Chapter Nineteen: Homeland

From the Bo Yi River to Little Bolu, which in later generations would become Gilgit in the Bakun Kashmir region, the straight-line distance was about two hundred miles. In reality, traveling along the winding course of the Indus Valley, the path twisted and meandered, making any estimate unreliable. The two men and their lone horse, even after discarding excess weapons and armor to lighten their load, found the journey excruciating.

Who could have imagined that the Tibetans would pursue them so relentlessly, especially considering that, at least in theory, this place was already under the jurisdiction of the Great Tang.

“Damn those barbarian dogs. I never stole their women. Why hound me so?” Yang Yu muttered, chewing on a stalk of grass, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on the valley below.

“You fancy that Ninth Lady, don’t you? She’s got good teeth—and at forty-seven, she's not much younger than your own mother,” Liu Ji said, shooting him a meaningful look, teasing.

He had just climbed up from halfway down the slope, having spent more than three miles laying false trails to mislead their pursuers, creating the illusion that they were still fleeing ahead. Now, finally returned, he lay beside his companion, panting like a dog.

After all these days, at last they could lie on their own land. Even if danger still lingered, they yearned for a proper sleep. They’d been like stray dogs, never catching a full night’s rest.

“My mother isn’t nearly that old,” Yang Yu chuckled. “Honestly, when you had her beneath you—didn’t you ever have thoughts?”

Before Liu Ji could answer, Yang Yu continued, “She brought it up herself. Who would’ve guessed? That figure, that look, that manner—if she claimed to be twenty, I’d believe her.”

Liu Ji was silent, acknowledging the truth of his companion’s words. It wasn’t just a matter of preference for older women; it was the genuine allure of maturity, like a ripe fruit bursting with fragrance, irresistible. Each time he recalled those vividly red lips, his heart would tremble, and his companion surely felt the same. This feeling had nothing to do with experience, but with instinct.

The greatest temptation for youthful men was always the mature woman.

“They’re coming.”

Yang Yu spoke softly. Liu Ji turned his head, and saw that the river valley below, empty moments before, was now flooded with dark shapes. The air was filled with shouts and neighs. As he mentally estimated their numbers, Yang Yu spoke up.

“Not fewer than a thousand riders. Damn, this is a fight to the death—the Tibetans really overestimate us.”

At this, Yang Yu’s heart stirred. He spat out the grass stalk, turned his head, and met Liu Ji’s gaze. Both men came to the same realization at once.

Such a grand display could not possibly be for the mere capture of two enemy scouts. Only one explanation remained: the enemy must have a strategic purpose.

Perhaps it was to probe the route, or to test the Tang’s response?

Xidongzan rode atop a chestnut Qiang horse, clad only in light armor. The horse, adapted to the cold highlands, sported a long mane, making it look almost like a wild beast.

He gently stroked the animal’s shoulder, as if caressing a beloved woman, his eyes scanning the surroundings—the mountains on both sides, the rushing river, the dense woods. Not even when a scout returned with a report did his gaze waver.

It was these very woods that had claimed the life of a warrior like Danangqi, in a manner unforgettable.

“…We tracked them three miles out, then found no more traces. Zuben is still searching ahead. I came to report, awaiting your orders.”

“Mm, what?” Xidongzan replied absent-mindedly, then suddenly asked, “The trail vanished after three miles?”

“Yes, hoofprints, campfires, waste—all checked. It should be those two Tang men.”

“Should be?” Xidongzan smiled silently. “If ‘should be’ were enough, they’d never have left He Polao City alive; if ‘should be’ were enough, Danangqi—that fool…”

He paused, leaned close to the soldier’s ear, and roared in anger.

“Do you want to die more miserably than he did?”

The soldier fled in terror, not waiting for orders. In an instant, Xidongzan’s face calmed, his gaze returning to the landscape.

He had brought so many men so deep into Tang territory, yet not a single Tang soldier was in sight. Moreover, the trade route connecting Bolu and Little Bolu was deserted; especially this river valley, not a soul in sight. Wasn’t that telling?

The trail had vanished. What were those scouts trying to hide? Why wait until they entered the valley to play this trick?

As these questions whirled in his mind, his thoughts became clearer. The lush forests reminded him of a Tang saying:

“Every bush and tree becomes a soldier.”

“Give the order. Gather the units.” Xidongzan raised his chin, slowly turned his horse, and showed a wistful expression.

“Withdraw.”

Their movements did not escape the notice of Liu Ji and Yang Yu, who watched the pursuers retreat in confusion, exchanging glances without answers.

When the Tibetans had vanished at the end of the valley, Yang Yu rose from the grass, tiptoeing to slip out, only to be pulled back by a strong hand.

“What’s the hurry? The Tibetans love trickery. This could just be a ploy to lure us out,” Liu Ji said, still shaken by their recent peril. Had the enemy not underestimated them, he would already be a corpse in the woods.

Yang Yu paused, turned back, and dragged Liu Ji up from the ground. Seeing his confusion, Yang Yu pointed into the distance.

“The Tibetans aren’t playing games—because,” he said, pride swelling in his voice, “our people have arrived.”

Liu Ji, pulled up to stand beside him, followed his gaze toward the valley’s mouth.

Across the gray-white earth, a vast shadow stretched along the riverbank, gradually covering the whole valley. Beneath fluttering red banners, countless armored knights lifted their weapons and shouted in unison, their hooves thundering in perfect rhythm.

Red flags, red robes, red tassels—the colors of their nation suddenly burst into view like a wild beast, charging straight into their hearts.

It reminded him of a phrase, one that future generations of China would wish to inscribe upon their passports.

No matter where you are, never forget that behind you stands a powerful motherland.

“Motherland,” Liu Ji murmured, a weight lifting from his heart. Darkness flooded his vision, and he collapsed.