The Seven-Layered Prison, also known as the Seven-Layered Chamber. In ancient times, King Ajatashatru had imprisoned his own father within the Seven-Layered Prison, leaving him to die there in captivity. This Seven-Layered Prison was an underground dungeon with seven successive gates, sunk ten feet beneath the earth, designed specifically to hold the most heinous and irredeemable criminals. The interior was dark and damp; each cell was nothing more than a three-foot-square hollow carved out of the earth, its opening sealed with a hardwood lattice, with only a narrow passage beyond.

Wang Xuance was thrown into one of these hollows within the Seven-Layered Prison. Inside, it was pitch-black and utterly lightless, with only a faint oil lamp burning on the wall of the passage outside. Because it lay so deep underground, the prison was as silent as death. Combined with the cramped cells and the suffocating darkness, prisoners typically went mad and died within a single month of confinement.

“Narasimha, you heartless monster!” Wang Xuance erupted in furious curses the moment he was thrown inside, but the prison was utterly still — it seemed there was not even a guard about.

“In this place, cursing serves no purpose.” A leisurely voice suddenly drifted over from across the passage. Remarkably, it was in the Han tongue.

Wang Xuance was startled. Through the dimness, he could vaguely make out a figure in the cell opposite, seated cross-legged in a peculiar posture.

“Who are you?” Wang Xuance asked. “How do you come to speak the Central Plains’ Han language?”

“There is nothing I do not know, nothing I do not understand — least of all a mere language such as Han,” the person across from him replied with a laugh.

“Just who are you?” Wang Xuance demanded.

“This old monk is Subhakarasimha,” the man answered. “Venerable Wujing — surely you have heard of me.”

Wang Xuance’s expression changed. “You are Subhakarasimha? Ah — I had heard that Narasimha captured you. So you are imprisoned in this underground dungeon as well.”

In the years when Wang Xuance had followed Xuanzang, the name Subhakarasimha had been as thunderous to his ears as a war drum. Yet the two had never met — and now, of all places, they were meeting in the Seven-Layered Prison.

“This old monk has been residing here for over a month already. Eating well, sleeping soundly,” said Subhakarasimha as he stepped to the lattice gate. The oil lamp lit up his face; he gazed at Wang Xuance across the way with a smile on his lips. “Yet the prisoner who once occupied the cell opposite mine lasted only seven days before going mad and dying.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Wang Xuance replied coldly.

“True enough.” Subhakarasimha nodded. “Tonight, King Dhruvasena will send men to execute you — so you need not endure the prolonged suffering of this prison.”

Wang Xuance looked at him strangely. “How do you know I am to be executed tonight?”

Subhakarasimha burst out laughing. “I told you — there is nothing in this world that this old monk does not know, does not understand, and cannot do.”

“If there is truly nothing you cannot do,” Wang Xuance said scornfully, “then why have you not escaped from the Seven-Layered Prison?”

“Not that I cannot — rather that I am unwilling,” Subhakarasimha replied with a smile. “Were I to leave now, I would become the target of all sides. Better to wait until Narasimha has tidied up the wreckage; I will make my own departure in due time.”

“I still do not believe you,” Wang Xuance said. “When I followed my master, I heard tales of your supernatural feats. A pity I never witnessed them myself. But my master said that what you love most is conjuring supernatural airs and mystifying others. My master said your claim to be over two hundred years old is a glaring point of suspicion.”

“What would it take to make you believe?” At the mention of Xuanzang, Subhakarasimha immediately looked somewhat vexed. “Your master sits at the bottom of a well, gazing up at the sky, unaware of the wonders the world holds. Allow this old monk to open your eyes — for instance: you are Xuanzang’s disciple, and on this journey to India you carry two missions. First, the Emperor has commanded you to seek an immortality elixir. Second, Xuanzang has charged you with rescuing King Harsha. Is that not so?”

Wang Xuance drew a sharp breath. “You are locked away in this place, yet you are fully informed of everything happening outside!”

“Would you care for some wine?” Subhakarasimha roared with laughter. “They say that in your Great Tang, prisoners condemned to death are given a bowl of parting wine before they go. This old monk shall send you off with a jug — a farewell gift.”

While Wang Xuance stood there dumbfounded, Subhakarasimha snapped his fingers three times. Suddenly, from the far end of the passage, a prison guard walked forward with a stiff, mechanical gait. His eyes were glazed and his movements rigid — he had clearly been brought under someone’s control.

“Go — bring two jugs of wine,” Subhakarasimha instructed.

The guard said nothing, turned, and departed. After a short while, he returned with two jugs of wine and presented them to Subhakarasimha with a reverent bow. Subhakarasimha tossed one jug across to Wang Xuance and said, “You may leave now. After you sleep, you will wake and forget everything that has come before.”

The guard shuffled away with lurching, wooden steps, disappearing into the darkness. Wang Xuance watched, his hair standing on end, and stared at the jug in his hand, unable to bring himself to drink.

“I told you — though my body is in prison, I command the winds and clouds of the world.” Subhakarasimha drank contentedly, speaking at a leisurely pace. “Your master is one of the very few people in my life I have ever truly feared. We have matched wits several times. The old monk lost several rounds, but no matter — in the very last contest, he ultimately won over me.”

“You defeated my master?” Wang Xuance sneered. “My master pursues the great path of the Thus-Come One — scheming and treachery are not his strengths. Yet the grand design you spent decades plotting in painstaking secrecy was undone by my master with a wave of his hand as he merely passed through. The gap between the two of you is plain to see. What is there for you to be proud of?”

“You—” Subhakarasimha flared in indignant rage. “Very well, very well — I will not argue with you. Tell me then: how did Xuanzang break my scheme?”

Wang Xuance laughed aloud. “For your esteemed knowledge: on the night Lianhaye disappeared from the palace of Gandhara’s king, my master vaguely saw through the crux of the matter. He told me afterward that Lianhaye’s vanishing within the white smoke was nothing more than a trick to deceive the eye. That white smoke had a hallucinogenic effect — it briefly numbed people’s minds and vision, so that all they could see was white vapor. And Lianhaye’s garments, reversed, were pure white on the inside. In the instant their vision was numbed, she pressed herself flat against the ground and moved — there was a trapdoor mechanism already prepared nearby in the floor, and she slid flat along the ground and dropped through the panel, vanishing in an instant.”

“Did Xuanzang truly say this?” Subhakarasimha’s expression grew somewhat pained.

“Of course,” Wang Xuance replied. “At the time, though my master had deduced it, he dared not say so aloud. For anyone capable of constructing such a mechanism in the floor of Gandhara’s royal palace must have already been in league with King Yazdegerd III, the Gandharan king, and yourself. Had he exposed the truth, his life would have been in grave danger — so the very next day, he made haste to take Narasimha and leave.”

Subhakarasimha stood there as if turned to wood, silent for a long while. In truth, he had been taken in by Wang Xuance. The actual principle behind the Mist Technique was something he had only slowly worked out after an entire year of pursuing Wei Lingfu. Initially he had assumed that a person’s disappearance in every case involved slipping into a crowd of onlookers, the way Wei Lingfu had done. But after discussing the matter with Xuanzang, Xuanzang had used the scene of Bopuo’s vanishing atop Vulture Peak to reason that there had been an old dry well there — a remnant of the Buddha’s age. Bopuo had in fact tunneled a hidden passage through the well, leading directly beneath the boulder where he had concealed himself. In other words, the principle of using white smoke to obscure vision and numb sight was the same in each case, while the method of disappearance required improvisation according to the terrain.

“Since he knew Lianhaye’s disappearance was intentional,” Wang Xuance said with an easy smile, “how would my master not know she was performing a role?”

Subhakarasimha was quiet for some time before he said, “Good monk! What else did your master deduce?”

“The entirety of your scheme, naturally.” Wang Xuance held his chin up with self-satisfaction, took a sip of wine, and continued. “The so-called truth of Lianhaye and Narasimha’s cycle of reincarnation was nothing more than you hiring two actors to put on a performance. Lianhaye was clear-headed and self-aware from first to last, knowing she was playing a role, while Narasimha threw himself into the performance so completely that he forgot he was acting, and immersed himself wholly in this fabricated life. Mm — Narasimha’s original name was Dhruvasena. That, you know.”

“Hmph.” Subhakarasimha was dismissive. “This much you learned from what I told your master. There is nothing remarkable about it. Then tell me — how did I induce King Harsha to pass his throne to Narasimha? If Xuanzang deduced even this, this old monk will bow in genuine respect.”

“My master naturally deduced it,” Wang Xuance replied with pride. “My master said that Narasimha and Lianhaye are not the immortality elixir at all! They were merely your tools for seizing the Harsha Empire!”

“Oh?” Subhakarasimha’s brow twitched slightly, and he managed a strained smile. “Go on.”

“My master said that you fabricated thirty-three successive lifetimes of Narasimha and Lianhaye’s reincarnation cycle, using this to make King Harsha believe in rebirth. Then you told King Harsha that Narasimha could take his place in the cycle — meaning, he could die in King Harsha’s stead. Then, when King Harsha was on the verge of death, you had him take a feigned-death drug and placed Narasimha on the throne. The blade of the world’s cycle of rebirth would then fall upon Narasimha, allowing King Harsha to escape death. Once Narasimha died in his place, you would revive King Harsha, and he could live on indefinitely.” Wang Xuance laughed with contempt. “But unfortunately, all of this was false. Once King Harsha died, he was thoroughly and irreversibly dead. You needed nothing more than to elevate Narasimha to the throne so that you could control an emperor.”

Subhakarasimha first listened with his mouth agape, then found himself confounded by the tangled logic of it all, and then burst into peals of laughter, doubling forward and back: “Xuanzang… Xuanzang truly said all of this?”

“Of course,” Wang Xuance replied with a cold smile. “Did my master not break your scheme?”

“Broke it… he broke it,” Subhakarasimha said, finally managing to rein in his laughter. “My congratulations to your master.”

Wang Xuance beamed with pride. “My master’s divine eye perceives through every fog in the world. Your petty tricks are beneath mention.”

Subhakarasimha had found the whole thing hilarious at first, but seeing Wang Xuance so utterly convinced, so devout in his reverence for Xuanzang, he could not suppress a pang of vexation. He thought it over and decided to hold his tongue.

Wang Xuance sighed, drained his wine, and lay down on the ground, murmuring, “My master has always regarded it as his one regret that he left India without fully exposing your conspiracy. I am certainly going to die today — but when I die and return to the Great Tang and see my master again, I will tell him: he need not trouble himself, for his disciple has already broken Subhakarasimha’s schemes and machinations. My master will surely be gratified.”

Subhakarasimha found those words deeply galling. This entire life of his had been all but flawless — his one weakness was a slightly too-strong competitive spirit. He knew full well that Xuanzang’s reasoning was riddled with holes and wrong from beginning to end, yet the man before him actually believed it! He actually believed that Xuanzang, ten thousand li away, could defeat him! This was utterly absurd!

“Hey — young man, wake up,” Subhakarasimha finally could not bear it any longer. “Your master is talking complete and utter nonsense.”

“Tch! You are a defeated enemy!” Wang Xuance rolled over where he lay on the ground, ignoring him.

Subhakarasimha was genuinely incensed. “I am telling you — your master was completely wrong!”

Wang Xuance rolled his eyes. “Do as you like. I am going to die anyway — let you have your moment of gloating.”

“I—” Subhakarasimha felt as though his lungs might burst with rage. It was as though he had spent decades creating a brilliant, supremely refined masterwork, only to have someone interpret it as something ugly and grotesque. Subhakarasimha truly could not endure it. He burst out at full volume: “Your master was talking through his hat entirely! I tell you — the true immortality elixir is not Narasimha, not Lianhaye, but that child! The child born of the two of them — that child is the true immortality elixir!”

“A child?” Wang Xuance shot him a curious glance, then rolled back over. “Understood.”

“What do you understand?” Subhakarasimha felt a secret unease — could this fellow truly be so quick-witted?

“That you are furious my master broke you, and you are deliberately making things up to demean my master’s intelligence.” Wang Xuance replied.

Subhakarasimha was enraged again. “Your master got the earlier parts right — it is only at the core of the plan that he was entirely and completely mistaken. From first to last, the cycle of reincarnation that Lianhaye and Narasimha performed was nothing but bait — bait to make King Harsha believe in the existence of rebirth, to make him believe that a person could carry their memories from one life to the next. The true immortality elixir, however, was the infant that Lianhaye and Narasimha produced together. I told King Harsha that Lianhaye and Narasimha had undergone thirty-three successive lifetimes without their memories being erased by rebirth, and that within their bodies there had grown a deathless essence impervious to the obliteration of the cycle. Therefore, any child they conceived would also be capable of preserving the memories of the previous life — the heavenly order would be unable to sever it, the cycle of rebirth unable to wear it away. The evidence was right before his eyes, and King Harsha of course believed.”

“And what good does King Harsha believing do?” Wang Xuance replied mockingly. “The infant is an infant, and King Harsha is King Harsha — what does one have to do with the other?”

Subhakarasimha wore an expression of lofty superiority. “The core of the matter lies precisely here. If on the very day of King Harsha’s death, that male infant was born — would he not believe that infant to be his own reincarnation?”

“Ah?” Wang Xuance froze. “But — but this would be pure coincidence, surely?”

Subhakarasimha roared with laughter. “Nonsense — this old monk has been scheming for decades. How could anything be merely a coincidence? There are secret methods to keep the timing of his death and the other’s birth aligned. If King Harsha died too slowly, he could be made to die a little faster; if the male infant was born too late, he could be made to arrive a little sooner. A simple matter — nothing difficult about it.”

“Very well — I understand you have no shortage of secret arts,” Wang Xuance considered this for a moment. “But how could you guarantee that Lianhaye would give birth to a boy?”

“Even simpler,” Subhakarasimha replied. “If she gave birth to a girl, a male infant could simply be brought in and substituted.”

“You—” Wang Xuance nearly broke into furious curses but restrained himself, and asked, “How could King Harsha be made to believe that he would certainly be reincarnated into that particular male infant?”

“A man at death’s door — how much room does he have for doubt? As long as there is a single straw to grasp at, who would not clutch at it with all their might?” Subhakarasimha replied. “As King Harsha lay dying, I myself sat beside him and established a ritual altar, telling him I was guiding and protecting his soul to take the place of that male infant. When the infant grew, he said, he would remember everything from this life, and could resume the governance of the Harsha Empire — what would be different from now? Oh — except, of course, that the one seated on the throne would have exchanged this body for a considerably younger one.”

Wang Xuance listened with his heart hammering in his chest. “Surely King Harsha had no doubts whatsoever?”

“He did!” Subhakarasimha smiled. “His only doubt at that moment was whether his memories would be erased in the afterlife. I told him not only would they not be erased, but his karmic debts from this life would be dissolved as well. As you know, he had killed Wang Zeng and Queen Rajyashri in his time. This was the great anguish of his heart, the debt of sin from this life. But the wondrous thing about this arrangement was that he had killed Rajyashri — yet in his next life he would become Lianhaye’s son, which meant he would share a mother-and-son bond with Rajyashri, thereby repaying that karmic debt. And so his next life would be wholly free of karmic hindrance — unobstructed in all things, sweeping all before him, invincible wherever he turned. The moment he heard this, he was convinced beyond all doubt.”

“This — can something so absurd truly exist?” Wang Xuance listened, utterly dumbstruck.

“You find it absurd — yet King Harsha believed it to be the sole path to eternal life,” Subhakarasimha said with a smile. “And so he had to pass the throne to Narasimha. King Harsha had long since made arrangements with Bhandi, Jandha, and other powerful ministers at court, confiding the secret to them and instructing them to support Narasimha’s ascent to the throne. Once his next self — that is, Narasimha’s child — was grown, they were to rally behind the child and place him on the throne. He believed this child would recover his memories, and that King Harsha — once so mighty and magnificent — would return in a young body to live again, to sweep across the world once more, and to complete the unfinished ambitions of this life.”

“So that is how it was…” Wang Xuance murmured. His heart was shaken as though by a great crashing wave. What a mad scheme this was! Plotting for thirty years, selecting a man and a woman from the world to serve as actors, staging thirty-three lifetimes of reincarnation — using the Indian subcontinent as the stage, with the countless masses of the world as the audience, and then having the great Mahayana Buddhist tradition participate each step of the way as witness, successfully convincing King Harsha that the cycle of rebirth had manifested in this world. And then, in the end, using the greatest temptation of any ruler — immortality — as the bait, and the ruler’s own crimes as the means of intimidation, wielding both in tandem, to make King Harsha willingly place his throne in the hands of a total stranger!

What manner of mad mind could conceive of such a plan — and then bring it to fruition?

Subhakarasimha laughed aloud. “You believe me now, I trust? Your master was talking absolute nonsense. Such a meticulous scheme of mine, and he judged it into a complete mess — it is a genuine affront to my intelligence…”

Wang Xuance sighed. “My master has not affronted your intelligence — because none of those words were ever his.”

“Hm?” Subhakarasimha was taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is that everything I said just now was made up on the spot. I merely used my master’s name to provoke you into revealing the truth.” Wang Xuance smiled. “On the day I departed for India, I asked my master how I might deal with Subhakarasimha in the future. My master said: Subhakarasimha is a man of wild arrogance and overweening pride, consumed by his own self-regard. Use these eight words to your advantage, and you can surely break him.”

Subhakarasimha was thoroughly speechless. And at that moment, he suddenly heard the sound of slow, measured footsteps drawing near. Looking up, he saw that Narasimha was standing before him in silence. The two men faced each other through the lattice. Narasimha’s eyes were filled with grief and despair.

Wang Xuance rose to his feet, drew a key from his sleeve, unlocked the cell door, and stood shoulder to shoulder with Narasimha, gazing steadily at Subhakarasimha. Subhakarasimha smiled with bitter resignation — how could he not understand now that he had fallen squarely into Wang Xuance’s trap? It turned out that although Narasimha was a man consumed by love, he was no fool. When the Alliance of Sixteen Kingdoms was being established and Subhakarasimha had put forward his strategy of checks and balances from within the prison, Narasimha had known that the Seven-Layered Prison could not hold Subhakarasimha. He had been deeply troubled all along, yet unable to see through Subhakarasimha’s hand. This time, it happened that Wang Xuance also wished to deal with Subhakarasimha — and the two were in perfect agreement. They staged a performance before everyone’s eyes, locking Wang Xuance in the Seven-Layered Prison, and as expected, drew out Subhakarasimha to reveal the truth behind the scenes.

Yet this truth was a weight that Narasimha could not bear.

“Were you truly the one who chose me as an actor?

“Was I truly the pawn you controlled for an entire lifetime?

“Was the thirty-three-lifetime love between myself and Lianhaye truly false?

“I ask you — was Lianhaye’s love for me truly genuine, or was it not?

“I ask you — will my Lianhaye ever come back?”

Narasimha screamed and raged, shaking the lattice with both hands as though he meant to tear it apart. He demanded answers in frenzy, then began to slam his head against the bars, again and again, until his head was split open and blood ran down his face.

“Narasimha — do not torment yourself like this,” Wang Xuance said urgently, grabbing hold of him to restrain him.

Narasimha shook him off, kicked and pounded at the lattice in a frenzy, his voice cracking and hoarse: “You ruined my life! You destroyed every hope I had! Subhakarasimha — I hate you—”

Subhakarasimha sat as still as a wooden figure, silent, as though all the strength had drained out of him.

In the great hall of the imperial palace, Narasimha sat blankly on the throne, with Wang Xuance seated below him.

“You knew about this all along — did you not?” Narasimha asked.

Wang Xuance knew what he was referring to, and nodded in silence. “This is something my master deduced long ago. On the day you told my master you wished to be king, my master used this secret as the basis of his exchange with Subhakarasimha.”

“So in others’ eyes, I have been a fool all along.” Narasimha’s mouth was filled with bitterness. “And yet it is not as though I had no doubts of my own. Sometimes I would dream of my homeland and old country in Sogdiana — dreams filled always with the curved blades and iron hooves of the Turks, and a voice calling out to me: Dhruvasena, run! In those dreams, I was Dhruvasena; when I woke, I was Narasimha. Compared to Dhruvasena, I preferred to be Narasimha. Dhruvasena’s life was filled with tragedy and utterly without warmth, while Narasimha’s life — even though it too was tragic — held warmth in the bitter cold. Because I had Lianhaye. I do not know how you see her — but I know that she was the only place in this life where my heart found shelter. We met in this bleak existence and held each other for warmth. I lost myself in Narasimha’s life because I lost myself in the only happiness I had ever known in this world. I did not wish to wake — for if I woke, even that small measure of happiness would be gone. Do you understand?”

“I do,” Wang Xuance replied.

“Good — then that is enough,” Narasimha sighed.

Wang Xuance paused. Narasimha gazed at him without speaking. The two of them sat in silence, looking at each other, and memories drifted through their eyes — their first meeting in Tibet, the journey south following Xuanzang, the peril at Kanyakubja, the unraveling of the murder — one scene after another. And they both found, in that moment, that though they had never sworn brotherhood, they had in truth become companions who had faced death together.

“I understand now that this emperor of mine has always been a pawn in others’ eyes.” Narasimha said this, and — for no apparent reason — abandoned the royal pronoun. “Subhakarasimha wished to control this empire through me; Bhandi and Jandha flattered me because they regarded my son as King Harsha reborn. None of them truly valued me — yet I cannot fail to value myself. For if I do not value myself, who will wait for Lianhaye to return?”

“Your Majesty!” Wang Xuance also changed his form of address, as though an invisible current was flowing between the two of them. “The transmigration of souls and rebirth is nothing but a deception.”

“Have you ever seen a man dying of thirst in the desert who catches sight of a mirage? He knows it is false, and yet he pours out his last strength to run toward it. Have you ever seen a man drowning in the sea who spots a single straw floating on the water’s surface? He knows it will not save him, and yet he still reaches for it.” Narasimha wept slowly, tears tracing down his face. “Rebirth and transmigration are the same. Apart from remaining in this palace, waiting beneath these palace walls — where else can I go to wait for Lianhaye’s return?”

“Why must you be this way?” Wang Xuance exclaimed in anguish. “Knowing full well it is a deception, and yet willingly making yourself a pawn, willing to pour out your entire life — is it worth it?”

“In this world, worth and not worth — by what measure do you reckon it?” Narasimha asked. “Lianhaye knew it was a deception, and yet she willingly bore me a child, willingly gave her life beneath these palace walls. Worth and not worth? Even if I spend my whole life waiting without ever seeing her again, I will still wait. Because I want her to know that her love was not given in vain — I want her to still feel some attachment to this world — I want her to know that someone is waiting for her return. And this way, I still have a faint, fragile hope — that many years from now, a woman radiant as a lotus will step lightly toward me…”

Narasimha wept without restraint, beyond all power to hold back.

“So you must guard this secret?” Wang Xuance asked.

“Yes!” Narasimha looked at him through tear-filled eyes. “You and I were both under the same master. Our bond is deep — yet in this game, one must be either a pawn or the hand that holds the pieces; there is no room for bystanders. Subhakarasimha must protect this secret for his own sake; Jandha must protect it because he is waiting for King Harsha’s reincarnation. Only you… are outside this game entirely.”

“You wish to silence me?” Wang Xuance said with a long exhale.

“For the faint hope that lies beyond these palace walls, I am willing to commit every sin this world has to offer.” Narasimha said. “I have wronged you, senior brother. Guards—!” Narasimha shouted. “Seize Wang Xuance!”

The Kshatriya guards outside the hall came at the call and seized Wang Xuance without hesitation. Wang Xuance offered no resistance, letting them bind him tightly, but gazed at Narasimha with grief in his eyes.

Narasimha could not bear to look at him, and gave the order: “Go — bring the entire Great Tang delegation here to this hall. Also — summon all the court ministers to attend as well!”

“Narasimha — killing me alone is sufficient! Why implicate the others!” Wang Xuance raged, struggling against his bonds.

“You are an emissary of the Great Tang — my name for your death would be illegitimate,” Narasimha replied with a wave of his hand. “Gag his mouth.”

A Kshatriya guard stuffed a wad of hemp cloth into Wang Xuance’s mouth.

Before long, Jiang Shiren and the other thirty-six envoys were brought into the hall, and ministers including Jandha hurried in as well. Narasimha walked along the line of the delegation and spoke in a measured tone: “Wang Xuance has just confessed to me that he conspired with King Kumara to subvert the empire. Whoever among you has knowledge of the details need only give a full account — and I shall spare your life.”

Wang Xuance was furious beyond measure, but with the hemp cloth in his mouth could produce nothing but muffled sounds. Among the delegation, one of Wang Xuance’s closest attendants, seeing his superior arrested, rushed forward: “Your Majesty — our Deputy Minister would never conspire with King Kumara! This is a grave injustice!”

“Is that so?” Narasimha pulled a long sword from the belt of one of the Kshatriya guards and pressed it to the attendant’s throat. “I ask you one thing: during those two days in Rajagrha, were you with Wang Xuance every single moment, never once leaving his side?”

“Er…” the attendant shook his head blankly. “That I was not.”

“If you were not with him at every moment, how can you testify on his behalf?” Narasimha let out a roar, and the long sword plunged suddenly into the attendant’s throat. The attendant’s eyes flew wide open; he pressed his hands to his neck, blood spraying like a fountain through his fingers, and he crumpled slowly to the ground.

Not only the members of the delegation but even the empire’s own officials present were shaken to their core. To unlawfully kill a foreign envoy was an extremely rare act in India. The Indians placed the utmost value on trust and honor — even when King Harsha and King Yazdegerd III had stood in sharp opposition, and Yazdegerd III had paid a personal visit to Kanyakubja, both sides had maintained decorum even when talks broke down, and King Harsha had escorted him safely out of the kingdom. And yet now, King Dhruvasena had abandoned all restraint.

“Mm—!” Wang Xuance’s eyes were bursting with anguish, but he was held down immovably by the Kshatriya guards.

Narasimha lifted his long sword and walked, smiling, to the next envoy’s side, pressing the blade to his throat. “And you?”

The envoy said with dignity: “Our Deputy Minister never conspired with King Kumara. I likewise cannot prove it.”

“Good!” The blade plunged through his throat. The envoy toppled backward, convulsed briefly, and breathed his last.

Blood splattered onto Narasimha’s face. He looked toward the next envoy with a savage grin, ferocious as a devil.

“Your Majesty!” Marshal Jandha could bear it no longer and stepped forward urgently. “To arbitrarily kill the envoys of a great nation is truly a grave affront to the dignity of the empire!”

“Dignity?” Narasimha let out a furious howl. “I want no dignity whatsoever! Anyone who schemes against my throne shall be killed — every single one!” He strode briskly to the third envoy and pointed his short sword. “You!”

The envoy too raised his chin with proud defiance: “Kill if you will. My Great Tang commands submission across all borders, with a million strong soldiers — one day iron hooves will shatter your Kanyakubja and avenge our deaths!”

Narasimha said nothing, swung the sword in a horizontal sweep — and with a dull thud, the envoy’s head was severed clean from his body. The headless corpse crashed to the ground. Narasimha only felt a violent, restless fury that could find no outlet — as though he were on the verge of madness — and continued walking toward the next man. But these were men of the Great Tang, in an era when the nation’s power was surging and prosperous, a golden age that awed the world in all directions. The envoys’ hearts were filled with dignity and pride, and not a single one submitted. One after another, they stood with iron spines and regarded death without fear. Narasimha killed six of them before the savage energy in his chest began to disperse somewhat.

Narasimha stood holding his blood-dripping sword among the bodies, his silhouette cast across the vast and magnificent hall — like a blood-thirsting devil. And then, suddenly, he wept. He turned and walked to stand before Wang Xuance, closed his eyes, unable to look into his old companion’s face, and murmured: “Why must fate be so cruel—”

His eyes still closed, he swung his sword to cut. There was a sharp clang — and the sword nearly flew from his hand. He looked up in astonishment: one of the Kshatriya guards had swung his own blade to deflect Narasimha’s sword and simultaneously sliced through the ropes binding Wang Xuance. The guard shouted: “Run!”

“This—” Narasimha was frozen in shock, then burst into a furious shout: “Seize them! Seize them for me!”

The Kshatriya guards rushed forward, but three more among their number defected, holding back their comrades while cutting the bonds of the delegation members. The great hall erupted into chaos. The majority of the Great Tang envoys had military backgrounds — they seized weapons from their captors and clashed with the Kshatriya guards in fierce combat.

In the chaos, Wang Xuance snatched a long spear and roared: “Break through — outside!”

The group smashed through the Kshatriya guards’ encirclement and rushed out of the hall.

“Jandha — what is the meaning of this?” Narasimha bellowed.

Marshal Jandha’s face was dark and grave. “It must be men of the Alliance of Sixteen Kingdoms. It seems these kings have had treacherous designs all along — they even planted spies within the imperial palace.”

The rescuers had prepared everything in advance: first, one man stepped forward to free Wang Xuance, then the others created chaos among their colleagues to release the envoys. Though there were over a hundred guards in the hall, no one knew who the enemy was — and in their mutual suspicion, they allowed Wang Xuance and the others to break through.

Even horses had been readied within the palace grounds — but only three or four of them.

One of the guards said: “Deputy Minister Wang — please mount!”

“What of my companions?” Wang Xuance saw that only Jiang Shiren had stayed close behind him, and called out urgently: “Can you not find a way to bring all of them out with us?”

“We cannot,” the guard replied. “My master’s orders were only to rescue you!”

“No!” Wang Xuance said flatly. “We live and die together!”

“Deputy Minister,” one of the envoys burst out laughing, “we were about to be slaughtered like chickens — but now we can die in battle. This is truly an honor for us all.”

Another man also laughed aloud: “To die for the Great Tang — to have our bones wrapped in horse leather!”

“Deputy Minister, Vice Deputy Minister — go! Avenge us!”

The group shouted together, lifted Wang Xuance and Jiang Shiren onto the warhorses, gave each horse a fierce jab in the hindquarters — and with a wild neigh, the animals bolted away. The two guards who had engineered the rescue also mounted the remaining two horses and gave chase. The rest of the Great Tang envoys stood in a line and blocked the gates of the palace. Some held curved blades, some long spears, and still others were empty-handed — but every face blazed with battle-fury. Under Narasimha’s furious command, over a thousand Kshatriya guards closed in. The envoys looked at one another, and then someone — no one knew who — began to sing “The Music of the Qin King Smashing the Formation.” A low, deep voice rose from among them, and gradually more and more voices joined in, swelling into a stirring, magnificent chorus:

Receiving our orders, we bid the sovereign farewell, to march together and suppress the rebel ministers. All sing “Smashing the Formation,” rejoicing that the people live in peace.

The imperial winds spread across all four seas; a thousand years of virtuous waters run clear. We cast aside our armor of war — today, we declare our great task complete…

“Kill—!” the envoys shouted in unison, and charged into the Kshatriya guards. Both Narasimha and Jandha watched, shaken to their very bones: these were barely twenty or thirty men, yet they carried the force of a thousand, unstoppable, capable of routing an army. Surrounded by over a thousand guards, every single one of them placed life and death behind them, fought with blood soaking their garments, and held on until the very last man fell. When the final envoy’s body dropped to the ground, every minister and official of the empire was silent for a long while: so this was the Great Tang at the height of its brilliance?

Within Kanyakubja, the two Kshatriya guards rode out of the palace walls with Wang Xuance and Jiang Shiren — and were immediately met by waiting allies. The force behind Wang Xuance’s rescue was clearly vast and far-reaching; the guard led them through several turns and twists, until at last they leaped down into a dry well, passing through a hidden underground tunnel that brought them directly beyond the city walls, effortlessly shaking off all pursuit.

Outside the city, they changed horses at a small village. The guard said nothing throughout, leading the two men in an eastward gallop of dozens of li until they reached a mountain hollow encircled by dense forest. There, a crack unit of cavalry waited in tense readiness — and at their head stood none other than King Kumara. Wang Xuance’s eyes lit up with sudden understanding. Only King Kumara, a thirty-year ally of King Harsha, could have built so powerful a network within Kanyakubja — penetrating even the imperial palace itself.

“Deputy Minister Wang!” King Kumara was overjoyed and rushed forward to meet him. “Ever since learning of your capture, I have been beside myself with worry. I came personally from Rajagrha — thank heaven and earth that you are safe!”

“I am profoundly grateful to Your Majesty!” Wang Xuance’s gratitude was overwhelming. He had suffered a humiliating defeat on this occasion — in all his years of maneuvering masterfully among the various kingdoms, he had never once met with failure, yet today he had been undone by Narasimha. What weighed on him most heavily was that he had lost the entire delegation — and if the delegation were all killed, his return to the Great Tang, even if he made it back, would be seen as a national disgrace, and his life’s path would come to an end there.

“Come — let me introduce you to some companions.” King Kumara led him over to a small group of men. Their attire was unremarkable and gave no indication of rank — yet once the introduction was made, both Wang Xuance and Jiang Shiren were startled. In this small and narrow mountain hollow had gathered six kings: apart from King Kumara, there was the King of Champa, the King of Vaishali, the King of Varanasi, the King of Suvarnagiri, and the King of Jandha — all kings of the Eastern Alliance.

“How could Xuance have earned the distinction of bringing such illustrious kings to risk themselves in this way?” Wang Xuance bowed in deep gratitude.

“Please set your mind at ease, Deputy Minister,” the King of Jandha said. “We were hardly taking much of a risk — it is not so easy for King Dhruvasena to lay hands on us.”

“Deputy Minister,” King Kumara asked, “what are your intentions?”

Wang Xuance thought for a moment, then smiled ruefully: “I am an envoy — yet I have allowed my entire delegation to be trapped in Kanyakubja. If I do not exact retribution, returning to the Great Tang would mean returning in national disgrace.”

“What plans do you have?” the King of Vaishali inquired.

Wang Xuance shook his head with a grim expression. This was foreign soil — however mighty the Great Tang, it was too far to reach. He had escaped alone — what could he possibly do?

“Deputy Minister,” said King Kumara, “from our Kamarupa Kingdom heading northeast — roughly a thousand li distant — lies the Great Tang’s Langzhou. We have long heard of the Great Tang’s unparalleled strength, though between us lie high mountains and dense forests where few men travel, and yet we do border the Great Tang in the end. If we clear the mountain roads for you and help you reach Langzhou, then summon the Great Tang’s mighty armies to crush this treacherous king — would that be feasible?”

Wang Xuance hesitated. Jiang Shiren asked: “If the roads are so difficult to traverse, how could a great army pass through?”

“This is… something even I have not walked,” King Kumara admitted with a rueful smile. “I only heard from merchants in the northeastern regions of my kingdom who had braved great hardships to cross those mountains and forests.”

Wang Xuance shook his head repeatedly. “Merchants can pass where armies cannot. I served as county magistrate in Rongzhou and heard of the hardships south of Langzhou — everywhere plagued with miasmas, swamps, and towering mountains and rivers. Even if a great army managed to cross the mountains and reach India, seven or eight out of every ten men would die on the way. This course of action is not viable.”

Hearing Wang Xuance reject the idea, the assembled kings showed expressions of disappointment.

“Your Majesty,” Wang Xuance said with a puzzled frown, “your allied armies have been in a standoff with the imperial forces for so long — why not launch an attack? If you defeat King Dhruvasena, would not everything else resolve itself naturally?”

The kings exchanged glances. King Kumara said with a rueful smile: “Easier said than done. Why was King Harsha’s authority so immense in his day? Because our combined forces in the Eastern Alliance number only fifty thousand — and the imperial army facing us in the east alone numbers one hundred thousand! And that is only because the Western Alliance is holding down a further fifty thousand imperial troops — otherwise, we could not even maintain a standoff.”

“Fifty thousand against one hundred thousand — it is sufficient to launch a battle!” Wang Xuance declared with conviction. “If the assembled kings do not find me unworthy, I am willing to participate in planning and strategy, and help you defeat King Dhruvasena’s army!”

“This—” The kings exchanged glances and shook their heads all around. “The difference in strength is too great!”

“Gentlemen, fifty thousand against one hundred thousand is a difference in numbers — not a difference in strength,” Wang Xuance replied. “In my estimation, your side has three advantages, while King Dhruvasena suffers three disadvantages.”

“Oh? Please explain,” said King Kumara.

“King Dhruvasena came to his throne by illegitimate means — his soldiers’ hearts have turned against him. This is his first disadvantage. King Dhruvasena was utterly unknown before this — he has no foundation and no one willing to fight and die for him. This is his second disadvantage. The sixteen kingdoms have risen in joint arms, and the empire is already showing signs of collapse — all the commanding officers are thinking of their own futures, and no one is willing to fight to the death. This is his third disadvantage.” Wang Xuance spoke with flowing confidence.

“And what are our three advantages?” the King of Jandha asked.

“If the gentlemen here cannot defeat King Dhruvasena, sooner or later your kingdoms will be destroyed and your lives taken — you will certainly fight to the death. This is the first advantage. You and the imperial forces have been allies for years and know your enemy well. This is the second advantage. Within the imperial army, there are those who are discontented with King Dhruvasena and are covertly communicating with you. This is the third advantage.” Wang Xuance continued. “And therefore — the moment the gentlemen launch an offensive, the imperial army will inevitably collapse in a single battle!”

“How do you know there are those within the imperial army who are secretly communicating with us?” the King of Jandha asked in surprise.

Wang Xuance smiled. “King Dhruvasena despises you all — he dispatched a great army to suppress the rebellion. With a one hundred thousand army in an overwhelming position of superiority, they have nevertheless faced off across the river for over a month without once engaging. If there were no secret understanding between you and the imperial commanders, how could this be?”

The assembled kings looked at one another, none finding a word to say. The six kings stepped aside and fell into intense discussion, their faces taut with difficult expressions.

In the end, King Kumara came back somewhat awkwardly and told Wang Xuance: “Deputy Minister, after our deliberations, we still cannot bring ourselves to wage war against the empire outright. The imperial army’s combat strength is very formidable — if we fail, the situation will become irrecoverable. In truth, the best strategy for us is to use military pressure to force the generals and powerful ministers within the empire to depose Narasimha.”

Wang Xuance was exasperated. “You have no idea how strong Narasimha’s support base is within the court. I tell you — that is simply impossible!”

“Why is it impossible?” King Kumara pressed. “Many nobles and generals have already expressed support for us. We only lack senior court officials such as Jandha.”

Wang Xuance was at a loss for words — he knew something he could not say. He understood perfectly well that Jandha and the others would never betray Narasimha. King Harsha had unified India and created over thirty years of flourishing peace, and he still commanded the deep loyalty and affection of the majority of nobles and common people. Under these circumstances, Wang Xuance dared not breathe a word of the matter that Narasimha’s son was regarded as King Harsha’s reincarnation. This was a deception, but ordinary people could not tell the difference — if he spread this story around, it would only strengthen Narasimha’s cohesion.

The Alliance of Sixteen Kingdoms before him, though arriving with a fierce show of strength, had all been frightened by the mighty imperial army and could not be relied upon. Wang Xuance turned the matter over and over, and suddenly said: “Can you keep up your standoff with Narasimha for one more month?”

“That presents no difficulty,” said King Kumara. “You made one correct judgment — the commanders of the imperial army genuinely have no desire to fight us either. After all these years of peaceful relations, everyone’s ties are deeply entangled and impossible to simply sever. If there is a way to avoid fighting, they naturally will.”

“But what about after one month?” the King of Jandha asked. “What strategy do you have for defeating the enemy?”

“After one month, I will bring back a great army and crush Narasimha on my own!” Wang Xuance declared with full conviction.

Everyone exchanged startled glances. King Kumara pressed urgently: “Where is there any other army capable of matching the Harsha Empire?”

“Tibet!” Wang Xuance declared.