Chapter Twenty-Five: Arrangements

“Go fetch a physician.”

Cheng Qianli was about to stride out when a frail voice halted him.

“Come back.”

Wang Zhengjian produced an embroidered handkerchief, wiped his mouth, and waved his hand nonchalantly, signaling Cheng to sit.

“Our Taiyuan Wang clan, in this dynasty alone, has produced two empresses, countless distinguished officials and generals. In former years, my cousin showed compassion to his subordinates, refusing to trade tens of thousands of soldiers for a mere stone fortress, even at the cost of losing imperial favor. I too have no need to use the flesh and blood of soldiers to gain advancement. Thus, I have stationed in the Northern Court for more than ten years—with neither great victory nor defeat—yet the people under my rule live in peace, the surrounding tribes pay homage. This is the greatest achievement.”

“But you are different. They call you ‘madman.’ Like Li Siyi, you are recruited from Qixi, equally unmatched in valor. Yet years ago, when I served as Chief Inspector, you had already become Deputy Protector of Anxi. You watched Gao Xianzhi rise step by step, and you remained Deputy Protector. Now Gao is gone, I preside, yet you are still Deputy Protector. Even that servant Feng Er is about to surpass you. Have you ever wondered why?”

Cheng Qianli’s face turned pale, unable to utter a word. The old man’s words struck straight at his heart; years of humiliation, who could he speak to?

“Some things you dare not say, so I’ll say them for you. The Emperor values frontier achievements, which should be the best opportunity for men like you. But with Prime Minister Li in power, he blocks the path for border generals to enter the court, favors foreign generals over Han, and in the nine border regions, almost all are foreigners. The only Han generals left are myself and my cousin.”

“And unfortunately, you are a Han general.”

Of the nine Tang frontier commands, excluding Jianan and Lingnan, the northern three—Fanyang, Pinglu, and Hedong—were all under An Lushan, a Sogdian mixed-breed. The Shuofang command was nominally led by Li Linfu, with actual affairs handled by Deputy Commander Abu Si, a Tiele from the Tongluo tribe.

To the northwest, the Hexi command was led by An Sishun, a Sogdian; Longyou’s commander was Geshu Han, a Turkic Shatuo; Anxi’s four towns had Gao Xianzhi, a Koguryo man. Only Wang Zhengjian himself at Beiting was a Han general, but his command was the weakest of the nine, with only twenty thousand troops.

The old inspector made it clear: Cheng Qianli was neither foreign nor from a noble clan. How difficult it was for him to rise!

This truth, he had not been oblivious to, but had refused to confront. Now, exposed so bluntly, it was nothing but a bloody pain.

Burning with shame and anger, Cheng Qianli clenched his fists, his face flushed as he tried to suppress the turmoil in his heart.

Seeing his distress, Wang Zhengjian sighed, continuing his train of thought.

“Why do you think I rushed to negotiate peace with the Arabs? Last year’s battle should never have happened. The greatest enemy of Tang now is Tibet—the Emperor knows this well—so he tolerated Prime Minister Li’s deception, transferring Gao Kaifu to Hexi.”

Seeing Cheng Qianli’s confusion, he explained, “An Sishun and Geshu Han are not on good terms.”

Cheng Qianli immediately understood—Hexi and Longyou commands were the front lines against Tibet; discord between their commanders would affect future campaigns. For strategic purposes, only one could be transferred.

“If only I had more time, you could achieve merit through the peace negotiations, succeed me as Chief Commander, seize Bolü, and become Protector of Anxi as a matter of course. Now, it is no longer possible.”

Why not now? The old man needn’t explain—Cheng already understood. The Tang troops gathered at Little Bolü, from acting commander Feng Changqing to generals Li Siyi, Duan Xiushi, Yang He, Liang Zai, and Tian Zhen—all were Gao Xianzhi’s old subordinates. Without Wang Zhengjian as the main commander, who would obey him?

Wang Zhengjian gently shook his head. “It’s fate—one cannot force it. For the successor of the Four Towns command, I will submit a memorial to the court, recommending Feng Changqing as acting Protector. The memorial was sent to the capital by Deputy Commander Bi Sicheng before you returned; he will not come back. And you…”

Cheng Qianli suddenly interrupted, “Inspector, Feng Er is also Han!”

No matter what he felt, he could not accept it. Wang Zhengjian did not blame his outburst, patiently explaining, “He is Gao Xianzhi’s servant.”

Cheng Qianli suddenly felt the urge to laugh—he could not even surpass a crippled servant. It turned out that serving as a foreigner’s attendant was not a disgrace, but a stepping stone to advancement. What kind of world was this?

“Listen to my arrangements,” Wang Zhengjian lightly patted him. “Don’t stay in Anxi—go to Beiting. Most of my old subordinates are there; you will have space to prove your worth.”

“What does the Inspector mean?”

Wang Zhengjian nodded, “In the memorial, besides Feng Changqing assuming Anxi, I recommended you for Chief Protector of Beiting, concurrently commanding the Beiting and Yixi commands.”

The news came too suddenly for Cheng Qianli to respond. Although the memorial still needed the court’s approval, generally, when an official died in office, unless there was a special reason, the court would grant it.

His appointment as Beiting Protector was practically certain.

Unable to sit, Cheng Qianli rose and bowed deeply, “Inspector’s favor will be remembered by your subordinate forever.”

“It’s nothing.” Wang Zhengjian accepted his bow and waved his hand. “If this succeeds, in the future, never oppose Feng Er, especially when he deals with Tibetans. Anxi and Beiting are essentially one—understand?”

“I will remember it well.”

This time, Cheng Qianli was truly respectful from the heart. The old man, even near death, cared only for this land. Cheng admired him deeply, and worried for his health.

“All right, you’ve traveled far—go rest. I am tired.”

Driven out by the old man without protest, Cheng Qianli’s heart was calm. Beiting, though the weakest of the nine frontiers, would be his own domain—he might yet accomplish something.

The only regret was that the old man might not live to see it. He glanced up at the wind-fluttering banners, then turned toward his mount.

In the governor’s office at Kucha in the outer city, a group of men in varied attire were gathered in the main hall, speaking in low voices. Suddenly, someone rushed in from outside, breathless.

Hearing the commotion, Bai Xiaojie, governor and king of Kucha, turned to look at his trusted attendant.

“Sire... Sire, it’s done…”

When he finally uttered the last words, everyone in the hall, Bai Xiaojie included, breathed a sigh of relief. Though anticipated, only confirmation made it certain.

“Speak.”

“The Chief Protector’s office issued a decree—Tang and the Arabs have agreed to peace, allied nations. Past matters are not pursued, the countries along the river likewise.”

A smile appeared on Bai Xiaojie’s face. That meant the trade route from Anxi, through the river regions, to Arabia was open again.

That was a road paved with gold and silver—a day’s delay meant a day’s loss of income. Most crucially, compared to other offices, they were the first to receive the news—a fact of great value.

“All right, since it’s settled, follow the previous arrangement. Prepare everything at once; all documents must be ready as soon as possible—preferably today.”

Seeing the group puzzled, he shook his head and sighed.

“Our Chief Protector Wang likely won’t survive the night.”