Chapter 73: Troubled Waters

Mute Dorje Duo’s reaction was far quicker than that of Shang Jiezan. His residence was about as far from the Tibetan official quarters and the burning district, but because the city patrols consisted entirely of local soldiers, he received word even earlier.

Yet, though he arrived sooner, the fire spread faster than anyone could have anticipated. Driven by the wind, it soon engulfed nearly half the city. All available patrols were dispatched, and efforts were made to organize the populace for self-rescue, in the hope of containing the flames.

As for the cause of the fire, there was no way to investigate.

Like him, several other Bolü chieftains in the city made the same choice. When they gathered together, their faces were grave.

The fire had broken out in a manner far too suspicious, forcing them to think deeper. One thing was certain: Tang spies were definitely present in the city. First, they had sown rumors to unsettle the people, then they created chaos. Linking these events, it seemed likely that the Tang army was already drawing near; otherwise, none of this would have made sense.

What now? The chieftains exchanged silent glances, their thoughts unspoken. The Tibetans had only been in control for thirty years; the Tang were powerful. If the city changed hands again in a few decades, it would be no surprise. Who could foresee what would happen so far into the future?

Survival tonight was all that mattered now.

While their thoughts raced, a Tibetan cavalryman clad in black armor rode up, looking down at them with arrogance.

“My lord has summoned you. You will come at once.”

“We are coming,” they replied.

Though their minds were elsewhere, they had not yet decided to break openly with the Tibetans. First, the Tang’s intentions remained unclear, and acting rashly might not bring the greatest benefit. Second, after thirty years of intimidation, they were accustomed to obeying the Tibetans’ every command.

Following the cavalryman, each chieftain brought only three or four guards. Mute Dorje Duo walked at the front. As he gazed at the dark official residence ahead, a deep sense of unease gnawed at him.

That unease peaked the moment they stepped into the courtyard and the gate slammed shut behind them.

Flames suddenly illuminated the scene, making everyone blink. As their eyes adjusted, Mute Dorje Duo’s nearly leapt from their sockets.

On the steps of the main hall, Shang Jiezan was being helped out by an attendant. One hand rested on his servant’s shoulder; the other dragged a person—a woman, bound hand and foot, gagged, her face twisted in terror.

It was his daughter.

“My lord is dissatisfied. We can send better ones—what is the meaning of this?” Mute Dorje Duo assumed his daughter had offended the Tibetan and stepped forward, bowing low.

“Hmph!” Shang Jiezan grunted, pain twisting his features and forcing him to hurry his words.

“Send another? Is it because she failed to kill me?”

Mute Dorje Duo was stunned. He glanced up and saw that Shang Jiezan’s waist was wrapped in white bandages. Looking at his daughter, his expression darkened. He knew then that matters would not end peacefully tonight.

“You wretched Bolü dogs dare to collude with Tang spies and attempt to assassinate your master—and now, you set fire to the city!” Shang Jiezan sneered coldly through his pain. Suddenly, he released the woman’s hair, drew his attendant’s sword, and shouted with chilling ferocity:

“All of you—must die!”

With that, his sword flashed down. The woman’s head, with her long black hair, tumbled down the steps, coming to rest at Mute Dorje Duo’s feet.

A cry tore from his throat. When he had sent his daughters away, his heart had not ached; even when the first was killed, he had only grumbled inwardly. But now, as another daughter met her end before his very eyes, her lifeless gaze boring into his soul, a searing pain consumed him utterly.

With a roar, he drew his sword and charged up the steps like a maddened beast.

“Attack!”

Shang Jiezan was not alarmed. Before he could speak, his guards rushed to shield him, and a hundred Tibetan soldiers surged from the building, surrounding the twenty-odd Bolü men.

Though outnumbered, the Bolü fought with desperate fury. In the tight confines of the courtyard, even superior numbers could not prevail easily, and the fighting quickly devolved into a stalemate.

Mute Dorje Duo fought at the front, his three guards close behind. With nothing to fear from behind, his sole focus was the figure atop the steps.

Blades clashed, sparking with a metallic ring. Without even glancing at the sword slashing toward him from the side, he wrenched another Tibetan guard aside and plunged his blade forward, nearly trading blow for blow with his foe.

He spun, yanking his blade free as a spray of blood followed. Stepping over the corpse, he pressed forward—his shoulder wound, cushioned by his armor, was not deep.

Shang Jiezan watched the advancing figure with a flicker of fear. This was a man fighting with no thought for his own life. Though Shang Jiezan’s men were many, could they truly stop him?

“To the one who kills him—goes the tiger-skin cloak, five slaves, and a hundred head of cattle and sheep!”

He understood the power of rewards. His words stoked the Tibetan soldiers’ fighting spirit, and more and more men blocked the Bolü chieftain’s path.

Only a few steps away, Mute Dorje Duo felt his strength flagging. Though brave, he could not match trained warriors; sheer determination had brought him this far.

Cries of agony echoed behind him. The Bolü numbers dwindled rapidly, and those left fought with utter recklessness, dragging their assailants down with them. Shang Jiezan had not expected such ferocity; his plan had been to eliminate the chieftains and blame their deaths on Tang spies, thereby securing control over the Bolü and fueling their hatred of the Tang.

Yet their resistance surpassed all expectations. Time dragged on, and if the Tibetans did not finish this quickly, the consequences could be dire.

Spurred by Shang Jiezan’s shouts, the Tibetans pressed harder. Mute Dorje Duo, wounded in several places now, blood running down his leg, staggered forward with growing difficulty.

Was this how he would die? He glared at the grinning face not far away, unwilling to accept it. When his last guard fell with a scream, he knew the end had come.

If he was to die, he would take as many with him as possible. Gritting his teeth, he prepared to strike again—when suddenly, a chorus of voices rose from outside the gate, wave after wave, countless in number.

“The Tibetans have been defeated! They mean to slaughter the city and kill every last Bolü!”