THE BLACK MOON SHAMAN'S passing was a great blow to the Western Khaganate, but even this couldn't keep the Eight Tribes Conference from proceeding.
The next morning, Cui Buqu and the rest had just finished washing and changing when Jinlian's maid, Muge, brought their breakfast. Once they'd eaten, she explained, she'd take them to the conference.
"Cui-xiansheng, my mistress says if you wish to see the shaman's body, she will arrange it," said Muge. "But you must be quick."
Last night, the second prince had accused Feng Xiao of murder, and not an hour later, Feng Xiao had appeared in his yurt. It wasn't difficult to connect the dots. Even if Jinlian had been considerably more slow-witted than she was, she would have realized this was fishy. Besides, she'd personally witnessed Feng Xiao's martial arts. Ade having successfully ambushed Feng Xiao was about as likely as the sun rising in the west. She still suspected Feng Xiao had something to do with the death of the Black Moon Shaman—though Cui Buqu had vociferously denied it, and it was true they had no motive.
Ade, on the other hand, was audacious and unscrupulous. It was absolutely possible he'd murdered the shaman himself and tried to pin the blame on Cui Buqu's group.
Jinlian had witnessed Cui Buqu's autopsy skills in Qiemo. She obviously hoped he could glean the cause of the Black Moon Shaman's death.
But Cui Buqu shook his head. "In order to destroy the evidence, the murderer burned the body. I fear they'll have ensured there's nothing left to find. Even if I go, it won't do us any good."
Muge only had a hazy understanding of his meaning, but she'd pass the message to Jinlian.
Cui Buqu and Feng Xiao partook of a Göktürk breakfast, though the meal wasn't anything spectacular. Stomachs filled, they followed Muge to the lake.
Translated into Chinese, its name was Verdant Lake, so called for the lush green grasses that surrounded it. It was midmorning when they arrived, followed closely by the second prince surrounded by his retinue of attendants.
Gone was his fuming rage of the previous night. He swept a cool glance over Cui Buqu and Feng Xiao, malice tugging up the corner of his mouth. He'd undoubtedly hatched some new and nefarious plot.
Fo'er's gaze, too, lingered on Feng Xiao for a moment before moving ponderously away.
"He knows I'm injured," said Feng Xiao.
A martial arts expert became a true master not merely through fighting prowess, but also razor-sharp perception and decisive judgment. When Feng Xiao boasted that he ranked within the top ten or even five as a fighter, his confidence came from his strength, not overblown arrogance. Fo'er had fought him twice and knew how formidable this man was. But the gap between them was small; Fo'er likely also ranked in the top ten.
Had Feng Xiao been uninjured, Fo'er would've had to consider carefully before launching an attack. But after last night's fiasco, Fo'er was sure Feng Xiao had been hurt, and that the wound wasn't a minor one—otherwise, there'd have been no need to mask the smell of blood. Fo'er would do whatever he could to force Feng Xiao onto the field today.
This so-called conference wasn't the kind where everyone sat down for a friendly chat. The Göktürks were rough and straightforward: first they used martial arts to decide the pecking order. If one won, they were deemed worthy of respect, and all the discussions would go smoothly. But if one lost… If the Sui dynasty's envoys fell to a single strike, who would believe in the might of their emperor?
"He's guaranteed to request a one-on-one match with you," said Cui Buqu.
"So he can kill me in front of everyone," said Feng Xiao.
Cui Buqu nodded. Disposing of Feng Xiao was a sure way to intimidate everyone present.
A lazy smile spread over Feng Xiao's face. "Goodness, I'm so scared."
They spoke no more on it—Apa Khagan had arrived to begin the conference.
As attendants placed fine wines and exquisite delicacies before all the guests, Apa Khagan raised his glass, thanking the envoys for coming from afar. He raised a cup of wine to the Sui dynasty and another to Ishbara Khagan, honoring both Cui Buqu and Fo'er with a flood of courteous words.
When this Göktürk khagan wasn't losing himself in lustful pleasures, Cui Buqu mused, his mind was quite clear.
Ishbara practiced an aggressive brand of diplomacy: he'd sent Fo'er to intimidate Apa Khagan into allying with him, though he must also have offered tempting benefits. Fo'er had beaten them to Suyab by several days, which was why they had faced such a cold welcome.
But when Apa Khagan had seen the people of the Sui dynasty were not to be trifled with, he'd backtracked and treated them with courtesy. After the Black Moon Shaman's death last night, he hadn't accused them. Instead, he'd deescalated the situation, allowing Cui Buqu's party a peaceful night's rest.
As Cui Buqu's mind wandered, Apa Khagan continued addressing the envoys, his smile bright and amiable. It seemed he'd had a pleasant night—the Black Moon Shaman's murder had no effect on his enjoyment of his new concubine.
He clapped his hands, and several Göktürk warriors came forward brandishing curved sabers.
Unlike the graceful dance of the Kuchean girl the previous night, today's performance was a sword dance, a display of masculine vigor. This style had evolved on the battlefield where real blades and spears glinted with killing intent, and the dance was likewise full of murderous energy. The warriors moved in unison, leaping and somersaulting through the air. It was powerful in its simplicity, a spectacular sight.
But few people were in the mood to appreciate the dance—most were more concerned about the upcoming contest of strength. The envoys of the smaller Western Regions nations wondered how to stand out, while the lesser Göktürk tribes agonized over how to avoid annexation. The second prince contemplated how to make Cui Buqu and his companions suffer, while the first prince recalled his burst of courage last night, and how he'd opposed his younger brother. He stirred restlessly with excitement, hoping for the chance to give his arrogant sibling another kick. Through it all, Apa Khagan held his Kuchean beauty in his lap, laughing and whispering in her ear, watching the saber dance with no concern for anyone else's plans.
As for Fo'er, he eyed Feng Xiao from the other side of the dancing warriors, and his lips curved in a meaningful smile.
You can't hide your injury from me. We were evenly matched in the past, but you'll die here today.
When the sword dance was over and the warriors dispersed, Ade seized his opportunity. He rose and swept his gaze over the crowd, his expression haughty and satisfied. "Father, our conferences usually begin with the standard martial arts contest, but we have quite a few special guests this year. We should change the rules. Otherwise, it would be disrespectful to them."
Jinlian saw at once where he was going. "Khagan, the conference's martial competitions are an honored tradition here in Suyab. If anything, it would be disrespectful to alter them."
Apa Khagan raised a hand to silence her. "What kind of changes?" he asked with interest.
Ade shot Jinlian a gleeful look. "In the past, the competition started with a horseback archery contest, and the winner scored based on distance and accuracy. But Fo'er is the preeminent martial artist across both the Eastern and Western Khaganate. Such a contest is an insult to his skills. Instead, let's try this: have one person ride while holding an apple and the archer remain on the ground. The archer must maintain a distance of a hundred paces, and whoever hits the fruit will be the victor."
Murmurs of surprise rose from the crowd. The ancient practice of hitting a poplar leaf at a hundred paces was sufficient to deem one a master archer. Now the target would be in motion, and not even at a constant speed: someone had to carry it in their hand, jostled up and down as they rode. Missing the fruit was the least of their worries—what if the arrow hit the rider instead?
Ade was proposing using human targets.
He'd made up his mind last night; Neither Feng Xiao nor Cui Buqu would slip from his grasp. He wouldn't let the archers use some random slaves to carry fruit for them. "Both archers and target bearers must be of suitable status. They cannot be replaced with slaves and servants."
Fo'er clapped his hands. "A wonderful idea from the second prince. Allow me to do the opening honors!"
Before Apa Khagan or Cui Buqu could object, he instructed his deputy envoy to take the apple, mount a horse, and gallop ahead.
The horse cantered over a hundred paces away before wheeling around and galloping back. Only then did Fo'er raise his bow. He pulled the bowstring to full draw, infused the bow and arrow with internal energy, and let it fly.
Everyone squinted, watching the arrow streak toward its mark.
No ordinary marksman could hit such a target at this distance. They'd need to consider the trajectory of the arrow, and besides, Fo'er's bow had a maximum range of a hundred paces. But after the infusion of internal energy, the arrow didn't fall or even slow past a hundred paces. It flew straight until it pierced the apple in the deputy envoy's hand clean through.
Thunderous cheers exploded as the crowd burst into applause. Regardless of whether they were Ishbara's enemies or allies, Fo'er's shot was impeccable. Strength was worthy of respect.
Fo'er lowered his bow. He looked at Feng Xiao and smiled.
He had it all figured out. Of their party of three, Cui Buqu knew not a speck of martial arts, let alone archery. Qiao Xian was a respectable martial artist, but not necessarily a good marksman. This was a skill that required keen sight—if anyone could do it, armies wouldn't need dedicated archers. Even if Qiao Xian could draw a bow, there was no way she could hit a target as small as an apple from a hundred paces. And if their performance was in any way inferior to Fo'er's, they'd lose.
The loss of an archery contest seemed a small thing. But it was not only the Sui dynasty's reputation in the various nations of the Western Regions at stake—Cui Buqu risked losing Apa Khagan's respect when it came time to pick his allies. If they didn't want to lose, Feng Xiao had to compete. Yet that, too, was to Fo'er advantage. Feng Xiao was injured; drawing the bow would aggravate his wound. Even if Feng Xiao won the first match, he was sure to lose the second.
Fo'er smiled broadly. What will you do? It's your loss either way.
Cui Buqu knit his brows, as if he were also worried. He turned to murmur something to Feng Xiao, who looked dissatisfied. After a hushed debate, they both fell silent.
Fo'er watched their quiet dispute. A disagreement before the battle, hearts divided—it only increased their chance of losing.
The thought brought him immense pleasure.
Ade fanned the flames. "Are you afraid, envoys of the Sui dynasty? I can hardly blame you. You're no match for Fo'er, the strongest Göktürk martial artist. Admit defeat now and forget any alliance. I'll plead with my father to gift you some cattle and sheep so you won't embarrass yourselves too greatly when you return to the Central Plains."
Fo'er and Ade weren't allies—in truth, they shared no relationship whatsoever. Before today, Fo'er had found this second prince coarse and infuriating, inferior to Ishbara Khagan in every way. With such an heir, the Western Khaganate would never be powerful. But now they shared a common enemy. Fo'er didn't need to say a word for Ade to start hopping about of his own volition. Suddenly, Fo'er found this prince much less irritating.