Chapter Seventy-Five: Persuasion

“What? The Tibetans have retreated?”
Hearing the report from his subordinate, Liu Ji was incredulous, his expression contemplative.
“They’ve truly retreated. I went to investigate myself. The camps where their troops were stationed have all been dismantled. Judging by the direction of the hoof prints, they’re headed toward He Bulao City.”
Chen Jin, drenched in sweat, spoke rapidly, afraid Liu Ji wouldn’t believe him. He repeated everything he had seen and heard, nearly swearing an oath to prove it.
Seeing he was about to argue further, Zhang Wujia quietly tugged his sleeve. He could tell that Liu Ji wasn’t doubting their words—he was weighing the gains and losses.
These days, apart from recuperating, they had been waiting for news from He Bulao City. By rights, information should have arrived. Now, with no word from there and this unexpected development here, why would Xi Dongzan suddenly lead the Tibetans back?
Clearly, something had happened in He Bulao City.
This was not a difficult conclusion, especially since it was what Liu Ji had asked Kang the Fourth to arrange: if possible, create some chaos in the city so the Tibetans would be distracted; if not, nothing would be lost. He hadn’t expected such a remarkable result.
Xi Dongzan’s full retreat meant there was significant commotion in the city. Once their forces returned, the road to He Bulao City would be blocked—even if news came from there, it might not reach them.
There was no time left to wait. In a single instant, Liu Ji made up his mind.
“How many usable men do we have in the village?”
“Thirty. Two are not in mortal danger but can’t fight just yet.”
Zhang Wujia didn’t mention himself, meaning he was ready. Liu Ji looked at him, then at Chen Jin, who appeared lively but was wounded. He knew now was not the time for reservations—every extra man increased their chances.
“Gather everyone and find that Bolu man. Before we leave, herd all villagers together, lock the doors, pile firewood around, and leave the two brothers behind. When they hear three consecutive signal arrows, they are to set the house ablaze.”

This was not a lesson taught by the Republic, but one learned through countless missions beyond the border. In enemy territory, everyone is an enemy unless the place has a new master; otherwise, he would be risking his brothers’ lives in vain.
Clearly, Zhang Wujia and the others understood the significance of this even more than he did. Even if the Tibetan cavalry had withdrawn to He Bulao City, their mere thirty men were still less than the proverbial “egg against a rock.”
In reality, Zhuo Guli was not as shrewd as they imagined. Since Xi Dongzan had ordered him to divide his hunters among different units, it had given him the perfect opportunity to act.
Just as the Shi family in He Bulao City had done, he spread rumors—albeit less blatantly than in the city. He merely exaggerated the threat of a major Tang offensive, which was the reason they had gathered there in the first place. Even if the Tibetans heard it, they’d just assume the Bolu men were cowardly.
Isn’t it natural for Bolu men to fear death?
Xi Dongzan left with the cavalry two hours before Liu Ji’s group received word. This move intensified the rumors and strengthened Zhuo Guli’s resolve.
No matter why the cavalry departed, it meant the situation was developing in the Tang’s favor.
After much hesitation, Zhuo Guli finally carried out what he had long feared to do.
It was a letter. He didn’t need to cross the vine bridge—just a bow and an arrow to shoot it across the river. The Tang patrolled the banks daily; everyone knew this secret.
Having done all this, Zhuo Guli felt more uneasy. Clearly, now was a perfect opportunity: the Tibetan cavalry had fled, the garrison was in disarray. If the Tang didn’t seize this chance, it would be strange indeed.
“What, outside the camp?”
He never expected the Tang to react so quickly. The information surely hadn’t come from him, but from the Tang scouts who always watched the camp. He had never fooled them, which is why he never dared act rashly.
Zhuo Guli didn’t hesitate. He took his daughter and left the camp. She had already told him about the situation in the village—the Tang’s actions were so obvious, it was practically a warning: their operation was imminent.
A mile away on a low hillside, Tang soldiers in leather robes spread out, vigilantly watching their surroundings. Zhuo Guli immediately spotted the young Tang man he had met before, his calm gaze reminding him inexplicably of that Tibetan noble.

“You have too few men. Even if you seize the bridgehead, you won’t hold it for long.”
He was a hunter by birth, sharp-eyed. Despite the Tang hiding all around, he could tell they numbered no more than fifty, while the garrison had over three thousand.
“That’s why I need your help,” Liu Ji replied without reservation.
“Just me? And the twenty-odd villagers? We can die for our families, but if you fail, the Tibetans won’t spare our village either. Killing them now is no different.”
By now, neither side needed to probe or conceal anything. Zhuo Guli’s words were blunt and pointed.
Liu Ji smiled lightly. “The difference is, we will not fail. Your families will live well—I promise you that. If you wish for more, then accomplish something that compels us to reward you.”
His smile radiated confidence, always reminding Zhuo Guli of the day they broke through together. Perhaps, in the minds of these Tang men, no matter how many enemies there were, it mattered little.
“You don’t want to fight. None of the Bolu men do. It was the Tibetans who forcibly conscripted you. The Tang have never oppressed you—never stolen your sheep or mistreated your women. Remember this: we are not your enemies. Under Tang rule, your lives will only improve.”
It was the truth, undeniable to Zhuo Guli. A vivid comparison was the nearby Xiao Bolu, just over a hundred miles away. Sometimes, its people would graze across the river; their relaxed faces showed everything.
This was why, for five years, the Tibetans guarded strictly, while the Tang were unconcerned.
“Perhaps, dawn is an opportunity—when the Tibetans are deep in sleep, and the garrison is barely awake.”
Zhuo Guli spoke without much confidence, but it was enough. Seeing him finally relent, Liu Ji’s expression relaxed, this time genuinely so.