Forced to withdraw to Khotan, it is eventually learned that Wan Han Lo plotted the death of the Tibetan Emperor’s sister, The Princess Jewa. He has also beguiled the King of Khotan in his attempt to neutralize the influence of the Tibetans and secure the loyalty of this powerful Kingdom.

He does not count on the unexpected arrival of  Rana Tenpai in the region, who challenges the long entrenched power of the T’ang.

The emissary reflects the sinister, condescending and jaded qualities of the T’ang that were to lead to the eventual downfall of this powerful dynasty.

EXCERPT From Chapter 62 - Wan Han Lo

Wan Han Lo traced out the last line of his calligraphy, squinting at the smooth beige paper roll as he finished. The thin fingers of his hand wrapped delicately around the buffalo horn brush handle. The goat hair tip of the brush hovered tentatively over his last mark, as if waiting on some silent approval. Each stroke must be exactly right, he thought, for every line had its purpose. Who was he to disturb the harmony of the language with the haste or inattention of an untrained hand? As he read the characters over in his mind he was as much taken with their graceful beauty as with their meaning. Soon, he knew, the inevitable failings of infirmity and old age would beset him and he would no longer command the sure and certain stroke that characterized his writing style. Soon, but not today, he thought. He breathed deeply, content with his handiwork as he lowered the brush into an exquisitely carved jade pot to wash away the ink. His gaze still lingered on the scroll as his wrist swilled the brush about in slow deliberate circles. With each turn of his hand the three creeping dragons that were carved about the circumference of the pot seemed to watch and follow. His poem was finished at last, and addressed to the Vice Prefect in just the proper form. He read it once more to be certain his message would leave nothing to chance.

Lords of the capital, sharp, unearthly,
The spear of a Great General pierces the heavens.
Clouds are parting above the Temple of the Warring Emperor,
But no rain falls on the desert, on the Giant’s Palm.
Ranges and rivers are the strength of this Western Gate,
Whence roads and trails lead onward to China.
O pilgrim of fame, O seeker of profit,
Why not remain here and lengthen your days?

 Yes, he thought, why not remain here? While it possessed none of the subtle pleasures of his homeland, the kingdom of Khotan was an oasis of civility in the midst of the endless desolation of the Western Provinces. It had good water from two strong rivers, and winding streets fringed with terraced gardens. They did not have the elegance and harmony of the gardens of Chang’an, but with time he might make them do. The place had high walls and iron gates for security and his mansion was well guarded here. Best of all, it had jade in abundance. Jade flowed down from the high mountains south and with each spring runoff the bounty seemed ever larger. His hand smoothed over the wet, green dragons on his brush pot. He smiled just to think of it. Jade, and fine tea—What more could he desire?

His journey east to Charchan had convinced him that virtually all the lands between this place and the heartland of China were little more than worthless drifts of wind blown sand and arid clay. They existed for one purpose only—to form the bed of the road leading east. Now that the barbarians had come down from their mountains again to infest the land, the road was cut and this last consolation was spent and lost. Let them come, he thought. Let them wallow in the sand like filthy camels. Let them suckle at the teats of their goats and pick fleas from their flesh like peasants. What was it the young Tibetan general claimed to be master of—all the lands from Chü Mo to Miran? How fitting. It was a kingdom suitable for thieves and brigands, peopled by sheep herders and vagrant traders. It did not merit even his slightest thought, but for some nagging reason he could not pull his mind from the matter. Generals and their brutish ways had ever been the foil to his most carefully drawn devices.

 Yes, Chü Mo was worthless, but the road it carried was of great importance. Without it the riches of Khotan, Yarkand, and Kashgar to the west could not move to China unless they first labored north around the great bulge of the Taklamakan. The detour would add weeks to every shipment and each week added was profit lost.

 Who could say if even this northern route would remain open for long. He was disturbed by rumors of restless tribes moving again beyond the Tien Shan. Emboldened by their victories along the Talas River, they had begun to migrate south over the mountains to places like Ak’su, Kucha, Korla and Kara-Kum. If these cities were lost, or infested with wayward barbarians, all trade would be choked off to the heartland of the Empire.

 He did not want to dwell on that possibility just yet. The thought that all the goods of Samarkand might be stifled and lost were too much for him. The golden peaches, exotic fruits, aromatic spices and perfumes seemed to flutter in his mind. The wonderful horses from Fergana galloped through his thoughts and then vanished! This could not be allowed to happen! The difficulty in moving his consignments of jade east would be problem enough. What good were all these generals and soldiers if they could not defend the frontier? He allowed himself a moment of disharmony and considered the fate of Kao Hsien-chih, the Korean general that once commanded all the Western Garrisons.

 The Tibetan drifters had been right after all. Kao Hsien-chih was dead, and fittingly so, for his abysmal performance in the field against the Abbasid horde. If the Emperor had been wiser in his appointments these difficulties could have been avoided. Chinese generals may not have the fire and imagination of barbarian warriors, but at least they could be counted on to remain loyal to the homeland. Now that foreign generals commanded all the outermost provinces, the Empire was in grave danger. Kao Hsien-chih was the first, and he fought well for a time, until he failed on the Talas River. Some say that treachery had decided that battle, but there was no doubt of the outcome. The armies of China were blunted and forced to retreat. Kao Hsien-chih was dead, and the northwest frontier was now unguarded. Generals! They could undo years of fastidious planning and contrivance in a single day! The more he thought on the matter, the more distressed he became.