Chapter Sixty-Seven: Darkness

“It’s Chen Jin,” Zhang Wuji said gravely from behind. Liu Ji stood motionless, not letting his guard down for a moment.

His eyesight was sharp enough to recognize Chen Jin, but what concerned him more was whether there were any Tibetan pursuers behind. In theory, if something had gone wrong, even if there wasn’t time to report back, there should have been a signal arrow. Since they hadn’t heard one, things should have gone smoothly.

But theory was one thing; reality often had its own plans.

Soon, Chen Jin passed the first hidden sentry. From the thicket, a soldier stretched out his hand and gave a sign that all was well. Only then did Liu Ji’s hand slowly release its grip on the hilt of his blade.

“Commander... Deputy Commander,” Chen Jin gasped, almost unable to catch his breath. Fearing he might suffer altitude sickness, Liu Ji hurried forward to support him.

“What’s so urgent that you had to race back like this? Catch your breath—sit down and speak.”

Chen Jin slumped onto a stone and panted heavily for a while before he was able to compose himself.

“That child, after entering the camp, soon sent word out. He said his father wishes to meet with us. I was afraid I’d be late, so I hurried all the way.”

Liu Ji exchanged a look with Zhang Wuji. This outcome was no surprise. Whether the other side was being duplicitous or sincere, this step was inevitable.

“When and where?”

“Noon tomorrow, at a hill twenty li from here. I left two brothers there to keep watch. If anything stirs, they’ll send word.”

Liu Ji calculated: twenty li—roughly midway between the two camps. The location was chosen so neither side would be at a disadvantage. Clearly, the other party had thought this through, hoping to allay their concerns.

“There’s still time. Let’s gather everyone and discuss what these people might be planning.”

One man’s wisdom is short. Liu Ji called together the key leaders in his unit to plan for tomorrow’s meeting: how to arrange security, prevent surprises. These seasoned veterans were clearly more experienced than he, and it was better to be overly cautious than to regret anything afterward.

The moon hung bright among the clustered stars, the sky vast and the land remote. On one side of Bo Yi River, dots of lantern light flickered in the darkness like stars, while the other side was swallowed in pitch blackness—nothing visible but the occasional shifting shadow, fleeting like wildcats.

At this hour, the vine bridge spanning the river was barely discernible—a vague silhouette, visible only up close.

“Curse it, those barbarians really did remove the planks. How are we supposed to cross such a thing?”

“Keep your voice down—do you want them to hear?” Xu Guangjing rebuked his subordinate, though he shared the same concern. In the darkness, aside from the wind, only the rush of water below filled his ears.

He felt his way to the edge of the bridge. The thick vines, as wide as a child’s arm, were lashed together into a cable, stretching into the boundless blackness of the opposite bank. The wooden planks that once formed the walkway had all been removed. To cross now meant swaying precariously on the bare vines, risking a fall at any misstep. The Bo Yi River was not only swift but also a natural marvel.

This was the legendary “Weak Water,” where even a goose feather could not float.

A fall meant certain doom. The Tibetans’ move was truly cunning. Not wanting to destroy the hard-won vine bridge, yet also unwilling for the Tang army to use it, they simply removed the planks, leaving their enemies to stare helplessly across.

Gazing at the distant lights, Xu Guangjing fell into a daze. If the bridge couldn’t be crossed, the link between the banks was cut; even if the commander crossed the snowy mountains, what could a force of merely fifty men accomplish?

“Deputy Commander, the Tibetans are stirring.”

Xu Guangjing was startled and looked across. At the far end of the vine bridge, a torch flared. In its light, he glimpsed Tibetan cavalry. The leader seemed young, clean-shaven except for faint down on his upper lip.

Had they been discovered?

His eyes met those of the young Tibetan officer across the darkness, and the man’s gaze made him uneasy. Knowing nothing could be gained tonight, he decisively gave a hand signal.

“Let’s go—back to camp.”

“What about the commander and the others?” a subordinate asked anxiously.

“Before the enemy acts, we need to be ready to support them. Wake the whole camp when we’re back—we’ll need to start cutting trees.”

Cut trees? No one questioned further; the deputy commander would never order pointless tasks. They crouched low and withdrew, soon vanishing into the night.

A hundred paces away, and with darkness between, Xi Dongzan had no supernatural vision; he was entirely unaware of what had just happened across the river. Not that it mattered to him.

The Tang’s movements were far too obvious to escape their scouts. Well before the planks were removed from the bridge, they had learned the Tang army’s intentions. Logically, the Tang should have massed on the opposite bank by now—so why was not a soul to be seen?

Missing planks did not mean passage was impossible, but anyone attempting to cross on vines would first have to get past the guards. He doubted anyone could break through so recklessly. If the Tang had intentions, what would they be?

“Xi Dongzan, are you planning to sit here and wait for their supplies to run out, forcing them to retreat?”

“Either they retreat, or they’ll attack. Esteemed Shang Jie Zan, don’t you want to see what schemes they might devise?”

Shang Jie Zan had no interest in the Tang’s plans, nor in Xi Dongzan’s. He gazed in worry at the blackness across the river, as if a beast were lurking there, ready to open its jaws and devour everything.

The Great Tang—that was the beast.

“If they can’t cross the bridge, won’t they seek another route? What if they tie you up here, while the Tang appear somewhere no one expects—will you still be in the mood to watch the scenery?”

“Where from? An army can’t cross the icefields—at most, a small detachment. Even if they try to bypass through India, those petty states may not grant passage. Even if they do, my men will know at once. If you’re worried, you can return to Xiangxiong. As for me, I’d like to see how much appetite they really have.”

Shang Jie Zan shook his head. If the Tang only wanted Bolu, perhaps that would be a blessing for them—but what if that wasn't the case?

Xiangxiong? Was that truly safe? No one could answer.

Watching Xi Dongzan’s confident expression, his own heart grew more uneasy. Danger seemed to lurk in every direction.

At this moment, he only wished to get as far away as possible—the farther, the better.