Chapter Sixteen: Tang Nu

But in the end, it was all for naught. The two were bound with hemp ropes and dragged among the tribesmen like two fat pigs.

After the battle, only three tribesmen remained, their eyes glazed over.

Zhao Huaian sighed, realizing these men were ultimately unfit to be warriors.

But…

They had to act like men.

With that thought, Zhao Huaian tossed the two Tibetan prisoners to the ground and said to the three tribesmen:

“These are the murderers of your comrades. Pick up your knives and kill them!”

Only two pairs of bewildered eyes met Zhao Huaian’s gaze; they did not understand his words. But the remaining tribesman lunged directly at the Tibetans.

Like a hyena, he wildly stabbed the Tibetan in the chest with his short knife. The Tibetan, suffocating from lack of oxygen, his eyes dead like a fish washed ashore, growled hoarsely.

After killing one, the tribesman tried to attack the other Tibetan but was kicked aside by Zhao Huaian.

Regardless of whether the man understood, Zhao Huaian spoke to the crazed tribesman slowly and clearly:

“I said, these are the killers of your comrades, not just yours alone. Now, hand your knives to these two.”

At that moment, Aqi Mo, having restrained his grief, approached and translated for the three.

The crazed tribesman looked fearfully at Zhao Huaian, placing his short knife on the ground and lowering his head.

The other two tribesmen, trembling as they listened to Aqi Mo, gripped their knives and frantically stabbed the remaining Tibetan, as if trying to wash away their own cowardice.

Old Mo whispered to Zhao Huaian:

“My lord, that one’s name is Ali Lang, and the one who died was his elder brother.”

Zhao Huaian glanced at the youth called Ali Lang, interested in recruiting him, and asked Old Mo:

“Go ask if he’s willing to join my ranks, to enter my brotherhood.”

Old Mo nodded and ran over to whisper in his ear.

Then the youth Ali Lang glanced once at his brother’s corpse and knelt without hesitation, bowing his head to Zhao Huaian while speaking in their language.

Old Mo translated to Zhao Huaian:

“He said he always wanted to take you as his master, that no warrior in the mountains is stronger than you, but his brother was opposed and wanted to take him back to the tribe.”

Zhao Huaian nodded and said to Old Mo:

“Tell this youth from now on to be called Wang Li, and to follow me closely in training.”

With that, Zhao Huaian turned and left.

After Zhao Huaian’s departure, the two remaining tribesmen opened their mouths as if to speak but ultimately remained silent.

Zhao Huaian had noticed this; perhaps they too wished to join him and enter the brotherhood. But sorry, it was not about their desire, but about Zhao Huaian’s refusal.

Actually, Zhao Huaian had easily deduced the situation.

During the raid, he had ordered that operations must be carried out in pairs, yet the two dead tribesmen were dragged out from different tents, meaning their comrades had abandoned and escaped.

Moreover, Zhao Huaian saw that their knives bore no bloodstains; how could the situation be unclear?

Of course, the truth might differ from his analysis, but Zhao Huaian didn’t care; his prejudice stood, and he was unwilling to accept them.

Besides, his current disciples were already heavily composed of tribesmen. For both safety and balance of power, it was unwise to recruit more.

Yet Zhao Huaian never voiced these thoughts, nor did his attitude toward the two tribesmen change.

As always, when sharing a boat, one should avoid words that disrupt unity.

---

Zhao Huaian approached the trembling Tibetan nobleman, a corpulent figure, and was about to draw his blade.

At that moment, Xianyu Yue stepped forward and said:

“Lord Zhao, perhaps you should entrust this man to me. I have some questions to ask him.”

Zhao Huaian smiled broadly and nodded in agreement.

Then, in front of everyone, Xianyu Yue began questioning the noble in fluent Tibetan.

Watching Xianyu Yue’s mastery of the language, Zhao Huaian stroked his stubble with a hint of envy:

“These aristocrats really know their stuff, even speaking Tibetan. Maybe I should learn too? After all, the more foreign languages you know, the more paths you have.”

But then he thought again—he had exhausted himself learning foreign tongues in his previous life, and even in the Tang Dynasty, he still had to learn more. Wasn’t that all for nothing?

No, no, not learning! What’s the use?

While Xianyu Yue questioned the noble, Zhao Huaian signaled to Sun Tai to listen carefully nearby.

For some reason, Zhao Huaian noticed that Sun Tai and Zhao Hu seemed more eager than before. Could it be his charm was finally taking effect?

He always said his excellence was impossible to hide! Zhao Huaian was determined to be the irresistible man of the Tang Dynasty!

Lost in his own thoughts, Zhao Huaian saw Zhao Liu and Yang Mao leading a group out.

And yes, they were dragging them.

Bound all together with a hemp rope, these people were pulled out like livestock, naked from head to toe, their hands and feet covered with frostbite.

Seeing Zhao Huaian, Zhao Liu handed the rope to Yang Mao and ran over happily:

“Big Zhao, these are slaves of the Tibetans. We found them in the cattle and horse stables.”

Zhao Huaian counted them—about twenty or so—each stooped and gaunt, like walking corpses.

They obviously feared the firelight and shielded their eyes, kneeling without daring to raise their heads, numbly awaiting whatever fate awaited them next.

Looking at these slaves, Zhao Huaian suddenly realized a problem: after taking this Tibetan camp, he was bound to gain great loot.

But the problem was, he was going to flee. With these people alone, he certainly couldn’t carry much.

Unlike fleeing the battlefield before, now dropping anything would be like cutting into his own flesh.

His chances of making it in the Tang Dynasty depended on these initial accumulations.

With that in mind, Zhao Huaian decided to take all these slaves with him. After all, even if they were like walking corpses, carrying supplies shouldn’t be too difficult.

So Zhao Huaian spoke gently:

“Does anyone here understand me?”

There was no response from the crowd, and Zhao Huaian shrugged, unsurprised.

After all, Tibetans didn’t understand Chinese, so how could these slaves? But for simple tasks like carrying goods, gestures would suffice.

Just as Zhao Huaian was about to turn away, a mosquito-like humming came from behind.

Then, a clearer voice:

“...Young master... I... understand.”

Perhaps from long silence, the voice stammered at first but grew more fluent with the next sentence.

Zhao Huaian looked surprised and turned to see a small, naked dwarf with wild hair speaking.

He asked in astonishment:

“Oh? How do you know Tang language?”

The dwarf replied:

“My father taught me. My father was taught by my grandfather. We are Tang people.”

Zhao Huaian paused, took a torch from Old Liu, and peered closely. Though emaciated and with the highland’s reddish skin, their features bore traces of Tang ancestry.

Now Zhao Huaian was curious—where had these Tang people come from?

The dwarf could not answer Zhao Huaian’s question but knew his grandfather was from Chengdu, who was captured by the Nanzhao people and then sold to the Tibetans.

Unlike Sun Tai, Zhao Hu, and the others who were armored slaves, the Tibetans did not treat these Tang slaves as humans but as beasts of burden.

From further inquiry, Zhao Huaian learned most had completely lost the Tang language, except this little dwarf who still stubbornly clung to the words passed down by his ancestors.

This impressed Zhao Huaian; the boy’s steadfast mind marked him as a good prospect.

With that, Zhao Huaian said gently:

“Do you have a name?”

The dwarf shook his head, only knowing his surname was Niu but having no given name.

A naming fanatic, Zhao Huaian immediately gave him a new name:

“You’ll be called Niu Li from now on. Follow me, and I’ll make sure you live like a proper person.”

Upon hearing “proper person,” the murky eyes of Niu Li brightened. He looked at the tall man before him and bowed deeply.

Zhao Huaian waved his hand and instructed Zhao Liu and the others to set up a tent for Niu Li and the other Tang slaves, prepare some clean water and dry rations, but no meat.

This was not out of stinginess; given their condition, eating meat would only harm them.

After sending Niu Li and the others away, Xianyu Yue finished his questioning. Zhao Huaian was about to approach when he saw Xianyu Yue draw a short knife and slit the Tibetan noble’s throat, then stab another to death.

As Xianyu Yue acted, Ren Tong and Song Yuan also charged into the Tibetans, hacking them down.

In the blink of an eye, more than a dozen Tibetans, their hands bound tightly, were slaughtered by the three, their bodies piled and blood flooding the ground.

The sudden violence startled Sun Tai and Zhao Hu, who instinctively pointed their blades at the killers.

Zhao Huaian’s expression darkened as well. He felt Xianyu Yue was showing complete disrespect to him. These Tibetans had surrendered because of the noble, who was Zhao Huaian’s captive, so these prisoners should belong to him.

Yet Xianyu Yue, without a word, killed all his prisoners. How could Zhao Huaian tolerate this?

But just as he prepared to confront him, Xianyu Yue reacted first.

He glanced at Sun Tai and Zhao Hu but ignored them, then flicked the blood off his blade and sheathed it.

Seeing the anger on Zhao Huaian’s face, Xianyu Yue remained calm and walked over:

“Lord Zhao, please come here. I have a secret matter to discuss.”

With that, Xianyu Yue entered the central tent on his own.

Zhao Huaian swallowed his anger and saw Sun Tai, Zhao Hu, and Yang Mao confronting Ren Tong and Song Yuan. He scolded:

“We’re all on the same side. What are you standing around for? Go collect the spoils. Old Yue killed those prisoners; the rest of the loot is ours.”

After speaking, he glanced once more at the Tibetan noble’s corpse on the ground, shook his head, and entered the central tent.

He was determined to see what scheme Xianyu Yue was hiding up his sleeve.