Chapter Sixteen: Infiltration

The night was deep and impenetrable.

Snowflakes drifted down, growing thicker and heavier as the hours passed.

The wind, which had only just subsided, returned with renewed fury, sweeping the frigid air of the north down in a relentless assault. The freshly fallen snow on the ground, barely settled, was instantly frozen into frost.

From the tree branches came the constant creaking and groaning as icicles grew, one after another, thickening and lengthening with each passing moment.

Even fur garments could no longer provide warmth. Though Li Kong possessed remarkable physical strength, he still found himself shivering uncontrollably from the cold.

“Damn it, if this goes on, I’ll freeze to death before I even get to move!” he muttered through chattering teeth. With a swift motion, he sprang to his feet, dropped to the ground, and began doing push-ups at lightning speed, summoning every ounce of inner heat to ward off the encroaching chill.

It was impossible to say how much time passed before the soldiers outside the Turkic encampment finally reached their limit, unable to withstand the cold any longer. They huddled close together, desperate to feed more wood into the bonfires. But the snow was falling in thick sheets, and the firewood they had so carefully prepared had long since become damp. Even the outer layer was enough to diminish the fire's heat.

Smoke billowed and drifted in all directions, driven by the howling wind. The acrid fumes made the soldiers gathered around the fire cough and tear up, yet to step away from the flames was to face the merciless cold. Given the choice between freezing to death or being stifled by the heat and smoke, most chose the latter.

They gave up any thought of leaving the fire, tearing strips from their already scant clothing to cover their mouths and noses, shutting their eyes, and waiting for dawn.

...

In Jingyang City, within the governor’s residence—

Li Shimin stood at the doorway, wrapped in a thick sable cloak. Behind him followed a retinue of high-ranking generals, including Li Ji, and hundreds of armored guards formed a perimeter around them, ever vigilant for assassins.

“In such bitter cold, what of Yunfeng…” Li Shimin began, but a blast of icy air cut off his words before he could finish.

Li Ji shared his anxiety—this was, after all, his own son. If standing here in the city was almost unbearable, how could Li Kong possibly survive out in the wilds?

At that moment, a lone rider raced toward them from afar. A guardsman in black armor leapt from his horse and collapsed, stiff with cold, to the ground. In a low, trembling voice he reported, “Your Majesty, there is no sign of Li Kong…”

No sooner had he spoken than he died suddenly, without so much as a final breath.

Another guard rushed to his side, trying to lift his comrade, but recoiled in shock upon feeling the icy stiffness of the body. Turning to the emperor, he declared, “Your Majesty, he is gone!”

Li Shimin was momentarily stunned; the others were shaken to their core. The imperial guards’ gear was the finest in the Tang army—no, perhaps not as warm as fur, but still highly effective against the cold. Yet even so, they had frozen to death?

Li Ji’s eyes, however, lit up. “Your Majesty, this is heaven-sent!”

Li Shimin, the emperor on horseback, had been campaigning since the age of fourteen, seasoned by hundreds of battles, many against the Turks. His generals were all veterans as well, and at Li Ji’s words, they instantly grasped his meaning.

There was no denying that Li Shimin was tempted. He was a ruler of iron will, never a stranger to taking risks or seizing opportunity. This weather, for them, was a lethal weapon, their greatest advantage.

But just as Li Shimin was about to speak, Li Jing interjected, “Let us wait. All this is still conjecture. The Turks, after all, have lived on the northern steppes for generations and can withstand cold far better than we can. Even now, if they can muster half their strength, we would pay a terrible price in any assault. I believe it best to wait until morning.”

Though reluctant, Li Shimin accepted Li Jing’s advice. One more night would make little difference.

“Pass the order: all soldiers manning the walls are to rest in place and conserve their strength. The others are to light bonfires in the city for warmth!” With that, he turned and returned to his chambers.

Li Jing moved to carry out the order, while the others retired to their quarters.

Only Li Ji remained at the doorway, gazing at the northern sky. Under his breath, he murmured, “Yunfeng, are you all right?”

At that very moment, Li Kong—the one whose fate weighed so heavily on their minds—had just finished a thousand push-ups. His body radiated heat, the cold banished, though a deep fatigue set in; even the mightiest soldiers of the modern age would struggle to complete a thousand in one go.

Despite his exhaustion, he never neglected his observation of the Turkic camp. Now, it was eerily silent. Even the warhorses huddled close to the dying fires, clinging to life with what little warmth remained.

As for the Turkic soldiers, they had long since fallen into a deep slumber, snow piling atop their bodies until they resembled white statues scattered across the earth.

But as the snow melted in the fire’s glow, icy water seeped into their clothes, leeching away their body heat with merciless speed.

Seeing this, Li Kong’s eyelids flickered. He pressed low to the ground, moving swiftly and silently toward the camp.

Suddenly, a Turkic soldier shuddered, sprang upright, and hurried in Li Kong’s direction, fumbling with his trousers as he went.

A steaming stream splashed down right in front of Li Kong. His eyes flashed with lethal intent. The moment the soldier finished, Li Kong surged up—one hand clamped over the man’s mouth, the other slashed a short blade across his throat.

He carefully laid the body down, then packed handfuls of snow against the wound to keep blood from soaking the clothes.

Minutes passed before he braved the cold to strip the corpse, donning the dead man’s uniform and tucking a curved blade into his waistband. With a sly grin, he murmured a string of perfect Turkic.

From the man’s former garments, he retrieved a small white vial and concealed it on his own person. After checking to ensure nothing was left behind, he folded his own clothes and tucked them beneath a large tree, then strode off toward the camp.

“A snowy night is the perfect time for killing. Tughlugh? Jieli? Future princes of the Tang? Bah!” Li Kong cursed under his breath, slipping back to his original position.

Without pausing, he moved quickly toward the largest tent.

Suddenly, a burly officer blocked his path, barking, “Where are you from, and what business brings you here instead of resting?”

Li Kong froze, then feigned anxiety. “Reporting to the general, I am from the Tuoba tribe. The cold is too much—several of us are close to freezing. I came to beg the khan for help. We can’t endure this any longer!”

A glimmer of tears even welled in Li Kong’s eyes—though truly, it was no act. The cold was biting, and these Turkic uniforms were woefully thin.