Chapter Seventeen: The Vine Bridge (Part One)

As daylight broke, the streets grew busier, most of the passersby merchants traveling to and fro; ordinary folk had little reason to rise so early. The Skar Valley—Liu Ji had walked this road many times in later generations. Aside from the path beneath his feet, now paved with cement, the electric scooters replaced by real donkeys, tractors and trucks by camels, horses, cattle, and sheep, there was little difference. The traveling merchants from the Western Regions and India spoke in a babel of tongues, filling him with a sense of familiarity.

The two men and their four horses occupied the center of the road. Even if the merchants felt some displeasure, at the sight of their attire, they instinctively made way. Everyone knew that solitary warriors on the road could be no less dangerous than robbers or bandits; it was best to avoid trouble.

In this fashion, they arrived smoothly at one side of the Boyi River. From afar, they could see a contingent of Tibetan soldiers blocking the bridge, checking each merchant as they passed. As the first checkpoint leading to the Western Regions and the border between two nations, tension was palpable.

"The soldiers stationed here are all Bolu people. I’ll go speak with them," Yang Yu murmured, then urged his horse ahead toward the bridge.

Liu Ji slowed his mount, approaching the riverbank. As Yang Yu had said, the river named "Boyi" wound between high ground and a gorge. At its narrowest, it was less than a hundred paces across, spanned by a cable suspension bridge, its design nearly identical to those of later times.

The bridge deck hung more than ten paces above the river. The rushing waters below were strewn with jagged rocks; in a hurry, it would be hard to find a safe crossing. He lifted his gaze—the suspension bridge loomed before him like a giant serpent, imposing and formidable.

For the entire structure was not made of steel and concrete, but of natural rattan, now faded to a pale gray!

No wonder the Tibetans considered it their lifeline. To construct such a bridge under these conditions demanded not only manpower and resources but luck as well—finding suitable materials in the mountains, weaving, drying, and erecting the bridge all took time. It had taken them seven full months, a feat accomplished with remarkable speed.

Put simply, if the Tang were on the defensive, they needed only to sever this rattan bridge to halt the Tibetans’ incursions into Little Bolu. To maintain pressure, the Tibetans had to garrison both banks of the Boyi, relying on the bridge for reinforcements and supplies. This was why, even after the Anshi Rebellion, they could not gain the upper hand over the Tang forces of Anxi in this sector.

"Dangnag Qizuben, Dangnag Qizuben?"

It took several calls before Liu Ji realized he was being addressed. He turned with deliberate arrogance, casting a glance at the speaker and displaying an impatient expression.

A Tibetan soldier stood respectfully before his horse, clad in leather armor and with a saber at his waist. Yang Yu followed, leading his own mount, and gave a barely perceptible shake of his head, signaling things were not going well.

"Dangnag Qizuben, I am the centurion garrisoned here. That day when we pursued the Tang scouts, it was I who led the men with you. We collected the bodies of seven Tang soldiers ourselves."

The centurion’s words stirred something within Liu Ji, a surge of emotion he could not quite control, yet the man continued.

"A nobleman has just arrived in the city. A few days ago, he ordered us to strictly inspect all passersby and allow no suspicious persons to cross the bridge."

"So you mean to say I look suspicious?" Liu Ji retorted in fluent Tibetan.

"I would not dare, sir. But without an order, you must at least tell me your purpose in crossing."

Liu Ji beckoned him closer. When the man leaned in, Liu Ji whispered into his ear, "You want to know? You’re not worthy."

The centurion, a Bolu man in Tibetan service, froze for a moment, then smiled obsequiously, taking Liu Ji's reins and leading the way with deference.

"Of course, sir. I only asked to have an answer if the higher-ups inquire. That day, when you led the attack on the Tang, your valor inspired the troops; the women in the city remember you still..."

This Bolu man was irritatingly loquacious. Yang Yu, following behind, grew uneasy, sensing something amiss. Only when Liu Ji shot him a covert glance did he realize the man's overdone humility was a warning.

"Come, everyone! See the famous warrior, the pride of the Sumpa tribe!" The centurion's boisterous call brought the Tibetan soldiers from their posts at the bridge. He released the reins and slowly backed away, his hand closing on his hilt—his tone suddenly changed.

"Seize them! These two are Tang spies!"

His voice was sharp and shrill, reverting to the Bolu language—a tongue now far removed from the Balti spoken centuries later. Even if they didn’t understand the words, the meaning was clear enough: this man had recognized them at once, perhaps from their voices, perhaps Yang Yu’s face had been remembered.

It didn’t matter. Liu Ji watched as the soldiers, uncertain at first, began to close in. From behind his mask, he let out a thunderous shout.

"Huzi, now!"

With these words, he swung around, seized the rattan shield from his saddle, and braced himself.

With a flash, Yang Yu drew his saber and slashed at the spare horse behind Liu Ji. The startled animal reared, screaming, and charged directly into the Tibetan ranks.

"Charge!" Liu Ji raised his slender spear and drove it powerfully into his warhorse’s haunch. Released from restraint, the horse surged forward, carrying him straight to the centurion.

The centurion watched in horror as a dark shadow thundered toward him. He staggered back, raising his saber, but it was knocked flying by a tremendous blow. Then came the rush of wind—a spearhead tore through his leather armor as if it were paper, the blade emerging from his back, blood pattering to the muddy ground.

A fierce pain shot through his mind. Before he could cry out, his body was lifted into the air, a dizzying whirl in his head, then a heavy crash as he landed among his men, sending them sprawling.

Chaos erupted on the bridge. Why were the Tibetans fighting among themselves? The merchants waiting nearby watched in confusion as the two men broke through the encirclement and reached the bridge.

"Shoot them! Don’t let them escape!"

Another Tibetan centurion took command, shouting orders. Several soldiers readied their bows, kneeling and aiming.

"Huzi, you go first—I’ll cover you," Liu Ji called, wheeling his horse to shield Yang Yu. The two formed a wedge, backing slowly toward the bridgehead.