Chapter 466: The Disappearance of the Imperial Concubine

In the darkness, a lean man in gray stood atop a large tree, his sharp gaze fixed on a small temple ten miles away. Despite the distance, his extraordinary eyesight allowed him to see the faint light coming from within the temple.
Below the tree, Hu Yunpei stood with his sword in hand, his face twisted in mocking sneers. He couldn’t understand how these men in black dared to come again. Didn’t they know that Huqing Palace was surrounded by a thousand of the most elite soldiers from Anxi, including the best scouts, the most accurate archers, and battle-hardened cavalry? How could they dare to seek death!
A small mountain god temple—a such an obvious target—and yet they still dared to gather there. Was it ignorance on their part, or did he simply underestimate the Anxi scouts?
“General Hu, their lights have gone out!” signaled the scout in the tree.
Hu Yunpei nodded and immediately ordered, “Proceed as planned!”
At his command, the soldiers hiding in the surroundings rushed toward Huqing Palace. Hu Yunpei drew his sword and also turned to dash into the woods.
…
Ten miles was no distance at all for these highly skilled men in black. On the way, Liu Luogu changed his mind. If an attack from the northwest corner was detected, the imperial concubine might be moved. Only by entering from the southeast corner might there still be a chance.
They were lucky—within the dense woods, they encountered no troubles like before, no arrows from hidden attackers, no traps. A hundred men in black slowly advanced toward Huqing Palace from both the trees and the ground. The misty rain made it difficult to see what was around them.
When they were still one mile away from Huqing Palace, they stopped. Liu Luogu, holding his steel knife, waited anxiously for news from his scouts. Moments later, a scout in black rushed over and reported, “General Liu, there’s an ambush in the northwest corner!”
“Good!”
Liu Luogu felt relieved. As long as there was an ambush, he wasn’t worried. He quickly whispered to his men, “We must act quickly. Even if we’re discovered, ignore it. Cross over and walk 120 steps north to reach the temple. Capture them and retreat—remember! We need live captives.”
Seeing the moment was right, Liu Luogu waved his hand and ordered, “Go!”
Nearly a hundred men in black, like hunting leopards, rushed forward with the sound of wind, brushing against leaves and bushes. Driven by their desire for the world’s most beautiful woman and 10,000 taels of gold, they charged headlong toward the high walls of Huqing Palace.

Beauty and wealth—these are humanity’s eternal weaknesses, powerful enough to make people temporarily forget all dangers around them, powerful enough to drive them to charge forward even with heads in hand.
…
In the room, Yang Yuhuan, dressed in a plain white dress, sat sadly at the table. Though unadorned, she still possessed a beauty that could captivate the world—her skin as smooth as ice and jade, her complexion glowing as if powdered, enough to make any woman feel ashamed in comparison.
Under the dim light, she appeared utterly alone. The sound of rain tapping against the banana leaves outside the window evoked a sense of melancholy, reminiscent of the verse “One sound of the parasol tree, one note of autumn; one sound of the banana leaf, one hint of sorrow.”
On the table lay two plaques, both bearing her name. The difference was that one was made of gold and the other of wood—a choice given to her by Li Qing’an.
Yang Yuhuan understood Li Qing’an’s intention. Choosing the gold plaque meant that no matter where she lived or what her status was, she would still be the former Yang Guifei, the one admired by the world and worshipped by the people. Choosing the wooden plaque, on the other hand, meant that Yang Guifei was dead. In fact, in Yang Yuhuan’s heart, Yang Guifei had already died—lost in the dances of the Rainbow Robe, vanished in the bustling world. But that was only her own disappearance. In the records and archives of the Chang’an court, she hadn’t disappeared; she still lived in Huaqing Palace, still the Yang Guifei remembered by people.
Li Qing’an’s wooden plaque was meant to make her disappear from those records as well. She knew this clearly, yet at that moment, she felt a hint of loss.
Did she really have to leave? Yang Yuhuan was somewhat dazed. It seemed as though she had returned to that afternoon twenty years ago, when she was still in Luoyang, a naive young girl. That day, she went on an outing in the suburbs with her third sister, who had come from their hometown to visit her. The two sisters were like two budding flowers by a clear stream.
“Yuhuan, why don’t you come down and play? The water is so cool!”
Back then, Yang Huahua was just as bold and unrestrained as she is now. She wore a double-looped bun and played in the water barefoot, while she sat on a large rock by the stream, resting her chin in her hand and gazing dreamily at the colorful clouds in the sky.
“Yuhuan, what are you thinking about?”
“Third sister, a blind fortune-teller said I would become the most beautiful woman in the world. Do you believe it?”
“Silly girl, why would you want to be the most beautiful woman in the world? Can beauty feed you? You should become the richest and most noble woman. If you’re beautiful, you won’t have freedom. Look at how blue the sky is, how clear the water. With money, I can buy everything and be free to do whatever I want. Beauty is like a cage that locks you in.”

“Freedom!”
Yang Yuhuan let out a soft sigh. For some reason, even though twenty years had passed since that incident, she still remembered it vividly. A hint of nostalgia for those twenty years appeared in her eyes. In the blink of an eye, her youth was fading. Her gaze fell once again on the two cards on the table—what path should she take at this moment that would determine her fate?
…
At that time, nearly a hundred men in black had already approached the Taoist temple. It was very quiet outside. He moved slowly through the bamboo forest. Dim light could be seen faintly in front of a window, which was closed. Through the rain and mist, silhouettes could be vaguely seen moving behind the window—clearly those of a graceful woman.
Liu Luogu was overjoyed. He gave a signal to his men beside him, and two of them quickly rolled forward, leaping at the window. With a soft “click,” the man in black rushed into the room as the window was smashed open. From the open window, the interior of the room could be seen clearly.
There was a dimly lit lamp in the room, and no one was inside. Only a white dress hung in the center of the room, swaying back and forth in the wind, looking eerily strange.
“Bad! We’ve fallen for a trap!”
Liu Luogu felt as if he had stepped into an abyss; his heart seemed to stop beating. He turned around and shouted, “Retreat! Get out of Huaqing Palace!”
It was already too late. With a loud sound, arrows flew in from all directions. The men in black in the bamboo forest let out screams of terror. They fled desperately toward the outside of Huaqing Palace, but their escape route was blocked as well. More than 300 soldiers from the Anxi army, armed with crossbows, fired fiercely at them. Over twenty of the men in black at the front were shot down, screaming in pain.
At that moment, more than a thousand soldiers from the Anxi army, who had been hiding in the surroundings, rushed out together, surrounding the remaining forty or so men who hadn’t been hit by arrows. They killed them mercilessly. No matter how the men in black begged for mercy, it was useless—their necks were cut with swords, their chests pierced by spears. Heads rolled everywhere, blood splattered in all directions, and Huaqing Palace was filled with the screams of the dying.
Hu Yunpei had been watching Liu Luogu from the start. He dressed differently from the others. Although he wore black clothes like them, he had a white ribbon tied around his left arm, marking him as distinct. Hu Yunpei immediately realized that this man must be their leader.
Hu Yunpei had his own plans. He already knew that these men in black, who attempted to abduct Yang Guifei, were under An Lushan’s command—likely An Lushan’s intelligence network hidden in the capital. This was an opportunity to eliminate them all at once.

Liu Luogu did not flee along the original route; instead, he led two of his men to break through from the west. He knew there was a river there, and if they could escape into it, they might still have a chance of survival. But the west was also blocked by nearly a hundred men. Liu Luogu fought his way through at great risk, his two men already killed, leaving only him to flee in panic. Less than a hundred steps ahead, the bright river water was clearly visible. But just then, an arrow shot at lightning speed from behind, hitting Liu Luogu’s right leg. With a muffled groan, he collapsed to the ground. As he tried to get up, dozens of knives surrounded him from all sides. The slightest movement would cause the blades to pierce his body. Liu Luogu let out a long sigh as his sword clattered to the ground. He raised his hands, giving up resistance. Hu Yunpei, surrounded by a dozen torches, slowly approached Liu Luogu. He used his sword to lift the mask from Liu Luogu’s face and couldn’t help but laugh in amazement, “So it’s you, General Liu. It seems we truly met by fate.”
……
The ambush was over. Including the dozen men waiting outside the palace, all 97 men led by Liu Luogu were wiped out—none escaped. Twenty were captured alive, and 77 were killed. Hu Yunpei did not participate in clearing the battlefield but went to a secluded room inside Huaqing Palace. He asked, “Has the Empress made her final choice?”
Inside the room, Yang Yuhuan let out a soft sigh and asked, “If I leave Huaqing Palace, how will you cover up my disappearance?”
“We will find a way. Please just make your choice, Your Majesty.”
Finally, Yang Yuhuan’s gaze fell on the wooden plaque. She picked it up.
“I’ve decided. I choose the wooden plaque.”
Hu Yunpei also sighed secretly. The world-famous Yang Guifei would no longer exist.
“Then please prepare, Madam Yang. A carriage will arrive soon to take you away. My general has already arranged a place for you.”
Yang Yuhuan picked up the wooden plaque, never looking back at the gold plaque engraved with her name. She stood up and said to her maid, Xue Niang, “Go get our things! We’re leaving now.”
Fifteen minutes later, a carriage left Huaqing Palace in the light drizzle. Yang Yuhuan gazed at the palace that had changed her fate with complex emotions as it gradually disappeared from sight. At that moment, a huge fire erupted in Huaqing Palace, its blazing light illuminating the dark night.

On the night of the fifth day of the eighth month in the first year of Zhenzhi, a massive fire destroyed half of Huaqing Palace. Including the Taoist temple where Yang Yuhuan practiced meditation, everything was reduced to ashes. Two days later, the imperial court received reports from the guards of Huaqing Palace stating that the Imperial Concubine, who practiced Taoism there, had disappeared in the fire and was likely dead. Some said she had gone to Japan, while others claimed she transformed into a phoenix in the flames. As time passed, Yang Guifei, the most admired beauty in the world who captivated countless people in Chang’an, was gradually forgotten.

…

It was now early autumn. The winds on the grasslands grew stronger, and the grass was no longer tender. Yet the warhorses remained strong and healthy, galloping across the vast grasslands. The sky was as blue as if washed by water, with large, bright white clouds drifting low under the sunlight, standing in sharp contrast to the equally bright white flocks of sheep. Herds of fat sheep grazed leisurely by the rivers, resembling still white clouds.

This was the middle reaches of the Saling River north of Wudijian Mountain, one of the most fertile areas in the northern grasslands. After years of attacks by the Anxi Three Hu tribes, the Uyghurs were forced to leave their capital of Han’erbuli and migrate north to the Saling River basin. They settled on the vast grasslands between the Saling River and the Xiao Sea, where they built a new capital called Fugui City. The Uyghur khan’s tent was located in Fugui City.

That afternoon, a group that had traveled for months finally reached their destination. They were less than thirty li away from Fugui City.

It was a group of about a hundred people, accompanied by hundreds of horses loaded with food and gifts intended for the Uyghur khan. These people had dark skin and appeared to be Qiang and Hu merchants. Their faces, reddened from the sun, were extremely rough, suggesting they lived in high-altitude regions with strong ultraviolet radiation.

They indeed were people from the highlands, coming from Lhasa, the capital of Tubo. Leading them was a middle-aged man with a strong build. His bright eyes always reflected the indomitable spirit characteristic of the Tibetans. His name was Jisang Jiagong. He was one of the great scholars of Tubo and the most trusted minister of the young Tubo king, Trisong Detsen. On this mission, he was sent by the king to the Uyghurs. After a difficult journey, disguised as Qiang and Hu merchants, he crossed the Hexi Corridor and the Juyan Lake, traveling for months before finally reaching the Uyghurs’ camp.

Jisang Jiagong glanced at the grasslands around him. He noticed that there were more flocks of sheep here than elsewhere, and Uyghur tents could be seen everywhere. Based on his experience, he realized that this must be the heart of Uyghur rule.

He turned to his men and shouted, “Stay close together. There might be troops here. Do not leave the group without permission.”

As soon as he finished speaking, the sound of intense horse hooves came from afar. A cavalry unit of over a hundred men appeared behind a tent. They were Uyghur sentries who were resting there when they saw the newcomers. They rushed forward on their horses, drawing their long knives, and watched these uninvited guests warily. The leader of the unit, seeing that they did not resemble Han people, shouted, “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

Jisang Jiagong spurred his horse forward, placed his hand on his chest, and bowed respectfully. In Turkic, he said, “We come from Tubo. I am an envoy of the Tubo king. I have traveled thousands of miles to meet your khan.”

At that time, the Uyghurs had not yet fallen into conflict with Tubo, but they also had no close ties. Hearing that he was an Tubo envoy, the leader did not dare to underestimate them. Moreover, since their numbers were small and they posed no threat, he nodded and said, “Follow me. This is where our Uyghur camp is located. You must not enter casually.”

The Uyghur sentries kept watch over them as they headed toward Fugui City.

After about half an hour, a dark city appeared ahead, built along the banks of the Shaling River. After traveling a while, the relationship between the Uyghur sentries and the Tubo men improved slightly. Then, the leader pointed at the city in the distance and said proudly, “Look, that is our new capital.”

Jisang Jiagong covered his eyes from the harsh sunlight and looked at the city. He was slightly surprised by its simplicity. The city was small, even smaller than a county town in Hexi. Its city walls were less than two zhang high, built by mixing stones and mud. The stones were not finely polished or even, merely piled together roughly, with gaps filled haphazardly with mud. Not only was it inferior to cities of the Tang Dynasty, it was even worse than Tubo’s cities. Yet this was their capital, and it even bore the name of Fugui City.

Jisang Jiagong inwardly despised it, but outwardly he smiled and praised, “Indeed, it has great momentum. From afar, I thought it was a mountain.”

This small town pales in comparison to mountains, but the confident centurion found it quite pleasing to hear, and he laughed heartily, saying, “You have good eyesight. All the wealth of our Uyghurs is in this city, which is why it’s called the City of Prosperity. I’ve heard that gold, silver, and treasures pile up here like mountains—enough to buy your Tibetans.”
Jisang JiaJia (Jisang JiaJia) -> JiaJia (proper name) or simply JiaJia was more concerned about whether the Uyghur khan was in the city, so he asked, “Is your khan here?”
“Yes! You’re lucky. In a few days, we’ll head west for hunting, and then you won’t be able to find us.”
“How many troops do you have?”
“We still have a hundred thousand soldiers. Our chief says that in two years, we’ll march south again to attack the Tang Dynasty and avenge our relatives who died over the years.”
Jisang JiaJia (Jisang JiaJia) -> JiaJia (proper name) or simply JiaJia nodded inwardly—indeed, the Uyghurs had not given up on the Tang Dynasty. At that moment, they arrived at the city gate and happened to meet He Modagan, the Uyghur general in charge of the right wing. The centurion stepped forward to report, pointing at these Tibetans.
He Modagan stepped up to them and asked, “Do you have any written documents?”
Seeing that this man was clearly a high-ranking Uyghur official, Jisang JiaJia (Jisang JiaJia) -> JiaJia (proper name) or simply JiaJia took out the personal letter from their zanpu and handed it to him respectfully, saying, “This is a personal letter from our zanpu to your khan, with a Turkic translation. Please deliver it to the khan.”
“Come with me!”
He Modagan led the group of Tibetans into the city. The city was even more chaotic—simple, low houses built from rough stones, with tents scattered among them. The ground was still covered in grass, showing traces of its original prairie appearance. Sheep grazed freely in the streets, and the roads were filled with cow dung and horse manure, emitting a foul smell.
Jisang JiaJia (Jisang JiaJia) -> JiaJia (proper name) or simply JiaJia was taken to a two-story palace, which was slightly better—its stones were at least more even, painted white with lime. Most interestingly, there was a golden-roofed tent on top, surrounded by guards. It seemed their khan did not live in the palace but still in a tent.
Indeed, Jisang JiaJia (Jisang JiaJia) -> JiaJia (proper name) or simply JiaJia followed the steps to the tent. He Modagan went in to report, and after a while, he came out and said, “Please come in! Our khan invites you.”
Inside the tent, everything was splendid—carpets made of gold threads covered the floor, and colorful Shu brocades hung around the tent. Gold-made cabinets, vases, and other daily items could be seen everywhere, inlaid with various dazzling gems.
At that time, Uyghur Khan Gele was sitting in the center of the tent. Years of continuous defeats and the gradual pressure from the Three Hu tribes in Anxi had clearly aged him. Though he was only in his thirties, he looked like someone in his fifties—with a thick beard, extremely rough skin, and wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

Since their migration north last year, the situation had calmed down slightly. Khan Gere used this opportunity to reorganize the various tribes, purchasing weapons from the Khazar Kingdom in the west to arm the able-bodied men. After nearly a year of reorganization, their strength had increased once again, and now they had an army of 100,000 men who herded livestock in peacetime and became soldiers in wartime, waiting for an opportunity for revenge.

Khan Gere didn’t expect the Tibetans to come to him. It seemed he understood something, so he sized up the sturdy Tibetan envoy from head to toe. Historically, after the An Lushan Rebellion, Tibet occupied Anxi, while the Uyghurs sent troops to Beiting. The two sides fought several major battles over Anxi, with the Uyghurs ultimately suffering defeat. Before that, there had been little contact between them.

“What do the Tibetans want from me?” Khan Gere asked calmly.

Jisang JiaJia (Jisang JiaJia) -> JiaJia (proper name) or simply JiaJia stepped forward quickly, bowed respectfully, held up the personal letter from the Zanpu above his head, and said earnestly, “Tibet hopes to form an alliance with the Uyghurs to jointly resist the Tang Dynasty!”