Chapter 89: A Proper Person Must Do Proper Things Part 1

“Absolutely not!”

Amula was the first to jump up in protest.

He might look simple and honest, but he wasn’t a fool. Bringing a high-ranking official of Great Chen into Eastern Liao was practically dancing on the heads of the Yelü clan.

One wrong move, and not only would Gu Huaiyu fall into Yelü Chi’s hands, but Amula himself—and the tens of thousands of lives in the Sabutai tribe—would be reduced to ashes.

Gu Huaiyu ignored his protests entirely, issuing orders with methodical precision. “We leave the city in three days at the hour of the Snake. The caravan will include two more Han Chinese from Yunneizhou. I will be the ledger keeper, and he will be the caravan guard.”

The arrangement seemed simple, yet it was airtight.

Yunneizhou was one of the three prefectures Great Chen had previously ceded to Eastern Liao. It was a region where Han people lived in dense clusters; it was common for Eastern Liao citizens to hire Han as servants or laborers. A few Han faces mixed into a merchant caravan wouldn’t raise any eyebrows—it was the perfect cover.

Amula, however, was so anxious that the veins on his neck bulged. A torrent of Eastern Liao dialect, punctuated by frantic gestures, erupted from his mouth.

Pei Jingyi suddenly let out a soft scoff, tapping his knuckle against his brow. “He says that if you set foot in Eastern Liao territory, you’re looking for a grave.”

Gu Huaiyu wasn’t intimately familiar with the plight of the Han living within Eastern Liao, but he could infer from fragments of reports that their situation was grim.

For instance, the now-deceased Wu Wei had once openly boasted in the imperial hall about the “First Night Rite”—an act of utter depravity.

Seeing Gu Huaiyu’s expression tighten slightly, Amula grew even more frantic, waving his hands and unleashing another string of stern Eastern Liao words.

Pei Jingyi’s smirk vanished. His eyes narrowed. “He says the favorite pastime of the Eastern Liao nobility is hunting Han people on horseback. Killing a Han person requires less compensation than the price of a single sheep.”

Amula nodded vigorously, his broken Han Chinese and Eastern Liao tongue merging into a confused jumble. Only a few words were discernible: “Slave… behead… sheep…”

The meaning was crystal clear: two Han faces venturing into Eastern Liao would, nine times out of ten, never return.

Gu Huaiyu understood. If their true identities were discovered, he and Pei Jingyi would either be worked like oxen or shot down like wild game and left to rot on the plains.

“My mind is made up.”

Gu Huaiyu rose, brushing his sleeves. As he passed Amula, he paused. “General Amula, you worry too much. We Han are returning to Han lands. Why speak of ‘looking for a grave’?”

“Rather, it is those Eastern Liao nobles you speak of who ought to consider who the true guests are.”

Without waiting to see if Amula understood, he stepped out of the room.

Amula stamped his feet in frustration, turning to Han Ding with another burst of gibberish.

Pei Jingyi folded his arms and sauntered toward the door. He paused at the threshold, turning back to deliver a sentence in flawless, ringing Eastern Liao: “Instead of worrying about us, you’d best worry about the lives of those nobles.”

“My arrows are itching for some fresh blood.”

Amula pointed a finger at him, speechless. He knew how formidable this “caravan guard” was, but he hadn’t expected two Han people to be so arrogant on Eastern Liao soil.

The journey to Xijing and back would take at least a month. This month would be enough time for the various armies to gather along the Bingzhou defense line, establishing their camps and deployments according to the plan, making every pre-war preparation watertight.

Over the next three days, Gu Huaiyu summoned the officers of the Northern Frontier Army in succession.

Because of his fearsome reputation, these iron-blooded men—who usually blustered and shouted their way through life—turned red-faced and kept their heads down in his presence. They didn’t even dare to look at him, their booming voices dropping three octaves into soft, respectful tones.

Once everything was arranged, he penned a secret letter and handed it to Han Ding.

Shen Jun and Xie Shaoling were traveling by land and should be arriving in Bingzhou soon. The Army Overseer was likely on his way as well, and an eventual meeting would be unavoidable.

Han Ding only needed to tell them the truth—Gu Huaiyu’s trusted confidants would surely be obedient and cooperate with Han Ding’s arrangements.

***

Amula’s caravan was waiting in the shadows near the city gate.

When Gu Huaiyu appeared, the foreigners didn’t even recognize him at first.

Pei Jingyi had already transformed. His sideburns were braided into small, hybrid Hu-Han plaits, and a silver chain with a wolf’s tooth hung across his forehead. His narrow-sleeved Hu robes emphasized his heroic stature.

His already deep-set features appeared even sharper now, making him look exactly like the handsome young son of an Eastern Liao noble.

Sitting atop a tall horse, he caught sight of Gu Huaiyu and couldn’t suppress the curve of his lips. “Lord Chancellor, has the white cat turned into a black one?”

Gu Huaiyu had used some unknown method to stain his ivory skin a dark, sun-beaten bronze. A few wisps of a fake beard were stuck to his upper lip, making him look like a cat that had changed its coat.