Chapter Twenty-One: Where to Go

Located at the heart of the inner city of Kucha, the Grand Protectorate of Anxi had been established and abolished several times, until the first year of Changshou under the reign of Wu Zhou, when Wang Xiaojie reclaimed the Four Garrisons and requested thirty thousand Han soldiers to garrison them. Only then was the Tang Dynasty’s dominion over the Western Regions firmly set, lasting for a century thereafter.

At present, the Tang Dynasty was at the zenith of its power. Wang Zhengjian, who held the dual posts of Military Governor of Anxi and Beiting, governed a territory roughly equivalent to the provinces of Xinjiang in later times, most of Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan, and parts of Afghanistan and Pakistan. In terms of effective rule, among the nine military governorships and one strategic command established by the Tang, his domain ranked first.

He was, in truth, the undisputed King of the Western Regions.

Yet, the reality was that Wang Zhengjian, Vice Grand Protector of Anxi, Acting Censor-in-Chief, Military Governor of the Four Garrisons, Envoy to Beiting, and concurrently Military Governor of Yixi and Beiting, had little time left in this world.

In the tenth year of Tianbao, Gao Xianzhi suffered defeat at Talas, and the once famed Anxi garrison lost its elite forces. Gao himself, however, faced no punishment; instead, he was promoted to the high office of Grand Commander of the Palace, concurrently Military Governor of Hexi, commanding over seventy thousand troops—second only to the Military Governor of Fanyang, the second most powerful post in the empire.

The reason for such an outcome was simple: the title of Grand Protector of Anxi belonged to Li Linfu, the powerful Chancellor who dominated the court for nearly twenty years.

Conversely, Wang Zhengjian, then Military Governor of Beiting, had the fortune to become, after Wang Zhongsi and An Lushan, the third Tang official to hold multiple governorships—preceding even the illustrious Geshu Han by a year.

Such was the absurdity of reality: the very honor that brought Wang Zhengjian to the brink of death was this distinction.

Since taking charge of Anxi last September, he had traveled tirelessly between the two regions, covering thousands of miles for a single purpose: to clean up after Gao Xianzhi, or rather, Li Linfu.

Think about it: with the Anxi Four Garrisons’ twenty-four thousand troops suddenly losing eighty percent of their strength, what could be used to intimidate the various tribal chiefs? Replenishing manpower became the utmost priority—this was merely the first concern.

A crushing defeat required tending to the wounded, compensating the fallen, settling the missing, rewarding the meritorious; every penny and scrap of cloth had to come from the coffers of Anxi and Beiting, while the taxes owed to the court could not be reduced by a single coin. This was precisely why Li Linfu handed both regions to him.

For this defeat was never to be mentioned at court.

Thirdly, after the fighting ended, diplomatic wrangling had only just begun. Would the Abbasids, emboldened by their newfound victory, cross the Pamirs and the Seven Rivers to march eastward? Would the Karluks seize the opportunity to expand their power? Would the Turgesh, the Stone Kingdom, the Nine Surnames of Zhaowu, and other states rise in the aftermath? Would allies like the Baghana waver in their loyalty? All these matters needed resolution.

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For nearly half a year, Wang Zhengjian’s days in Kucha could be counted on one hand. Recently, his illness had worsened, forcing him to rest in the rear quarters. Even after consulting renowned physicians from Hexi and beyond, the verdict remained ambiguous.

“In the end, it’s left to fate; do what must be done.”

In modern terms, it meant eat and drink as usual, and wait for the day when his eyes would finally close.

He could not close his eyes just yet. Through relentless effort, within only half a year, the Anxi garrison had been restored to its former numbers. Though most were newly recruited, their appearance still commanded respect.

At this moment, the Tang’s national strength revealed its unparalleled might. Under such intimidation, the pre-war anti-Tang alliance led by the Stone Kingdom rushed to offer submission, recasting the decisive battle as a mere encounter. The loss of over ten thousand men seemed insignificant to the mighty Tang.

What unsettled him most was the attitude of the Abbasids. Failure to secure an alliance this time would mean immediate troop mobilization—the forces stationed at Little Bolor would have to return. The court’s hard-won strategy to focus on Tibet as the main adversary would lose its foundation, should anything go awry.

His kinsman, the famed general raised by the Emperor in the palace and once treated as a son, had met just such an end.

The sound of footsteps echoed clearly in the quiet rear hall. Wang Zhengjian, who had been lying with his eyes closed, suddenly opened them, and as the footsteps drew closer, he propped himself up with both hands, sitting upright so swiftly that the servants around him were caught off guard.

Seeing him thus, the visitor halted, surprised that the dying elder, who could pass away at any moment, was staring at him with bright, piercing eyes, urgently repeating his question.

“Has the man returned?”

The visitor was his trusted old servant, who felt a pang in his heart and hurried to his side, lowering his voice to whisper in his ear.

“He entered the city just now, greeted by Commander Bai and the others. The message has already been sent—he will arrive at the mansion shortly. My lord, why not lie down and wait? It’s all the same.”

Wang Zhengjian drew a deep breath and calmly interrupted: “Open the central door. Summon attendants to help me change. I will greet him in person.”

As if he could possibly wait lying down!

Little Bolor, conquered by the Tang in the sixth year of Tianbao, became the seat of the Guiren Army, still governed from Niedo City—modern Gilgit.

Unlike Great Bolor, the local average altitude was only fifteen hundred meters, and the terrain was open. The Indus, Gilgit, and Hunza rivers converged here, forming a rare alluvial delta. With abundant rainfall and prolonged sunlight, it was highly suitable for agriculture.

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Since the Tibetans entered the region over twenty years ago, the Bolor people had migrated from the Skardu valley to this place. Five years ago, as the Tang arrived, advanced farming techniques from the heartland were introduced. Everywhere one looked, there were fields and irrigation ditches, tended diligently by both Tang men with their hair tied and Bolor natives in tribal dress.

The Tang garrison camps were set along the riverbanks, occupying the sandy ground unsuited for cultivation. Fortifications rose like small hills, filling every gap in the valley.

Liu Ji had never before witnessed ancient military formations and encampments firsthand. The camps were surrounded by fences taller than a man; at regular intervals, watchtowers three or four meters high stood, each manned by two sentries and equipped with drums and bells for alarms. The gate was blocked by a row of chevaux-de-frise, and the guards stood at attention, spears in hand, immobile—no different from what he had seen in later times.

Carrying his letter of appointment, he was led to a solitary tent. Though his credentials had already been checked, the soldiers guarding the tent still barred his way.

“Under the command of the Yuhou, who goes there?” a mid-level officer demanded sternly.

“Liu Wu, here to report to Commander Duan.”

Liu Ji, mimicking military etiquette, clasped his hands in greeting, bending slightly and keeping his gaze straight ahead, respectfully replying.

Fortunately, the custom of surnames followed by numbers prevailed in this era; otherwise, he would not have passed this checkpoint.

Upon hearing his name, the officer seemed to recognize the situation and gestured for him to wait, before turning to the tent and announcing loudly:

“Lieutenant of Gui De, Right Guard of the Capital, Deputy Captain of Shanxin Prefecture, Acting Officer, Garrison Chief of Qian Keng, Senior Cavalry Captain Liu Ji, awaits outside.”

Soon, a deep, powerful voice replied from within: “Let him enter.”

The officer turned and made a gesture: “Please.”

Yet the young lieutenant stood there, staring blankly, as if he hadn’t heard a thing.

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