The Path of the Prophet

In the Han calendar it was the sixth year of Xiping. The year 177 had come at last.

The old woman whose name no one had ever learned, who had been known only as the Old Shamaness, left behind her fortune and every implement of her craft, and I inherited them all. After that first brief interlude, though, the days settled back into the ordinary. I learned from my father how to handle horses and livestock and how to draw a bow, and then I went to Lü Bu to train in the staff. So I turned five. And still one question would not leave my mind.

What exactly had that old woman seen in me?

She hadn't died just because I'd gotten angry and talked back to her. That much, at least, I was sure of.

"Bao."

After I received the old woman's inheritance, my father Yufuluo's manner toward me had, for some reason, grown a little gentler. Well — of course it had. His son had prophesied that he would become Chanyu, and the shamaness he'd brought along out of concern had promptly dropped dead. And it hadn't even ended there. That shamaness had willed her entire inheritance to the boy. No wonder I had begun to look like a stranger to him. He must have wondered whether I was truly some being bound to Tengri.

"The Chanyu wishes to see you."

Hm? All of a sudden?

All through last year — the whole of 176 — and even at this year's spring festival, my great-grandfather had never once summoned me to his court. Either the rumors about me had only now reached the ears of Tute Ruoshi Gongzhu Chanyu, or he had been waiting until the summer Dragon City Grand Sacrifice drew near. It had to be one or the other.

I nodded and packed my things. Over the swan-feather cloak I had worn before, I hung the bells and beads the Old Shamaness had left me, the implements of beast-bone, the cloths of five colors, and dressed myself from head to foot. Like this I looked reasonably like a shaman — and being so young would only deepen the air of mystery.

So I set out with Yufuluo for my great-grandfather the Chanyu's spring encampment.

The Chanyu's great tent was far larger and more splendid than that of Yufuluo, the Right Guli King. We were a cadet branch of a cadet branch, but we were still of the Luanti clan, and so my father and I were admitted at once.

"Uncle."

"Mm."

Yufuluo was twenty-eight this year. The middle-aged man who had just received his greeting would be Luanti Hozheng, the Left Wise King — crown prince of the Xiongnu, and to me, Luanti Bao, a granduncle. I offered my greetings after my father, then stepped forward, to the seat of honor, before the Chanyu himself.

"I present myself before the Dargwa."

Speaking the Xiongnu word for Chanyu, Yufuluo knelt. I too knelt quietly before the old man.

Tute Ruoshi Gongzhu Chanyu. The old man who was my great-grandfather slowly nodded.

"My grandson Yufuluo. The child beside you — is he my great-grandson?"

"He is, Grandfather."

The old man stretched out his hand.

"Come closer."

I glanced at Yufuluo, who gave a slight jerk of his chin, and carefully stepped forward. My great-grandfather stared hard at me, then gestured to a retainer. The man brought a cauldron and set it before the Chanyu. It was a pot of something like soup, giving off a rich, savory smell. The Chanyu himself ladled a scoop and held it out to me.

I drank.

To share food from a single pot was a token that I stood under his protection — as his great-grandson, and as his guest.

The Chanyu asked me,

"I have heard that the wisest and eldest shamaness among the Xiongnu left a great deal to you."

"That is so, Dargwa."

"They say you hear the voice of Tengri as well."

It was just an excuse I cooked up so I wouldn't get thrashed for stealing clothes and running away from home. How had it come to this?

No. Wait.

If this was proof that history had begun to shift because I had taken action — then couldn't I make use of the misunderstanding?

This year my great-grandfather would lead the Xiongnu host alongside the Han on a campaign to suppress Tanshihuai. In that crushing defeat, where seven or eight of every ten Han soldiers would perish, our Xiongnu army would take heavy losses as well. And that would not be the end of it. This great-grandfather of mine would die in the aftermath, and Granduncle Hozheng, barely seated as Chanyu, would be killed by Zhang Xiu, the Zhonglangjiang Protecting the Xiongnu—

Wait.

The current Zhonglangjiang Protecting the Xiongnu was Zhang Min. After the failed campaign against Tanshihuai, Zhang Min would be dismissed, and Zhang Xiu would take the post. But I was fairly certain Zhang Min's predecessor had also been Zhang Xiu. Then Zhang Xiu would be returning after Zhang Min's failure?

Suspicious.

The campaign against Tanshihuai had been forced through despite widespread opposition. What if — what if Zhang Xiu had intervened in Luoyang's deliberations on suppressing Tanshihuai? What if he had goaded the Emperor from the capital? What if he had pushed a doomed expedition so that he could return as Zhonglangjiang Protecting the Xiongnu?

"Dargwa."

Another retainer called to the Chanyu.

"The Xubu Gudu Marquess."

The Xubu Gudu Marquess?

"Yes. Xubu Chang, the Xubu Gudu Marquess, addresses the Dargwa."

"What is it. I am speaking with my great-grandson."

"But to hear the voice of Tengri is no ordinary matter."

This man — the Xubu Gudu Marquess, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Xubu Chang. This was the man who would kill my grandfather, Yufuluo's father, Luanti Qiangqu. A house that was not even of the Luanti clan, yet had once styled itself Chanyu with the Han at its back. To the Luanti family they were little better than traitors, and yet they still held the rank of Gudu Marquess and came and went from the Chanyu's tent. They must have had connections.

Xubu Chang's connections. The rebellion of Xubu Chang that would one day come. Zhang Xiu, angling to return as Zhonglangjiang Protecting the Xiongnu. The murder Zhang Xiu would commit. If all of this was bound together—

While I looked at Xubu Chang and ran the calculations, his words went on.

"It is an awkward thing to say, but the son of the Right Guli King is still young. He may merely be parroting words he has heard from the adults."

"Are you saying the shamaness's inheritance was falsely transmitted?"

"I do not go so far as to deny that. Perhaps the dead shamaness meant to raise the Right Guli King's son as her successor. But Tengri's allotted span ran out first, and the boy may merely be playing at imitation."

Listening quietly, it sounded as though he were picking a fight with me or with my father. He was not. The Xubu Gudu Marquess was, at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠this moment, putting a crack in the authority of my great-grandfather, the Chanyu.

Tute Ruoshi Gongzhu Chanyu was not simply doting on me as his great-grandson. He was attempting to secure religious authority by making use of me — because I had claimed to hear the words of Tengri. And Xubu Chang had denied the religious authority of the child to whom the Chanyu himself had just fed food. In the end it amounted to denying the Grand Chanyu's attempt itself. The one Xubu Chang was aiming at was the Chanyu.

Was he doing this because, like his Xubu ancestors, he wanted the seat of Chanyu for himself? If the former Zhonglangjiang Protecting the Xiongnu, Zhang Xiu, and Xubu Chang were in collusion, the behavior made sense. If Zhang Xiu needed the campaign against Tanshihuai to fail, then the Xiongnu could not be allowed to grow strong around their Chanyu. Only once that defeat had broken the Chanyu's authority could the Xubu clan make their play for the throne.

If I am going to change history and escape the road to hell, I cannot sit still.

Even if the Han were destined to lose this year's expedition — the Xiongnu must not lose.

I straightened my back before Xubu Chang and stared him down.

"Ah. Is that so?"

There was no point in exposing the treason in Xubu Chang's heart here and now. I had no evidence. So here, then—

"Dargwa. You have incurred the resentment of Zhang Xiu, who was Zhonglangjiang Protecting the Xiongnu before Zhang Min."

Information a typical five-year-old would find hard to know — and even knowing it, hard to lay out with any logic.

"How do you know that?"

"It is not I who know it."

I raised my hand and pointed to the sky.

"And what is it this Zhang Xiu has done?"

"The plan to suppress the Xianbei Tanshihuai that the Han Emperor is deliberating in Luoyang — that is Zhang Xiu's scheme to return as Zhonglangjiang Protecting the Xiongnu."

Of course, I had actually heard about the campaign itself from Sun Jian while I was Lü Bu's disciple. I glanced sidelong at Xubu Chang's face. He was keeping his expression blank, but the dismay crawling up from underneath was something he could not quite hide. Well. This would not be enough to implicate him just yet.

"Zhang Xiu's scheme. How would that come about?"

"In this war, Tengri will ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠not grant victory to the Han. The Han army will suffer a great defeat. Then the present Zhonglangjiang Protecting the Xiongnu, Zhang Min, will take responsibility and step down, and Zhang Xiu will naturally return to the post."

"Wait!"

Xubu Chang cut in, forgetting even courtesy.

"Why would Tengri take the side of the Xianbei rather than the Han, who stand with the Xiongnu?"

"The Xianbei, too, are those who believe Tengri descends in the form of the wolf, the form of the deer, the form of the swan. He would not fail to shield them from the filthy hands of the Han."

Not logic. The language of faith. No matter how clever Xubu Chang was, the very existence of a five-year-old who did not act like a five-year-old was a miracle of Tengri. He could not hope to match it.

"Then you are saying Tengri will punish us Xiongnu as well, who have taken the Han's side!"

I smiled faintly. Before a certain god of the far west visited plagues upon the Egyptians, he had sent a prophet to shield the people he held dear.

A stir swept through the Chanyu's tent. Xubu Chang seemed to grind his teeth.

"You say the Han army's destined defeat is Tengri's will — then does Zhang Xiu, who plots this scheme, also hear Tengri's will?"

"No. Tengri has told me that we will be defeated by Zhang Xiu's scheme. Zhang Xiu will leak secrets to Tanshihuai on purpose, if he must, to ensure the Han army's defeat."

"If Tengri's words are so certain, why not simply inform the Emperor in Luoyang of Zhang Xiu's treasonous heart?"

I turned back toward the Chanyu.

"The Han have already lost the ears to hear Tengri's words. Nor can we go against Tengri's will that they be allowed to fall. In this war, we can save only the Xiongnu."

When Xubu Chang tried to speak further, the Chanyu raised a hand and stopped him.

"Xubu Gudu Marquess. That will be enough."

Then he rose from his seat and swept me up into his arms.

The words and conduct I had shown here were not something Yufuluo could have taught. It could only look like the genuine mystery of Tengri at work. The powerful men of the Southern Xiongnu inside the Chanyu's tent had witnessed it all with their own eyes.

Good. This is how I will move.

"Yufuluo, my grandson!"

"Yes, Dargwa."

"Go and fetch your father — my second son, the Right Wise King Qiangqu. Have your younger brother Huchuquan come as well."

Lü Bu had deliberately said nothing to Sun Jian about Luanti Bao. Given Sun Jian's nature, the moment he heard the boy's prophecy he would cut the child down — and then he would scold Lü Bu for it. How can you be shaken by the ravings of some Hu witch, he would say. Sun Jian would not care in the slightest how plausible Luanti Bao's words might be.

He was different from Lü Bu, who had lived long among the Xiongnu. Lü Bu had seen, more than once, how the Xiongnu perceived things ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the Han could not see, and displayed an uncanny wisdom. It was something the refined gaze of the Confucian school could not take in.

Of course, Lü Bu had not yet discarded the suspicion that what had happened then was a prank of his disciple's — or something Yufuluo, the Right Guli King, had arranged. And so, when Sun Jian brought new word, he thought he might put that suspicion to the test.

"I hear Cai Yong of Luoyang has been exiled to Bing Province."

"Cai Yong?"

"The surface pretext is that he petitioned to have the regulation lifted forbidding an official from taking a post in his in-laws' native commandery. But for a man who stood at the Emperor's side to come to Bing Province at a time like this — there must be another reason."

"Where in Bing Province did he go?"

"Wuyuan Commandery."

Lü Bu frowned.

"Fengxian. That's your hometown."

"So it is."

"What do you say. Cai Yong is a renowned scholar of the realm. Even just going and making a good impression would surely help your advancement."

Lü Bu was silent a moment, then nodded.

"Let's go. But my disciple — Bao, the son of the Right Guli King — comes with us."