Chapter 118: The Pearl Blade

Inside the tent, a commotion arose. Rogan, standing twenty meters away, was the first to run over and see what was happening. Yanshan lay battered and bruised, while Glaya remained unscathed, wearing an expression of righteous indignation. Rogan had a rough idea of what had transpired.

“Yanshan, you’ve finally awakened,” Rogan said with the gentle kindness of a seasoned commander comforting a wounded soldier. He suppressed his own emotions and looked at Yanshan as if he were perfectly fine.

“C-Chairman... this isn’t a dream, is it?” Yanshan stammered.

Glaya carefully stroked Yanshan’s face. Anxiety and terror clouded Yanshan’s expression—a fear born of being surrounded by enemies, like an ant desperately scrambling on a hot pan, a fierce will to survive. His face contorted into a helpless grimace, while Glaya wore a serene smile, a stark contrast to Yanshan’s distress.

Rogan suspected that Glaya was no ordinary man. Why? Because in this game, a figure as stunning as a celestial fairy was rare, especially one of Turkic descent. In a land ruled by the survival of the fittest, encountering someone like him was unusual. Rogan took a closer look.

Following the name tag on Glaya’s head, Rogan read his name aloud, “You’re called Glaya?”

Glaya looked surprised. “How do you know that?”

Rogan realized this was problematic. Though he had seen Glaya’s name through the system, Glaya hadn’t revealed it to him personally. This could raise suspicion and put Rogan in grave danger. The envoy’s mission to infiltrate the Turkic tribe was already fragile; a misstep could lead to disaster, perhaps even massacre. Previously, they had defeated the Hu leader through a coordinated surprise attack, but this time they faced an open confrontation. Judging by the Turkic numbers, there were over four hundred warriors—preparing to fight one against twenty in the icy wilderness, with no retreat in sight...

His imagination ran wild, and fear crept into Rogan’s heart, making it difficult to maintain a calm expression. He clenched his fists, readying himself to face the sudden onslaught.

Glaya clapped his hands and grinned mischievously. “You must be my destined one! The God of the Steppe says that when destined souls meet, they lock eyes—and that’s a blessing from past lives, a gift from the grasslands.”

Only then did Rogan understand the meaning behind the terrified look Yanshan had worn when he collapsed onto the bed. This was no celestial fairy—it was a tiger disguised as one.

“I heard from Xiaozhi that this is Glaya’s tent, so I came this way,” Rogan explained.

A strange emotion flickered in Glaya’s eyes but vanished in an instant. Yanshan fumbled, propping himself up, looking completely drained, as if he’d been hollowed out. What he had hoped would be a romantic moment between a man and a woman alone in a tent had instead turned into a showdown between three men.

Outside, snow fell heavily, suddenly blanketing everything in sight. Tang Jian was the most anxious of the group. For him, it had been nearly half a month since leaving Chang’an. Now in the coldest depths of winter, having lost their way, they could only rely on the Turks.

The young Turkic leader, full of youthful vigor, lounged roughly on a blanket. A plush fur hat sat regally atop his head, and beside him lay an exquisitely decorated silver knife. He introduced himself as Hunamu, speaking calmly with Tang Jian and the others.

Xiaozhi waited for Rogan’s return. After a while without news, Xiaozhi found it uneasy to keep company with the group.

Hunamu regarded Tang Jian with a gaze far more polite than the former Hu leader’s.

“Welcome, my friends,” Hunamu greeted. “I take it you bring us good news?”

Tang Jian forced a smile. It was well known that the Tang Dynasty and the Turks had long been at odds, a conflict spanning years. Though they wore friendly faces, their hearts were far from harmonious, always on the brink of conflict. Though young, Hunamu’s stance was clear.

“Of course! Our two nations should join hands and create a glorious era together,” Tang Jian declared with measured words.

In truth, he scarcely believed his own words. The borderlands were rife with chaos; no nation stood innocent. Beneath a facade of peace, treachery and strife simmered.

“We live on the steppe, and even we admire the Han’s treasures,” Hunamu said wistfully. “Yet fate has not smiled upon us. I wonder if today will be different?”

Tang Jian sneered inwardly. Young though he was, he understood that open theft was less effective than subtle cunning. If he refused now, they might never leave the tent alive, and their gifts would fall into enemy hands.

“There is always opportunity. The Han value fate as well, and cherish brotherhood across lands. Qin Yang, bring forth the treasure,” Tang Jian commanded.

Qin Yang nodded and stepped out of the tent. Soon after, he returned carrying a modest-sized chest. As he approached within ten paces of Hunamu, the Turkic leader’s guards barred his way. Understanding their mistrust, Qin Yang handed the chest to the guards, who delivered it on his behalf.

This mere ten-meter distance spoke volumes about the state of their relations. Tang Jian had prepared Qin Yang for this test, using it to gauge Hunamu’s psychology and the vigilance of his men.

Hunamu caught the scent of the finely crafted walnut box, a pleasing fragrance that refreshed the senses. Just as he reached to open it, the guards tensed, ready to intervene. With a sharp look, Hunamu fixed his gaze on Tang Jian and the others, seeing no ill intent.

The tension was palpable; Xiaozhi felt it too. One wrong word could mean death. They watched closely, awaiting the seasoned Duke of Ju’s deft negotiation.

The chest was opened, revealing a dazzling dagger. It was the very same exquisite blade that had belonged to the Hu leader, adorned with gleaming jewels in a breathtaking display.

Hunamu’s eyes lit with amazement as he carefully examined the dagger, unable to contain his excitement. The blade reflected his face, unchanged by winter snows or summer heat.

“A fine blade!” Hunamu exclaimed, already reluctant to part with it.

Tang Jian smiled knowingly; he understood that this transaction was sealed.

“If it pleases you, that is most fortunate,” Tang Jian said.

Hunamu eagerly inquired, “What is the origin of this blade?”

Tang Jian hesitated, quickly thinking. He hadn’t yet devised a history for the dagger, but he recalled the steppe people’s belief in the power of the supernatural and their reverence for the extraordinary.

“Legend tells that one day, the Big Dipper shone brightly over Chang’an. To the north, a strange light appeared. A Turkic man in the city, homesick for his homeland, reported this to the court. They found that place and forged a dagger. The Qin King, now the sovereign, granted the Turkic people some western jewels and gold. After forty-nine days of forging and setting jewels, the dagger was presented to the Tang emperor. This is the Pearl Blade.”