Chapter Seventeen: A Smooth Operation

Hearing Li Kong speak fluent Turkic, Zhishi Sili dismissed any suspicion that the man was a spy. Still, Li Kong was merely a common soldier, hardly someone who could gain audience with Tuli and Jieli. Yet if what he said was true, then the matter was grave indeed.

The weather grew ever colder, and the soldiers’ defenses were weakening by the hour. If nothing changed, by morning, they might not die outright, but their combat strength would be utterly spent.

“Are you telling the truth?” Zhishi Sili couldn’t help but confirm, unwilling to risk another scolding from Tuli and Jieli.

Li Kong nodded. “I stake my head on it, General. There’s no time.”

“Very well. Come with me.” After a moment’s thought, Zhishi Sili led Li Kong toward the central royal tent.

Li Kong gently touched his chest, where he had hidden the only dose of sedative he’d concocted since arriving in this world—more potent than any tranquilizer and made from the few materials at hand. At the time, he’d crafted it to test some data, an instinct born of his training as a special forces soldier. If possible, he’d rather have fashioned a crude musket, but with metallurgy here so primitive, gunpowder weapons were nothing more than a fantasy.

Outside the royal tent, Zhishi Sili had Li Kong wait while he went inside to report. To Li Kong’s surprise, once Zhishi Sili entered, all sound ceased. There was not even the faintest noise, and an ominous feeling crept into Li Kong’s heart. Had he been exposed?

He quietly retrieved the small bottle, opened the cap, and stealthily lifted the tent’s edge.

In that instant, all his worries vanished.

The tent was thick, made entirely of sewn sheepskin—at least five layers, inside and out. The soundproofing, though not equal to the noise barriers of his former world, was close enough; no wonder he’d heard nothing.

What he saw inside left him speechless.

Besides Zhishi Sili, two others were drunk beyond reason. One lay sprawled on the carpet, the other snored loudly. Zhishi Sili stood there, frozen like a puppet, his face betraying an unsuccessful effort to rouse the others.

“Is heaven itself aiding me?” Li Kong narrowed his eyes, set the bottle on the ground inside the tent, and took up a position outside, posing as a guard. Patrols passed by, but not a soul questioned his presence.

In this bitter cold, the patrols treated their rounds as mere warm-ups, eager to finish and return to the fireside, paying no mind to anything else.

What puzzled Li Kong was that no one guarded the tent; the only fire was twenty meters ahead, where a dozen soldiers huddled, nearly frozen.

This sight reminded him of a scene from an ancient myth he once saw—when Jiang Ziya, by conjuring snow in midsummer, froze to death a hundred thousand troops of Yin-Shang, winning a fortress without a fight.

Was there a sage aiding Tang?

Even recalling the legendary Li Chunfeng and Yuan Tiangang of the Zhenguan era, Li Kong dismissed such fanciful notions.

“What am I thinking? Enough with this nonsense.” He shook his head to clear it.

About fifteen minutes later, Li Kong straightened his clothing, glanced around, confirmed the patrols were gone, and slipped into the tent.

He had to admit, the Turkic khans knew how to live. Outside was an icy hell, but inside, warmth abounded. No wonder those two slept like the dead.

Zhishi Sili had also succumbed to sleep, his face showing signs of recent struggle.

Li Kong drew his curved blade and approached the man on the carpet. In a low voice, he murmured, “Stay on your steppe—why court death here?”

As his words fell, the blade swept silently across the man’s throat, Li Kong’s hand stifling any outcry. Thus perished Tuli, a formidable hero, dying aggrieved in his own tent.

Next, Li Kong moved to Jieli, but after a moment’s thought, he turned to Zhishi Sili. “I don’t know your name, but had you not brought me here, I’d have faced much more trouble. Let me grant you a quick end.”

With that, his blade did its work. Another man destined for history fell without warning.

Li Kong wiped the blade, took another curved knife from the tent, stained it with blood, and pressed it into Jieli’s hand. Only then did he stand back, satisfied.

Thanks to the lack of fingerprints or DNA in this era, the scene now perfectly resembled an internal struggle turned deadly.

Yet something still bothered Li Kong. Given the prowess of Zhishi Sili and Tuli, their deaths would never have been so clean. Nor did the “culprit” Jieli bear any wounds—hardly convincing.

So Li Kong scored Jieli’s body with a few cuts, slashing through clothing and grazing the skin, just enough to draw blood but not to rouse the deeply sleeping Jieli.

He then did the same to Tuli and Zhishi Sili, adding a few gashes. Now the scene was flawless. All that remained was for someone else to discover the carnage.

“Done. Time to go home.” Clapping his hands, Li Kong slipped from the tent, confirmed he was unobserved, and hurried back to his own post.

There, the soldiers who had been with “him” were stoking the fire, leaping about and calling others to join—a scene that left Li Kong incredulous. The Turkic tribesmen, in the wilds amid heavy snow, had actually started a bonfire dance?

Was this really a bonfire dance?

“Unbelievable. What a carefree bunch. I wonder if you’ll still be so merry when you hear the news of the dead.” Muttering to himself, Li Kong quietly left the camp and returned to where his clothes were stored.

After changing, he did not immediately return to Jingyang. Instead, he waited where he was.

Tonight had gone far too smoothly. Even with fortune on his side, he needed to wait for final confirmation before he could rest easy.

If he returned now and Li Shimin questioned him, he’d have no answers to give—how ridiculous would that be?

“Let’s hope nothing goes wrong.” With that, he threw on his fur cloak, closed his eyes, and began to rest, waiting for dawn.