Chapter Ninety-One: Judgment of Heaven

Chapter Ninety-One: Judgment of Heaven

Though he was dressed as a scholar and barely twenty years old, his broad shoulders and burly frame, crowned by a full beard, made him appear far more imposing than either Zhang Qian, the eighth-rank civil official, or Wang Zhihuan, who was likewise dressed as a scholar.

The leader of the Tibetan warriors, Xiduo Rou, had previously witnessed Wang Han’s skill—riding and wielding a sword, holding his own against three opponents without faltering. Confident he could not guarantee victory, Xiduo Rou decisively stepped back, waving his massive palm, “No, no, I am a Tibetan squad leader, he is a Tang official. You are merely a commoner and have no right to participate in Heaven’s judgment with me!” (Note: Squad leader in the Tibetan military system, equivalent to a company leader.)

“Utter nonsense!” Wang Han was furious, unable to believe that even a fight required matching status. “I am a direct heir of the Wang clan of Taiyuan, my grandfather served as minister, my father as prefect—how dare a mere squad leader like you pick and choose?!”

Tibetan officials inherited their ranks; sons succeeded fathers. By their standards, Wang Han’s status far outstripped a squad leader. Yet Xiduo Rou, seasoned in the city of Chang’an, had learned Tang customs well, and immediately retorted, “Your father is your father, you are you. I am an official, you are a commoner—our identities differ. If both sides have reason, it is always the official who is right, the commoner who is wrong. There is no need for Heaven’s judgment!”

As he spoke, he cast a glance at Zhang Qian, certain that a mere civil official would never dare risk his life in a duel. If Zhang Qian refused to participate, it would “prove” that the Tibetan warriors were in the right and owed no compensation.

“Ji Ling, what is Heaven’s judgment?” Zhang Qian, still confused, saw Xiduo Rou’s confidence and Wang Han’s eagerness to fight, and turned to Wang Zhihuan for clarification.

“Don’t fall for his scheme, Brother Yongzhao!” Wang Zhihuan, recalling Zhang Qian’s awkwardness mounting a horse earlier, was convinced the man had no martial skill. He hesitated, then shook his head gently, “Let Ziyu handle him. Heaven’s judgment means both sides stand within a ring and fight to the death; whoever wins is right, regardless of life or death. Only among the tribes and barbarians is this custom allowed; in our Central Plains, it was banned since the Warring States era!”

Upon hearing this, Zhang Qian’s eyes lit with joy, “He wants to duel me? In a pre-drawn circle? And he said both sides would be unarmed…”

“Don’t fall for it, Brother Yongzhao! Even unarmed, it’s extremely dangerous. If he dares propose it, he must be an expert!” Alarmed by Zhang Qian’s eagerness, Wang Zhihuan quickly grabbed his sleeve, “Let Ziyu deal with him, if needed I’ll fight for you. Today…”

“No need, I’ll try!” Zhang Qian smiled, gently freeing himself from Wang Zhihuan’s hold, “Ziyu, don’t argue with him. Since he’s certain he can win, I’ll accept the challenge!”

“Absolutely not!” Before Wang Han could respond, a worried female voice echoed among the crowd. The young woman, Zhu Meng, quickly stepped forward to block Zhang Qian’s path, shaking her head vigorously.

“Right is right, wrong is wrong—this matter is clear, there’s no need for Heaven’s judgment!” Not wanting the Tibetan warriors to claim favoritism, she turned to address the crowd, quickly and loudly, “If you disagree, you may later seek…”

“No need, Miss Zhu, I’ll accept Heaven’s judgment with him!” Seeing the awkward position she was in, Zhang Qian quickly circled around her, smiling as he interrupted, “Ziyu, let him come at me—I’m curious to see what these Tibetan warriors can do besides cheating!”

He removed his black gauze headcloth and then shed his cumbersome green eighth-rank official’s robe, tossing it onto Wang Zhihuan’s outstretched arm. “Ji Ling, hold this for me—don’t worry, it won’t take long!”

To avoid being bullied, he had cultivated his physique since childhood, and even after crossing over, he never slackened. Once he took off the robe, designed to convey dignity and elegance, even through his inner garments, his strong build was clear. Not only did Wang Han and Wang Zhihuan’s confidence soar, but Zhu Meng’s young attendants began to gaze at him with shining eyes.

“Draw the circle! Since you proposed it, your people should mark it—lest you lose and make excuses!” Zhang Qian spoke directly, warming up his joints and muscles with twenty-first-century techniques as he addressed Xiduo Rou.

“Heaven’s judgment, Heaven’s judgment!” Tibetans loved spectacle. Seeing a Tang official dare accept a challenge from their renowned warrior, they shouted enthusiastically. Without waiting for Xiduo Rou’s command, they grabbed steel knives and, working together, carved out a circular arena in the fallow field, its radius equal to the combined length of four men.

“Please!” Zhang Qian, imitating martial heroes, cupped his hands to Xiduo Rou before quickly entering the ring. He found a spot with ample space for attack and defense, continuing to warm up.

“No, no! I haven’t finished speaking!” Xiduo Rou had noticed Zhang Qian’s physique was nothing like the frail scholar he’d expected. His heart skipped a beat; he waved his hands again, “Though both sides have reason today, fortunately no one was killed. And you are a Tang official—if I accidentally kill you, it could damage relations between Tang and Tibet…”

“Come at me, life and death aside! I’ll sign a death waiver!” Zhang Qian cut him off, his brows furrowed in annoyance.

---

Fighting on horseback or with weapons, he admitted he stood no chance. But unarmed, within a fixed ring, he truly feared nothing from this so-called squad leader.

The reason was simple—they were not in the same league!

He stood at one meter eighty-five, while Xiduo Rou barely reached one meter seventy-two. Both had undergone long training and shared similar builds; unless the other possessed some legendary martial skill, the outcome would be clear within three minutes.

Seeing Zhang Qian’s confidence, Xiduo Rou grew increasingly uneasy. He waved his hands again, loudly adding, “No, even if we sign a death waiver, if I kill you, my superiors won’t spare me. Fighting you this way, I can't go all out, I’d surely lose. But you, you can do whatever you want…”

“So what do you want—should I tie up one hand for you?!” Zhang Qian, impatient, mocked him loudly.

“Fight, Squad Leader Xiduo Rou, fight! He entered the ring himself, we’ll bear witness!”

“Fight, Squad Leader, kill him, kill him—we’ll just head back to Tibet!”

“Kill him, avenge Hula! Hula’s arm was broken by them!”

…

The Tibetan warriors, growing impatient, waved arms and weapons, cheering on their squad leader.

In their minds, Xiduo Rou could not lose. Though squad leader was a low rank, both he and his warriors belonged to the regular army, far superior to the usual field slaves.

The Tang official, though tall and sturdy, was not of military background and had never killed.

Of course, nobody wore the names of the dead on their foreheads, but seasoned soldiers could spot the difference in bearing between those who had killed and those who had not.

“My suggestion is, let’s change the rules—determine victory, not life and death!” Pressured by his men, Xiduo Rou was sweating and could only add quietly, “If I win, I won’t demand compensation; you admit fault, and today’s matter ends here.”

“You’ll have to win first!” Zhang Qian glanced at him sidelong, lips curled in a cold smile, “Enter the ring, stop stalling.”

“Enter the ring, kill him!”

“Heaven’s judgment, Heaven’s judgment!”

“Kill him, kill him…”

The Tibetan warriors continued to shout, but their fervor had noticeably waned. Some sensed Xiduo Rou’s uncertainty and began worrying about how to end things should he lose.

“Here I come—if you’re injured, don’t complain!” Xiduo Rou, with nowhere to retreat, clenched his teeth and entered the ring, but refused to approach Zhang Qian directly, instead assuming a bear-hug stance and continuing to babble.

“Come on!” Zhang Qian stepped forward and threw a probing punch.

---

Xiduo Rou leaped three feet to the side, his hands flickering before him. “I won’t take advantage, nor will you—if you happen to win, don’t take Zhu Meng’s horse. I accept Heaven’s judgment, and will give you my horse!”

“Nonsense!” Zhang Qian quickly pursued, throwing another powerful straight punch.

The opponent dodged again, then countered with a sweeping leg. Strong as it was, the move was too slow. Zhang Qian simply stepped back half a pace, letting it miss entirely. He followed with a hook punch that struck Xiduo Rou’s neck.

“Bang—” The sound of fist on flesh made everyone’s hearts tremble. But Xiduo Rou, a veteran of the battlefield, did not fall after the blow; instead, he became enraged, letting out a long howl, “Ah, ah, ah—”

He charged forward, fists and feet flying in a whirlwind.

“Kill him, kill him, kill him!” The Tibetan warriors revived, waving knives and arms, cheering their squad leader.

“Brother Yongzhao, be careful!”

Wang Zhihuan and Wang Han’s voices followed, though their support paled in comparison.

“Brother Yongzhao, be careful!” A delicate voice sounded, its concern unmistakable.

“Kill him, kill him, kill him!” The Tibetan warriors’ shouts surged louder.

Under their encouragement, Xiduo Rou fought with renewed vigor, his fists and feet fierce as a tiger. Yet most of his attacks missed, and those that connected were neutralized by Zhang Qian’s evasions and footwork, failing to make any impact.

As Xiduo Rou exhausted his breath, preparing to rally once more, Zhang Qian suddenly stepped forward, taking a punch with his right shoulder, then immediately countering with a jab.

“Bang!” Unable to dodge, Xiduo Rou’s nose was struck hard, stars dancing before his eyes.

Before he could cry out, Zhang Qian’s fists followed—uppercut, left straight, right hook, left and right swings, each blow landing solidly.

Xiduo Rou reeled like a sandbag, staggering backward. Barely able to hold himself upright at the ring’s edge, his swollen eyes not yet open, a sudden cold wind swept through the air, “Whoosh—”

“Clang!” A leg whip, accompanied by a gust, struck his neck with force, sending him flying half a meter, crashing to the muddy ground like a wooden post, rolling twice, and then lying silent and still.

“Kill him, kill—” The Tibetan warriors’ cheers abruptly ceased.

In that instant, the wind stopped, the crowd fell silent, and all was still.