In the year 628 CE, the second year of the Zhenguan era of the Great Tang Dynasty, during the second month of spring.
Fourteen thousand li away from Chang’an, in the land between two rivers, the Sassanid Persian Empire, which had endured for four hundred years, was in the thirty-eighth year of the reign of its last great emperor, Khosrow II.
Khosrow II had grown old and decrepit. Thirty-eight years ago, after deposing and murdering his father, he spent twenty years sweeping through the Byzantine Empire, conquering Asia Minor, plundering Syria, and occupying Antioch, Damascus, Jerusalem, and the entirety of Egypt[1]. The Holy Cross of Jesus, a sacred relic of the Byzantines, became his casually displayed war trophy. Under his rule, the Sassanid Persian Empire reached its unprecedented and unparalleled zenith.
Then, dramatically, it took only two years to fall from that peak.
The detestable Byzantine Emperor Heraclius secretly colluded with the damned Turks, attacking from both east and west. Heraclius’s army advanced unstoppably from Asia Minor to Ctesiphon[2]. The imperial capital was filled with ambitious nobles, insubordinate generals, citizens poised for rebellion, and sons with ulterior motives.
Ancient sunlight filtered into the palace of Ctesiphon. Thin wisps of frankincense smoke rose from glass censers, piercing the sunbeams and curling through the resplendent bedchamber. Khosrow II awoke wearily but didn’t want to open his eyes.
In the past two years, the emperor had contracted dysentery. Severe diarrhea had completely ravaged his body and made his temper increasingly volatile. In his reverie, he longed for the Heirvan Palace, which reminded him of the days spent with his beloved consort, Shirin. For her, he had built the Taq-i Kisra palace, its dome inlaid with gold and white jade depicting the sun, moon, and stars. Complex machinery allowed them to observe the sun’s movement and the changing of seasons while lying in bed. Even though Shirin was nearly fifty, he still considered her the most beautiful woman in the world.
Alas, the Heirvan Palace had been destroyed by Emperor Heraclius, who was now lurking outside Ctesiphon, waiting to deliver the fatal blow to his empire.
Thinking of Shirin, Khosrow II was immediately filled with tenderness. He decided to heed her advice and name their son, Mardanshah, as crown prince, despite him being only six years old. What of it? I am still the King of Sassanid Persia, King of Kings, King of the Four Corners of the Universe!
Khosrow II made up his mind and struggled to sit up. However, in the frankincense mist before his eyes, a hand appeared, pressing against his forehead and forcefully pushing his body back onto the bed. Before the emperor could react, countless hands emerged from the smoke. His neck, hands, feet, and limbs were all restrained, pinning him spread-eagled to the bed.
The sudden change occurred in an instant as if countless people were skillfully working together. Overwhelming fear swept over him, but the emperor couldn’t see anyone. Just as he was about to cry out, his cheeks were pinched, and a pair of bronze tongs holding a red-hot piece of frankincense was forced into his mouth. The emperor struggled desperately, emitting painful whimpers. But the tongs mercilessly pushed deeper into his throat until the frankincense blocked his airway. The excruciating pain and suffocation caused Khosrow II to lose consciousness.
After an unknown period, Khosrow II awoke in convulsions to find his eldest son, Sheroe, standing respectfully at his bedside. The emperor’s eyes widened, momentarily forgetting the pain, as he realized Sheroe was wearing imperial robes, holding a scepter, and wearing a golden crown. The emperor was furious but could only produce hoarse sounds from his throat, wracked with unbearable pain.
“Shh—” Sheroe gently pressed his lips and pointed towards the window. “Listen—”
At that moment, a distant roar could be heard from outside the palace. Khosrow II listened carefully, and slowly his expression changed. It wasn’t the sound of the sea, but the shouts of countless people. The cries grew louder, approaching from afar until they shook the roof tiles of the palace—”Emperor Kavad!”
“Kavad II,” Sheroe corrected, “that’s me, Sheroe.”
Khosrow II collapsed in despair. He knew he had been deposed, just as he had deposed his father, Hormizd IV, thirty-eight years ago.
“Great Father, King of Kings of Persia, do you know why I burned your throat?” Kavad II smiled. “Because I couldn’t let you utter that incantation. Just as you blinded my grandfather’s eyes to usurp his throne. For four hundred years, the great Sassanid Persia has been sustained only by that mysterious Bottle of King David. Even during these thirty-eight years, as you exhausted our military and indulged in luxury and debauchery, no one dared to oppose you. The power of the Bottle of King David intimidated all nations, even the mighty Byzantine trembled under its radiance, allowing your armies to ravage at will. So why, in just two short years, have we fallen into such decline, cowering under the blades of the Byzantines and the Turks? Could it be that you’ve exhausted the bottle’s spells?”
Khosrow II closed his eyes.
“Tell me, Great Father.” Kavad II brought a pre-cut sheet of Eastern hemp paper and placed it on Khosrow II’s chest, handing him a goose-feather quill. “Where is the Bottle of King David? I will be its new master, once again possessing three omnipotent wishes. I will lead Sassanid Persia back to its glorious peak, creating an empire of unprecedented power.”
Khosrow II’s face revealed a cold smile as he wrote on the hemp paper: The Bottle of King David has left Persia. You will never obtain it.
“Where is it?” Kavad II was stunned, suddenly enraged. “Tell me, where is it?”
Khosrow II chuckled and wrote: In the homeland of this paper.
“The homeland of this paper?” Kavad II pondered. He knew this type of paper came from the Eastern Great Tang Dynasty. It was the Yizhou hemp paper used by the Tang imperial court, brought to Persia by those greedy Sogdian merchants through the ten-thousand-li Silk Road.
“No… no…” Kavad II couldn’t believe it. “This is the national treasure of our Sassanid Persia, passed down for four hundred years. How could you possibly send it to the Great Tang Empire, ten thousand li away?”
Khosrow II continued writing: The schemes of emperors are beyond your comprehension. In one year, the Bottle of King David will reach the court of the Great Tang. The world order will be overturned, and Sassanid Persia will be reborn. And you, my son, will forever bask in the glory I leave behind.
“No—” Kavad II let out a desperate roar, his hands clutching Khosrow II’s throat, his expression contorted, muscles twitching. “You’ve destroyed my foundation, yet I granted you the dignity of an emperor, allowing you to die without bloodshed!”
Khosrow II’s throat made gurgling sounds as his vision darkened, but his face seemed to be smiling, a smile tinged with tears.
Footnotes:
[1] Asia Minor, Syria, Damascus, and Jerusalem are modern translations. Due to the confusion in translating names of Western countries during the Northern and Southern Dynasties to the Sui and Tang periods, and the overly abstruse translations by Xuanzang himself, this text will use terms that are easier for readers to understand.
[2] Ctesiphon, the capital of the Sassanid Persian Empire, is located 40 kilometers southeast of present-day Baghdad, with ruins still existing today.