making her breath quicken and her struggles cease at once.

Was he going to kill her? At last, fear flickered in Zeng Jiu’s eyes. If this grip endured a moment longer, she would surely suffocate. Unable to speak, she clutched his arm, her gaze beseeching.

This seemingly youthful man was in fact the notorious “Fifth Wolf,” who had slaughtered Darnangqi and five warriors of the Subi tribe!

A clever woman indeed. Liu Ji eased his grip, drew his dagger with his free hand, and pressed the cold, gleaming tip ever closer to her eyes until she was forced to shut them.

“I ask, you answer. For every lie, you lose an eye. Three lies, and you’ll never speak again. Blink if you understand. I won’t repeat myself.”

Zeng Jiu blinked rapidly, heedless of the blade’s glint. At once she felt his grip on her throat loosen, her breath no longer stifled as before.

“First: how did you learn of Darnangqi’s death?” Liu Ji’s voice bore down on her, the knife granting no time for thought.

“I heard it from the Tibetans. They found—” She tried to elaborate, but Liu Ji cut her off.

“Second: Yang Yu has been here two days. Why didn’t you approach him sooner?”

“I had to await news of Darnangqi’s fate before confirming your whereabouts.” Knowing he would tolerate no delay, she answered directly.

“Third: what is your arrangement with the Subi tribe?”

She hesitated, but as the point of the blade drew nearer, she hurried on. “The Subi chieftain, Molingzan, seeks the title of Dalun. The current Dalun, Molu Qiongshang, has committed no grave error and enjoys the Zanpu’s trust. Thus, Molingzan needs an excuse.”

Seeing no interruption, she continued, “That excuse is this: I orchestrate matters so the Tang army conquers Bolü, giving him grounds to speak before the Zanpu.”

“So, the alleged Subi plot for rebellion is entirely your fabrication?”

Zeng Jiu shook her head and smoothed her disheveled hair—a casual gesture that once again gave Liu Ji pause.

“I'll answer your next question as well. The Subi have been using me to convey messages to the Tang for some time. They thrive among the Tibetans but remain uneasy. Many great clans, more favored and meritorious, have been purged before them. That the Subi harbor ambitions is no secret—they simply lack the necessary push.”

“Go on,” he prompted.

“The Subi have little military presence in Bolü. Even Darnangqi’s unit was only recently dispatched. Though nominally under my command, he surely had his own designs, which led to the unauthorized attempt on your life.”

“You’re bound to ask what I gain from the Subi.”

The gleam in Zeng Jiu’s eyes returned, her fear replaced by a calm assurance, for she saw the savagery fading from Liu Ji’s gaze and the dagger drawing away. Only his hand at her throat remained, pinning her in place.

“Here, I have no family, no children—not even a master left to serve. Now, I want only to see this country torn apart with my own eyes, to watch those high and mighty ones trampled into the mud, crying out in bitter agony.”

Liu Ji’s expression froze. He hadn’t expected such an answer. Her tone was calm, yet the hatred within her could not be concealed. He released his grip, slid the dagger back into his belt, and helped her to her feet.

“One last question: are you truly forty-seven?”

Zeng Jiu was still shaken from the ordeal. After a moment, she composed herself, adjusted her attire, donned her veil, and walked to the door. There, she paused, turned, lifted her veil with a delicate hand, and with full, red lips, murmured,

“If Fifth Master truly wishes to know, why not try and see for yourself?”