Chapter Seven: Prey

Just you! Liu Ji retorted in the same tongue as the Tubo warriors, those unfamiliar words tumbling out, one by one, from his lips. Then, with a single kick to Danangqi’s back, he roared in fury.

A guttural cry rang out. With a sudden twist of the hands, the bowstring—already stretched to its utmost—tightened even further, creaking ominously. Gondosongbu’s eyes widened in horror at the sight before him: Zuben’s hands, strong enough to seize a charging bull, broke cleanly at the palms. With a sickening crack, bone still glistening white, they dropped to the ground.

The force of the bowstring warped even the finest cold-forged iron plate, pressing it deep into the flesh. Danangqi’s already thick, short neck was compressed into a grotesque mass. His bloodshot eyes bulged as he struggled to cry for help, but no sound would come. Helpless, he reached out with a severed, bloody hand, as if some fiend had crawled from the bowels of hell.

A crisp snap resounded. The head that had been held high now slumped lifelessly. Liu Ji released his grip, and Danangqi—his neck broken—collapsed in a heap, tangled with the warped wooden bow, like so much ruined flesh.

Terror consumed Gondosongbu; his body refused to move, as if all strength had been drained from his limbs. He could not even will himself to flee—he could only stand and witness this nightmare unfold.

Liu Ji, as if nothing had happened, strode over and gently took the long knife from the trembling left hand. Then, gripping the arrow shaft lodged in his own thigh, he pulled it out with a wet, sucking sound, a fountain of blood spurting forth.

“I warned you. Move, and you die.”

He tossed aside the arrowhead without another glance. Such mistakes would not be made again. The reason he hadn’t killed the man outright was to leave him as a burden to the armored warriors, hoping they’d show a weakness while tending to him—but he hadn’t expected they simply wouldn’t care.

But it wasn’t over yet. Two had fallen on the road, two more in the woods—meaning one enemy still lingered outside. Liu Ji tore open his clothing and tightly bound the wound on his arm, his gaze growing cold.

This was a battle to the death. He had nothing to rely on; even the smallest misstep could be fatal. Even if he cared nothing for his own life, that didn’t mean he would let anyone take it easily.

A fierce will to fight surged within him. Anyone who wanted his life would have to pay dearly—no matter who they were.

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Gesar leaned behind a warhorse, nerves frayed, listening to the distant shouts—cries from his companion, Gondosongbu. The moment he heard them, he hurriedly dismounted, crouched behind the horse, and aimed his arrow at the forest’s edge.

Danangqi was their Zuben, a famed warrior among their tribe; Gondosongbu, a renowned hunter. Gesar never believed that Tang man could escape—much less kill any of them. But the nearby corpse, eyes wide in death, showed him that nothing was impossible.

Erben had only just died. Gesar had witnessed the whole thing: his throat slit, the helplessness, the terror, the final moments. In his memory, Tang men rarely killed like this—they preferred a single blow, head cleanly severed.

The cries from the forest gradually faded, but Gesar’s heart pounded in his throat. When movement stirred in the woods, he loosed an arrow in panic. It flew wide, passing close to a shadowy figure.

“Danangqi Zuben, may the gods protect you.” He did not fire again, for the figure emerging from the trees wore full armor—a giant of a man, only his eyes exposed.

Relief washed over him. Only Danangqi would be clad in armor like that. But Gesar’s relief was short-lived, for he had just shot an arrow at his leader. Anxiety gnawed at him, and he failed to notice that Gondosongbu was not at his side.

His unease peaked as the armored figure strode toward him in silence. Danangqi was not known for patience. Fumbling, Gesar hurried to meet him, babbling an explanation.

“My eyes failed me, Zuben—I thought it was the Tang man. Please, forgive the offense…”

His words were cut short as a long knife pressed to his throat, forcing him to the ground, too terrified even to lift his head.

“Speak. Why did you try to kill me?”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Gesar blurted, but something was wrong—the voice was not Danangqi’s.

Startled, he looked up. The eyes behind the mask were young, fierce as a wolf of the grasslands. Cold dread crawled up his spine. He tried to rise, but pain suddenly flared in his hand—the one holding the bow.

Liu Ji’s expression remained unchanged as he pinned Gesar’s hand to the ground with his knife, drawing anguished screams from him.

The cries made Liu Ji frown. This was Tubo territory; if five had come, more could follow. The mountain path was no place for interrogation. He withdrew the knife, forcing his sole captive into the woods, returning quickly to the site of the earlier battle.

Though wracked with pain, Gesar could only gape silently: Danangqi, their Zuben, lay naked and dead, not a mark on his flesh, while nearby, Gondosongbu sprawled in a pool of blood, his thigh split open, blood spreading across the earth, his body convulsing in the throes of death.

“One last time. Speak, or join them.”

The voice was chilling. Gesar turned, trembling uncontrollably.

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“Why… do you want to kill me?”

Two hours later, a squadron of cavalry appeared on the mountain road. Seeing signs of trouble ahead, the leader signaled for caution and ordered his men to be on guard. Two scouts broke off, running up the path to a cluster of corpses.

“What happened here?” the cavalry commander called, but before an answer came, a voice reached him. He quickly wheeled his horse.

“Dongben, something’s happened up ahead.”

It was a useless statement, meaning the scout didn’t know either. Xidongzan asked no further. He rode forward, parting the crowd on horseback, unhurried but wary. Unable to stop him, the man ordered guards to flank their leader closely.

Two men and a horse lay on the road. One had been crushed, the other’s throat cut. The warhorse’s forelegs were severed, its neck gashed anew. Xidongzan could imagine how calmly the killer had acted.

Word soon came from the search of the woods: Zuben Danangqi and two of their servants were found dead nearby, stripped entirely, not a scrap of cloth left.

That alone would have been shocking, but for the fact that the famed warrior of the Subi tribe had been strangled with nothing but a bowstring!

Who could possess such strength? Who could be so thorough? More importantly, what would this upheaval mean for their plans?

Xidongzan gazed at the rolling hills, his face shadowed and inscrutable. The chill mountain wind made him pull his tiger-skin cloak tighter, but it could not dispel the cold that seeped into his bones.

“Dongben? Dongben?” His subordinate called several times before he snapped out of his reverie.

“Leave a squad to clean up. The rest, move on.”

Xidongzan strode from the woods and mounted his horse, issuing his commands without hesitation. Behind him, three Tubo cavalrymen from Dongdai swept past like a tide of black water, rolling relentlessly down the mountain road.