Chapter Ninety: A Drunkard Who Can't Fight Is No True Poet

Before he could take a closer look, the young woman had already urged her horse past him at a gallop. The whip in her hand cracked sharply, and with a loud snap, she struck down a Tibetan warrior who was circling around to attack, knocking him clean off his mount.

Even though he’d gotten into plenty of fights as a boy, Zhang Qian’s heart clenched at the sight. Yet the young woman didn’t pause; neither did her arm. Whip after whip, she lashed at the three other Tibetan warriors who had maneuvered past Wang Zhihuan and Wang Han, trying to seize Zhang Qian. Each strike drew blood. “Stop! I order you all to stop! Do you think the Emperor of the Great Tang is blind, letting you run wild on the very edge of Chang’an?”

Those three Tibetan warriors, who could have easily sliced her whip in two with a swing of their weapons, dared not even raise their blades. Instead, clutching their heads with their free hands, they ducked and pleaded. “Don’t hit us, please, Jumong, don’t hit! We’re innocent, we swear!”

“Stop! Jumong commands you all to stop! Otherwise, you’ll all be sent back to face judgment from the Grand Minister of Tibet!” At that moment, more young women rode up, their whips raining down upon the remaining Tibetan warriors who were besieging Wang Zhihuan and Wang Han, beating them into a panicked retreat. In a flash, the two scholars were no longer in any danger.

“Is it really her?” Now that the crisis had passed, Zhang Qian found himself blinking in disbelief. He couldn’t muster the courage to reconcile the fierce young woman, lashing the Tibetan warriors till their skin split, with the girl he’d seen just days ago, quietly weeping over an injured wild rabbit.

Yet his eyes and ears told him plainly: the person before him was the same one he had met before, and the voice was unmistakably hers.

Back then, by chance, he had witnessed her gentlest, most vulnerable side. But now, she was clad from head to toe in splendid hat and light furs, as if she had wrapped herself in a thick suit of armor.

“Enough, enough!” The head of the Tibetan warriors, Xidourou—the very one who had blinded the draught horse—shouted as his men were beaten black and blue. “They started this, Jumong! You can’t take the Han side!”

“We protest! We protest!” The other Tibetan warriors immediately found their voice, clutching their heads and shouting their grievances in unison. “It was the Han who started it, Jumong! You can’t just punish us!” (Jumong is the Tibetan term for princess; the queen is called Zanmon.)

“We protest! We protest…” The warriors who had been knocked from their horses by Wang Zhihuan and Wang Han scrambled to their feet, shouting as well, “They struck first! They insulted us first! Jumong, you can’t always defend the Han! We demand justice! We demand to appeal to Xixunre!” (Xixunre is the Tibetan envoy for the marriage proposal.)

“Yes, Jumong, we’re wronged!” The chorus swelled, noisier than a chorus of toads before a summer thunderstorm.

The young woman was clearly unused to such a commotion and seemed at a loss. Hearing all this, Zhang Qian sighed inwardly. With a squeeze of his legs, he moved his horse forward a few steps and called out loudly, “Gentlemen, do you feel no shame, lying so brazenly? The three of us are outnumbered ten to one, and we have neither weapons nor warhorses. If we’d started this, would we not be fools? Or is it that every one of you is a coward who dares act but not admit it?”

“You’re asking for death!” bellowed Xidourou, the Tibetan leader who had blinded the horse, swinging his arms and charging at Zhang Qian’s horse. But Wang Han and Wang Zhihuan reacted instantly, reining their own mounts to block him, forming a living wall that kept him ten paces away.

“What, planning to silence me?” Zhang Qian, uncomfortable on horseback, swung himself down and strode forward with a laugh, raising his voice, “We were sitting quietly in our carriage—who blinded our draught horse? Who jeered as we nearly died in the wreck? Who tried to whip our faces for daring to speak up? We fought back, three against many, and bested the lot of you bullies. Who then led the attack against us?”

“You’re lying!”

“That’s not true!”

“It wasn’t us!”

The Tibetan warriors flushed with embarrassment but stubbornly refused to admit fault, shouting even louder.

“Heh! So much for the famed honor of Tibetan warriors!” Zhang Qian had been in more than his share of fights growing up—his tongue was as sharp as his fists. Seeing them unable to refute his words, he just laughed and shook his head.

“My carriage is overturned right there, the injured horse beside it. Can the wound on its eye be faked? As for you, so many against three, and you still lost. You can’t even admit who started it—how shameful! And you have the gall to help your king seek a Tang princess in marriage? Our imperial princess would have to be blind to marry such cowards!”

“Hah! Better never marry such cowards!” Wang Han and Wang Zhihuan had long been resentful of the court’s agreement to this alliance through marriage. Seeing these warriors act with impunity but refuse to own up, they finally spoke their minds.

“Ha! To think our golden-branch, jade-leaf princess is to be handed over to a pile of dung!” They laughed derisively.

“You dare insult our king?” Xidourou, shamed to fury, drew his steel blade—not daring to confront Wang Han, he lunged at Zhang Qian instead.

But Wang Han and Wang Zhihuan gave him no chance. Flanking him, they drew sword and blade, blocking his every move. No matter how he raged and charged, he couldn’t get within ten paces of Zhang Qian.

The other Tibetan warriors were mortified, their dark complexions barely hiding their shame. A few quick-witted ones glanced at each other, and tried to circle around and attack Zhang Qian as their leader had done, hoping to muddy the waters.

But before their horses could move, the young woman known as Jumong had already raised her whip high. “Stop! All of you! Have you no shame? First you start trouble outside Chang’an, then you refuse to admit it? Tomorrow, when I see Xixunre, I’ll ask him myself: who put you up to this? Are you here to propose marriage, or just to pick fights?”

“We didn’t start this!”

“They insulted us first!”

“We…”

Still, the Tibetan warriors protested, but none dared make another rash move. And none wished for the young woman to drag them before Xixunre, the envoy who had brought them to Chang’an.

The young woman sighed in relief when she saw the warriors were cowed. She dismounted, walked swiftly toward Zhang Qian, and bowed formally. “Brother Yongzhao, I must apologize for my lack of discipline. Please, for the sake of my uncle, Captain Zhang, forgive me this time.”

“There’s no need, Lady Zhu,” Zhang Qian replied warmly, recognizing her awkward position from the earlier uproar. “They are one thing, you another. They started this and we’ve taught them a lesson. There’s no reason you should bear the blame.”

“I…” She nearly denied the name Zhu out of instinct. But on second thought, realizing they were but passing acquaintances and would soon part ways, she swallowed her words. “It is the duty of a master to answer for her servants. You are magnanimous, Brother Yongzhao, but I cannot ignore their wrongdoing. Men, leave four good horses as compensation for Brother Yongzhao, and then come forward and apologize to these three gentlemen!”

“No, we won’t pay!”

“If we give them our horses, we’ll have nothing to ride!”

“We protest!”

A new round of chaotic shouting broke out. Each Tibetan warrior clung to his own reins, refusing to let go. Yet three horses had already fallen into the hands of Zhang Qian, Wang Han, and Wang Zhihuan, and without another fight, there was no getting them back.

“Fine, if you refuse, I will!” The young woman called Jumong, mortified to tears, strode quickly to her own gold-saddled horse, and offered its reins to Zhang Qian. “Brother Yongzhao, forgive this farce. This horse was a gift from the Tibetan Empress Dowager. Today, I give it to you as compensation for their misdeeds.”

“No, you mustn’t!” The Tibetan warriors were aghast, protesting in unison, but could find no reason to stop her, breaking out in a cold sweat.

Even their leader, Xidourou, knew full well they were in the wrong. Yet he was loath to see the Empress Dowager’s gift fall into the hands of a low-ranking Tang official. His eyes darted; then, seizing the moment, he cried, “No! It’s true my whip struck his horse’s eye, but it was an accident. He, on the other hand, used it as an excuse to insult our king and all our warriors. So, both sides are at fault here. As for who’s more to blame and who owes compensation, let Heaven decide!”

“Heaven’s judgment!” The more cunning warriors took up the chant.

Heaven’s judgment meant drawing a circle on the ground and having both sides fight to the death within it. The loser, slain, was declared by Heaven to be in the wrong.

Xidourou, a seasoned commander, was no stranger to life-and-death combat. But Zhang Qian was a mere scholar-official—the outcome seemed all but decided before battle even began.

“Heaven’s judgment? How shameless!” the young woman fumed, stamping her feet, but her protests were drowned out by the uproar.

Xidourou, pleased, leapt from his horse, tossed aside his blade, and strode toward Zhang Qian. “Come! Let Heaven decide right and wrong. Do you have the guts to face me, Han boy, man to man? Win, and you may have my horse—and my life. Lose, and your men will kneel and apologize, and pay for our injuries. Five strings of cash each, no more—we Tibetans never extort!”

“Ha! Barbarians, you’re courting death! I’ll oblige you!” Before the words had fully left his mouth, Wang Han had dismounted in a flash, stepped in front of Zhang Qian, and called out, “Come on, come on! Dismount, fight me barehanded or with weapons—you may choose. If I can’t flatten you in ten moves, I’ll write my surname backwards!”