Chapter Twenty: Seal Two

Page (1/3)

Flames—everywhere, flames. In the blazing inferno, a young and inexperienced boy ran desperately for his life.

Ahead of him surged a crowd, each person empty-handed, having abandoned all their belongings, faces gripped by terror and panic.

Behind him, the sound of pounding hooves drew ever closer. Suddenly, something caught his foot, causing him to stumble and fall. His hand landed on something cold and unyielding—a corpse, already stiff, bearing the same features as his own.

“Die!”

A voice, speaking in Persian? The boy jerked around in shock. A black Arabian horse reared before him, its massive rider looming like an iron tower, shrouded in darkness. The horse’s hooves, as wide as bowls, crashed down with deadly force, while the flash of a blade was so blinding he couldn’t even open his eyes. All he could do was let out a piercing scream.

Liu Ji struggled upright, his bare chest slick with sweat, his gaze unfocused and blank. The suffocating terror of impending death felt as vivid as if he had lived it himself, raw and immediate.

“Wulang! Wulang!”

A man’s voice called out. A hand gripped his own. Liu Ji turned, terror-stricken, and met a look of deep concern.

The man was somewhat older, dressed in a round-collared official robe, a sash wrapped around his head, a wisp of beard beneath his jaw fluttering without wind. His face was thin, his eyes small—one slightly askew—giving him a look that was neither commanding nor kindly. The first word that rose in Liu Ji’s mind was “rat-faced.”

And yet, inexplicably, Liu Ji felt an immediate kinship with the man. Tears welled in his eyes, unashamedly revealing his vulnerability.

Liu Ji understood perfectly that he was, at this moment, an observer; neither the dream nor the emotions belonged to himself, but rather to the original owner of this body.

“Another nightmare?” The man drew him into an embrace, patting his back as one would comfort a child.

“It’s no wonder. That battle—you were only fifteen. Of more than twenty thousand men, less than a third returned. When you all came back, not a single corner of the Four Garrisons of Anxi was free from weeping. Lord Gao, so proud a man, seemed hollowed out, his beard and hair turned half-white overnight.”

The man’s voice was low, his expression somber, lost in memory. Liu Ji, gradually calming, was drawn back to a year before by the story.

Talas—the name that would later cause generations to sigh in regret—surfaced in his resurrected memories.

Page (1/3)

Page (2/3)

In the tenth year of the Tianbao era, in May, Gao Xianzhi, hailed as the “King of the Mountains of China,” embarked on his most crucial campaign, leading twenty thousand Anxi frontier soldiers, along with ten thousand auxiliary troops from the Qarluq and Karluk, on a grueling march of over seven hundred miles to reach the city of Talas.

With no reinforcements or supply lines, the Tang army was forced to act swiftly. They first attempted to besiege the city without success, and soon found themselves facing the superior combined forces of the Abbasids and the Transoxianan states. After five days of stalemate, the Karluk auxiliaries betrayed them. Attacked from front and rear, the Tang formation collapsed, and the survivors fled for their lives, just as he had seen in his dream.

It was his first battle—nearly his last.

“…That night, your father, myself, and all the clerks, staff officers, secretaries, and scribes under the Grand Protectorate—more than a hundred of us—wrote, and wrote, through the entire night. Over sixteen thousand notifications of death. Behind each notice lay a shattered family.”

Tears glistened in the man’s eyes, his words choking off the “Father” Liu Ji had nearly blurted out. Perhaps this man was only a colleague of his father’s, but clearly a significant one. Liu Ji’s injuries conveniently concealed his ignorance. The man continued to comfort him until someone called from outside.

“Sir Sima, all the generals are gathered in the camp, awaiting your council.”

A servant entered. The man showed a look of surprise. “News from Kucha?”

“Yes,” the servant replied, evidently aware of the close relationship between the two, showing no reserve. “Lord Wang is in grave trouble.”

“What!” The man started, released Liu Ji, and rose. He took a few steps toward the door, then stopped and gave an instruction.

“If you have time, go find Commander Duan and turn in your weapons. We’ll discuss the rest when I return.”

With that, he hurried out with his servant. Liu Ji stared after him, stunned. The man’s gait was awkward, as if one leg was shorter than the other, reminding him suddenly of a record from the history books.

Could this man be the legendary figure who rose from the lowest ranks to become military governor of two regions, only to be executed by imperial order after a single defeat?

Feng Changqing?

At this moment, his titles were Deputy Commissioner of Military Farms for the Four Garrisons, Sima of the Anxi Expeditionary Force, and Acting Administrator!

Page (2/3)

Page (3/3)

At this thought, Liu Ji leapt from the bed, barefoot and barely clothed, and flung open the door. A gust of icy air struck him, making his whole body shudder.

He was now in Little Bolü—what would later be known as Gilgit, in Pakistan-administered Kashmir. The taste of the air was almost identical to what he remembered from the future.

Hundreds of miles away, in the city of He Polao, the chaos of three days ago had left no trace. Those arrested—Tang people or Sogdians alike—had all been released after paying a ransom. Even the Shi family’s old shop, where the incident began, had reopened for business, as if nothing had ever happened.

In the city’s official residence, Zeng Jiuniang stood under the corridor, her face expressionless as several servants from Bolü carried out a corpse wrapped in a carpet. She knew it was a young Bolü girl—violated before death, her body covered in bruises.

As a woman herself, she could feel the girl’s suffering. The corpse had lain in the residence for three days, yet Xi Dongzan had wasted not a single moment. Zeng Jiuniang’s face was like frost, cold and forbidding.

“Madam, it’s done.” The attendant, witnessing such an expression for the first time, lowered his head as he reported.

“There was no trouble from the others?”

“They wouldn’t dare. Even if they’re resentful, none would show it.”

Another pitiful soul abandoned by her family. Perhaps the girl’s fate had been sealed the moment her relatives made their decision. Zeng Jiuniang’s face remained unchanged as she nodded and, without looking back, gave her orders.

“Pack our things. We leave after noon. Go with Xiao Wu to rent a few packhorses—bring all we can.”

Are they not coming back? The attendant, called Xiao Si, was startled. “So soon? Aren’t we waiting for him?”

That man… Zeng Jiuniang glanced toward the road out of the city, her voice cool.

“We’ll talk about waiting if he returns alive.”