Chapter Fifteen: Heaven’s Favor
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The sky was shrouded in gloom, darkness swallowing the earth and plunging the world into utter blackness. Perhaps even the heavens could not bear the arrogance of the Turks, for as night fell, a sudden gale swept through, its biting chill instantly seeping into the land. Even the Turkic soldiers, accustomed to life on the northern grasslands, felt a stabbing cold that pierced to the bone.
In such weather, all of Jieli’s frustration dissolved into helplessness. He ordered his men to set up camp ten miles outside Jingyang City, lighting bonfires for warmth and to prepare their meals.
Meanwhile, inside the governor’s mansion of Jingyang City, the lamps blazed brightly; flames danced with abandon, casting light across the vast room as if it were day.
Outside, the howling wind scraped sharp cries along the eaves, chilling all who heard it.
Li Shimin sat in the seat of honor, while Li Jing and the others knelt cross-legged on either side below him. In the center, a man in his thirties knelt trembling, his fear written plainly across his face.
“You say that lone youth did not enter the city, but instead rode straight north?” Only after a long silence did Li Shimin, his voice light, utter the question.
The city warden of Jingyang quickly replied, “Your Majesty, yes. The youth lingered outside the city for a while, then rode north. I suspected he might be a Turkic spy, so I did not open the gates. I beg Your Majesty’s forgiveness.”
Li Shimin snorted coldly, yet beneath his sternness, he could not help but feel a pang of worry. In this accursed weather, even surrounded by so many flames inside, he could still feel the chill; how then was Li Kong, out there alone in the wild?
Li Ji, seeing Li Shimin’s displeasure and knowing war was imminent, feared the emperor might act rashly. He quickly rose and said, “Your Majesty, Yunfeng has always been decisive since he was a child. Since he has not returned, it means he can still endure. We need only wait here.”
Li Shimin understood Li Ji’s meaning. After all, Li Ji was Li Kong’s father, while he was merely an uncle; the closeness of their relationship was evident. Thus, he did not truly lose his composure. Besides, as a resolute and shrewd emperor, he was not one to be swayed by sentiment, and would never sacrifice the Hetao plains and the lives of hundreds of thousands of Han people for the sake of one Li Kong.
“All Black Armored Guards are to deploy immediately, in teams of three. Conduct a thorough reconnaissance of the Turkic forces, and keep an eye on Li Kong’s movements. The moment he is found, report at once.” With these cold words, Li Shimin flicked his sleeves and left the hall.
The others exchanged glances, caught between laughter and tears. Only Li Ji, despite his earlier righteous words, was in truth the most anxious for Li Kong—but now, he could not voice his concerns.
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As for Li Kong, for whom Li Shimin and the others worried, he had already arrived beneath a large tree less than fifty meters from the Turkic camp.
Though he looked down on them, Li Kong had to admit the Turkic soldiers were formidable. Especially in the waning years of the Sui, they had learned much of military strategy from the Tang. The layout of this camp alone was proof enough.
What eased Li Kong’s nerves was the Turkic habit of traveling light, using the sky as their blanket and the earth as their bed. Except for the two Khans and a few top generals, everyone else gathered around the fires, sitting directly on the ground.
“Tonight’s task will be much simpler,” he whispered with a faint smile, leaning against the trunk and closing his eyes.
In this era, there were no shortage of spies or assassins, but the concept of special operations was unheard of. Thus, he had no fear of failure.
His confidence stemmed from his studies in his past life, when he had delved into the languages of the nations bordering the Tang. The Turks, being the Tang’s greatest adversary, were no exception.
…
The wind gradually lessened, but from the sky began to fall a fine, white snow—small, yet enough to cause the temperature to drop by more than five degrees.
“Heaven itself wishes your destruction,” Li Kong thought, a glimmer in his eyes. But now was not the time to act.
He took a few dry, hard cakes from his satchel, wolfing them down to stave off hunger, then wrapped himself in a sable pelt and resumed his quiet meditation.
Inside the Turkic camp, in a lavish central tent, a blazing bonfire crackled. Jieli and Tuli reclined on thick tiger pelts, each tearing into a leg of lamb, swigging horse-milk wine from goatskin flasks.
“Report, Kha’an, it is snowing outside!” A soldier burst in, his voice loud.
He was followed by Ashide Wumeichuo, Yi Nan, and Tuoba Yun—chiefs of lesser tribes, who, lacking numbers, had attached themselves to Jieli and Tuli for survival.
“With the snow, our supply trains may be delayed. This is bad news. We must be prepared,” Tuli said, his expression grave.
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Jieli’s face was equally grim. The Turks feared little, save heavy snow, for it could freeze their food and even themselves, leaving them powerless.
“No matter. Let everyone eat their fill tonight. Tomorrow morning, we will take Jingyang City. The supplies inside will sustain us until our reinforcements arrive.”
At length, Jieli spoke these less-than-inspiring words.
Yi Nan and the others nodded; what else could they do? Retreat was impossible—if they managed it at all, how would they survive the winter?
This year, the steppe’s winter had come early; three heavy snows had fallen already, killing more than a fifth of their cattle and sheep. Their hurried assault on Hetao was not only to seize the region, but to plunder enough Tang provisions to help their tribes survive the winter.
“Let us hope nothing happens on the steppe,” Ashide Wumeichuo suddenly said, dousing the mood with a chill.
Irritated, Jieli roared, “What nonsense! How could anything happen on the steppe? Out! All of you, out!”
Tuli opened his mouth, but in the end said nothing. He tore a few more bites of lamb, tossed the bone aside, and lay down directly on the ground.
As his eyelids grew heavy, two trails of tears slowly slid down his cheeks.
Yi Nan and the others left, but Jieli, burning with frustration, had nowhere to vent it. Seeing Tuli weep quietly, he too felt a surge of sorrow—but he was far more resolute than Tuli and forced himself to hold it in. His eyes, however, were soon filled with a venomous and ruthless gleam…