Chapter Ninety-Six: Delusion

“How many promises did you make to him, for you to be so flustered?”

Though Feng Changqing spoke in a joking manner, his words hinted at a truth—he already knew. Liu Ji was not afraid that he knew; after all, few had witnessed the matter, and everyone here was under Feng’s command. Even if rumors spread, they could be suppressed. As long as no one openly brought it up, it would eventually fade away. Who would dare challenge men who had accomplished such feats? From crossing the river to capturing the city, it was almost all due to their efforts—envy was powerless against them.

“Thirty percent. I let him handle some business, so the families of fallen brothers could have means to support themselves,” Liu Ji said frankly.

At this, Feng Changqing sighed. He knew all too well what kind of relief the court could offer. Now, as the war expanded, taking spoils from the enemy had become an open rule; half was to be handed over to the army, even written into military regulations. Yet privately, who would truly reach into the soldiers’ pockets for the loot? That would be suicidal.

“It’s too much. You already take the lion’s share and have official standing. For such people, twenty percent is the limit—sometimes not even a single percent. They’re eager for you to join their business, whatever the cut.”

“I know. This is only the beginning—consider it spending a thousand gold to buy a prized steed.”

Feng’s words made clear that he himself was engaged in similar dealings, certainly in the Four Garrisons of Anxi. He’d been in charge of logistics for years, where profit abounded. He needn’t offer favors; people flocked to him regardless.

Liu Ji, as yet, had little foundation. The situation in Beiting was far less clear than in Anxi. He had his reasons for starting there, and those were precisely why Feng had come to see him.

Some things could never be spoken openly; both men understood and left it at that. Feng came near, stopping Liu Ji from rising, but did not sit on a stone as Shi Chongzhi had.

“The Tibetan has confessed. He did not come alone; he brought five thousand troops, ambushed ahead. The plan was to lure us in with Xi Dongzan’s cavalry, hoping we’d charge headlong. You saw through it. The council decided we should turn the trap against them, catch them unawares.”

He paused, then continued, “You and your men have suffered enough. You need not join this battle. What are your plans after the fight?”

At last, the heart of the matter. Liu Ji didn’t rush to answer, wanting first to hear Feng’s thoughts.

“Is the new governor of Yixi Beiting Cheng Qianli?”

“You guessed it? Indeed. The prince recommended him for the Four Garrisons in his will, and nominated him for Beiting. The edict should be issued soon, probably even before we receive it,” Feng said without hesitation, revealing all he knew.

Liu Ji nodded; it was historical fact, nothing to guess at. He’d only asked to lead into the next topic.

“If he’s appointed earlier, he may already have crossed the Kunlun Mountains. Our army has never taken that route. The Tibetans wouldn’t expect it. Even if they did, how many troops would be needed to deal with them?”

Cheng Qianli’s temperament was clear in the chronicles—a madman, truly. There’s no record of how he fought this battle, but Liu Ji could speculate. Whether Beiting’s troops entered the Kunlun or not, his mere presence at the border of Khotan would put immense pressure on the Tibetans. Entering Qiang from there posed a far greater threat to their homeland.

In this campaign, perhaps Cheng had no notable victories, but he suffered no great defeat, nor did he die in battle. Based on that, Liu Ji’s intentions were obvious.

Feng had grown accustomed to Liu Ji’s way of speaking. Sometimes he wondered, how had this reckless man, after venturing into enemy territory, become so clear-headed, so incisive in his analysis? Even the seasoned veterans admitted inferiority. Often, Liu Ji’s vision reached beyond Anxi—it was extraordinary.

In principle, there was no unified command in this campaign. Unlike the early Tang, with a field marshal. First, the scale was too vast; it couldn’t be managed. Second, the garrisons operated independently. Mixing them would lead to chaos, internal strife, and disaster—history had seen such things, as in the failed expedition of Xianqing’s first year.

So, there were subtleties. Each army fought by its own methods, yet all were interconnected. Anxi’s troops pressed on Great Bolü, drawing five thousand from Shangjiezan. That meant five thousand fewer elsewhere. Similarly, Cheng Qianli’s actions, even passive, could tie down many Tibetans, creating opportunities.

As for the present battle, the chronicles spelled it out. Feng was more confident than Liu Ji, for the enemy’s plans were written plainly. If defeat came despite that, it’d be better to end it all with a stroke.

“What do you think we should aim for?”

“That depends on the duke’s ambition. I recall the edict said, ‘Capture the Tibetan king, and you shall be granted a royal title.’”

Feng’s composure broke at Liu Ji’s words. This lad dared to dream! Suddenly he wondered if he was getting old, unable to keep pace.

“I’m not joking. If my guess is right, Shangjiezan’s troops are from Xiangxiong. The Tibetans have at most ten thousand stationed there; five thousand led away means only five thousand remain, leaderless. Taking them would pose little difficulty. Once Xiangxiong falls, the heartland of Tibet lies before us. Would it be so hard to strike directly at Lhasa with light troops?”

Feng gazed into Liu Ji’s eyes. In the darkness, they shone like crystals, brimming with innate confidence. Every word he spoke was grounded in reason, impossible not to believe.

“How can you be certain that from Xiangxiong to the Tibetan capital, there are no strong defenses?”

“How could there not be? Even if there weren’t, once we broke through, every Tibetan would become a soldier—their military system is just so. But such a ragtag force, do we fear them?”

Liu Ji truly had such confidence. The Xiangxiong region would later become Ladakh, under Indian control, neighboring China’s Aksai Chin, separated by the Karakoram’s spurs—a crucial border zone for both countries. In later years, he helped survey and protect the highway from Lhasa to Aksai Chin; the geography was familiar.

Of course, convincing Feng would not be easy. Royal titles were still far off. To build real confidence, only solid intelligence would suffice.

Some things required time to mature. Liu Ji exaggerated a bit now, simply to prepare Feng mentally, not to rush events.

“So, your intention is…”

At this point, Feng understood perfectly. Liu Ji nodded silently.

He could not yet know how far his influence could reach. He could only try.

History is always made by people. Perhaps he would be the one to shape it.