Chapter Ninety-Three: Inquiry

Unlike the atmosphere in the main tent, the tent where Liu Ji stood was anything but pleasant. The weather was already rather warm, and a brazier had been set in the middle, its charcoal glowing red. Around it lay iron tongs, whips, and other instruments of torment. At the rear, a man had been bound to a wooden frame.

“Is it him?” Liu Ji asked, pinching his nose as he stepped slowly inside and looked at the man. He wore a Tibetan robe, and his loose hair spilled over his face, hiding it from view.

“Yes. He fled from the Tibetan governor’s residence in the city, and I intercepted him at the gate as he was trying to get out. The men at his side were tough as nails. Even when they were half-dead, they still fought desperately to shield him. Aside from this old fellow, not a single one was left alive.”

Kang Laosi described the events of the night in careful detail. As he listened, Liu Ji examined the man closely. Though he could not see his face, the instant they began speaking, the man seemed to twitch. Had he not been paying close attention, it would have been hard to notice.

“What do the Bolu people in the city say?”

“I asked about that too. He isn’t the local magistrate, but he seems to know the fellow called Dongben. After that man left, he’s been in charge of everything in the city, so his rank must be high. I didn’t dare act rashly, so I didn’t use torture. I waited until the garrison commander arrived.”

“Well done.”

Liu Ji patted his shoulder. The tall, long-armed Sogdian grinned at once, his face blooming with pleasure.

Because of his height, Kang Laosi had to lower his head and murmur in Liu Ji’s ear, “Our men found some valuables in that residence, along with the offerings presented by the local chiefs. I wouldn’t dare make the decision on my own, so I ask the garrison commander for instructions.”

Liu Ji was not surprised in the least. He did not even lift his eyelids when he asked in return, “Who knows about this matter?”

He had sent his own men in first precisely to seize the greatest share of the spoils. For such work, a Sogdian skilled in trade was the most suitable of all. If very few people knew, then what was withheld could simply be withheld. If it had already been discovered, at worst half would be turned over. That, after all, was military regulation.

“Besides those Bolu people, only the men of Lord Shi know. All the valuables are kept with him.”

“Hmm.”

Liu Ji nodded. Since Kang Laosi spoke of it so solemnly, the amount was surely no small one. But his mind was not on that at the moment, and he said only coolly, “This business was Lord Shi’s arrangement. It has nothing to do with us. You know nothing about it, and you never told me. Understood?”

Kang Laosi first froze, then reacted at once and nodded repeatedly, overjoyed.

The garrison commander means to keep it all for himself. I like that.

Liu Ji ignored the little twists and turns in the man’s mind. He stepped forward and seized the disheveled hair at the prisoner’s head, jerking his face upward.

“I’ll give you ten breaths to convince me not to kill you. Let me remind you: you get only one chance. When the ten breaths are over, even if you are the Tsenpo of Tibet, I’ll still kill you without hesitation. Hear me clearly?”

The moment Shang Jiezan heard familiar Tibetan speech, his eyes flew open. Before him stood a young Tang officer. Though he had grown a little beard, he could not hide that youthful look, but those eyes were sharp as blades, as if they could carve straight through a man’s heart.

“Ten.”

“Nine.”

Before he could react, that slightly odd Tibetan speech sounded again by his ear. The young face remained expressionless, and every word that came from his mouth carried killing intent. Shang Jiezan was forced to make himself alert. Would the other man truly kill him? It was entirely possible. If he wanted to live, he had to make the man understand who he was.

“Six.”

“Five.”

“I speak! I am a great Shang of Tibet.”

Shang Jiezan blurted out what he believed to be a lofty title, only for the other to cast him a cold glance, the count never stopping.

“Four.”

“Three.”

“Two.”

Before the word “one” could leave his lips, Shang Jiezan shouted at once, “I am Nanam Shang Jiezan, the Tsenpo’s trusted man. Don’t kill me, don’t kill me!”

At that moment, he truly believed the other would kill him without the slightest hesitation, because there was not a trace of warmth in those eyes. They were like the gaze fixed on a lamb awaiting slaughter. Shang Jiezan pleaded as he wriggled in panic. It was the instinct of the body. A stream of liquid ran down his legs, giving off a pungent stench.

Liu Ji did not say the final word, nor did he let go. Hearing that awkward name, he was momentarily dazed. He had not expected Kang Laosi to have such good fortune: the only survivor he had captured was no small fish.

The “Three Shangs and One Minister” — this fellow stood first among them. Even Songtsen, in his presence, would amount to nothing more than a minor figure. During the long reigns of later Tsenpos, he had served nearly twenty years as chief minister all by himself.

Yes, the Tibetan equivalent of a prime minister. In that case, the office he had been thinking of was still too modest.

The great Tibetan minister who had troubled the Tang for more than twenty years was this sort of man? Liu Ji looked at the face that seemed ready to burst into tears and shook his head. Sure enough, talent was forged.

To Shang Jiezan, that movement looked like refusal. This time he truly began to cry.

“Honorable... sir, what I said is true. It is all true!”

Seeing that even his form of address had gone astray in his panic, Liu Ji let go and stepped back. He had been too close; the odor of urine was unbearable.

“True? Not a single word out of your mouth is true.”

Before the other could explain, Liu Ji tilted his head and let out a cold snort. “You say you are a Shang. Then what is that thing, Namlingta?”

Shang Jiezan froze. He hurriedly explained, “Among us Tibetans there is no distinction between high and low Shang. He is a Shang, and so am I. It’s just that my title was inherited.”

“You are not the Tsenpo’s trusted man. You are the Empress’s trusted man, aren’t you?”

At this, Shang Jiezan was struck dumb. He could no longer say a word. He had not expected that a seemingly young Tang officer would identify his background in a single breath. One had to know that even in Tibet itself, not everyone knew the origin of that surname.

The Nanam clan was the family of the present Tibetan Tsenpo’s lawful wife. She had contended with Princess Jincheng for thirty years and had finally prevailed. Shang Jiezan belonged to the Tibetan imperial in-laws and was naturally one of the candidates for the office of Shang.

Once this was confirmed, Liu Ji suddenly developed a little interest in him. There were some things that later generations, lacking evidence, had argued over endlessly. Now that a living eyewitness stood before him, curiosity stirred in him.

“Since you claim to be Shang Jiezan, can you answer one question for me?”

“I am Shang Jiezan. If you don’t believe me, ask away.”

Since the other man even knew his origins, what was there left to conceal? Shang Jiezan had already made up his mind. Even if he had to spill everything, so be it. What could matter more than staying alive?

“Why did you people attach the name of Princess Jincheng, who has been dead for more than ten years, to Songsilong Zanming when he was plainly a child of your Nanam family?”

“Ah!”

Though he had been prepared for it, Shang Jiezan was still stunned by the question. Compared with the matter of his own identity, the one just posed by the Tang officer was the truly fatal question.