Chapter 130: An Lushan, Who Fears No Death

“This is Fujiwara Scraper, the envoy to the Tang Dynasty!”

An Lushan’s gaze shifted away from Zhen Qian, a faint smile forming on his face. “Fujiwara-kun, since parting in Chang’an, I never expected to meet you here again. May I ask why you are not returning to Wa (Japan) but have come here instead?”

This question had been raised by Li Cui before, and now An Lushan asked it again. Fujiwara Scraper replied fluently without hesitation: “Commander An, your demeanor remains as impressive as ever since we parted in the capital. The envoy delegation was preparing to return to Wa, but upon hearing of Zhen Qian’s remarkable composition ‘Ode to the Lotus,’ I took the liberty of coming to Luquan County to meet him in person. I ask your pardon for the intrusion.”

“‘Ode to the Lotus’…?” An Lushan, somewhat literate, was momentarily stunned upon hearing this. Someone beside him whispered in his ear, and after listening, he suddenly understood. “‘Ode to the Lotus’ is from Zhen Lang’s pen, truly a rare masterpiece in the world. To meet Zhen Lang here is indeed a great fortune in life.”

An Lushan did not linger in conversation with Fujiwara Scraper but turned to ask, “Who is Zhen Ji to you?”

“He is my third uncle,” Zhen Qian answered, surprised that An Lushan would mention Zhen Ji. While astonished, he also gained a new understanding of An Lushan.

“I see! Are you aware that Zhen Ji has already entered official service and currently holds the position of secretary in Fanyang?”

Zhen Qian did not grasp An Lushan’s implication. Could it be that An Lushan wished to curry favor with the Zhen family? It was known that An Lushan cultivated relationships with prominent Hebei clans, but what did that have to do with him? There was no need to ingratiate himself!

Historically, An Lushan did indeed win over many of Hebei’s distinguished families, recommending them for office and nurturing numerous local powers. This contributed to the persistent instability in Hebei during the Later Tang period.

“I just heard the prince mention it yesterday…” Regardless of his thoughts, Zhen Qian maintained a respectful demeanor and, along with his uncle Zhen Ji, expressed thanks to An Lushan.

“Zhen Ji is widely recognized for his great talent. I merely offered a helping hand; recommending the virtuous is also my duty. It is nothing significant.”

As they spoke, the four sat cross-legged around the charcoal fire. Suddenly, many of An Lushan’s guards crowded into the tent but were promptly driven out by An Lushan. “Is there danger when I am with the prince? Everyone out!”

Though the guards were expelled, three men remained inside. Two wore plain clothes, yet their movements subtly revealed armor concealed beneath their garments. One stood less than three meters behind An Lushan, the other, sword in hand, stood at the tent’s entrance, radiating a fierce aura. The last man, who had ordered Zhen Qian to kneel, sat beside An Lushan, vigilantly scanning the surroundings.

Li Cui felt a vague displeasure. Among the four inside, there was the prince, the envoy to Tang, the military governor, and Zhen Qian, who, despite lacking official rank, was in his own mansion. The other three were clearly An Lushan’s subordinates. What was their purpose here? “Commander An, please introduce these three gentlemen to me.”

An Lushan indicated the man beside him. “This is Cui Qianyou, my staff officer…” Then pointing to the man behind him, “This is Tian Chengsi, one of my officers, who has earned the rank of General of the Martial Guards through merits. At the tent’s entrance is Shi Chaoqing, my personal guard captain. Please pay your respects to the prince!”

“Cui Qianyou, Shi Chaoqing, Tian Chengsi, greetings, Your Highness!” The three bowed respectfully to Li Cui.

“Cui Qianyou, Shi Chaoqing, Tian Chengsi!” Zhen Qian silently repeated their names. He had never heard of Cui Qianyou before; the surname Cui made him wonder if he was related to the prominent Cui clans of Qinghe or Boling. Tian Chengsi’s name seemed familiar, though he couldn’t recall why—likely a minor figure, somewhat above an extra. Shi Chaoqing… since his surname was Shi, Zhen Qian wondered if he was connected to Shi Siming, who would later proclaim himself emperor. He mentally noted the three names.

At this moment, the charcoal-grilled lamb leg was ready. Zhen Qian sliced off the top layer of crispy, golden lamb meat and arranged it on a plate, presenting it to the others. “Commander An, you have arrived just in time. Please try this humble man’s cooking!”

“Charcoal-grilled lamb leg… crispy outside, tender inside, it smells delicious and looks appetizing!” An Lushan praised, yet did not touch the food. Cui Qianyou silently picked up a piece of lamb head, slowly tasting it, his face showing surprise. “Truly a gourmet delight. The prince is fortunate indeed!”

Li Cui also took a piece, chewing carefully before asking, “Commander An, why do you not eat? Are you not hungry?”

Zhen Qian regarded An Lushan coldly: did he suspect an attempt on his life?

Indeed, upon hearing of An Lushan’s arrival at his mansion, Zhen Qian had entertained such a notion. Yet he quickly dismissed the absurd thought. Would killing An Lushan help? Setting aside the difficulties in executing such a plan, even if possible, the aftermath would be disastrous—not only would he become a fugitive, but his entire family would suffer. It would be unjust to implicate innocent kin, which was unbefitting of a gentleman.

Most importantly, An Lushan’s rebellion had both inevitable and contingent causes. By the late height of the Tang dynasty, tensions within the court and among the people had escalated. The emperor neglected his duties, showering favor on a select few; corrupt officials like Yang Guozhong ran amok; loyal ministers dared not speak out, facing exile or death; the common people were displaced and starving; while powerful landowners hoarded vast grain supplies. The crisis demanded resolution. Even without the An-Shi Rebellion, if not An Lushan, other militarized governors would have risen. The true force that plunged the Tang into abyss was the Huang Chao uprising and the countless destitute refugees. As long as that remained unaddressed, even the most brutal execution of An Lushan would be futile.

Some say history is like a pot of spicy hot pot, where every person adds their own flavor. One must understand history correctly, not merely echo hearsay.

While Zhen Qian pondered this, An Lushan said, “Zhen Lang, I heard you cured Princess Jinyuan’s illness. Might you treat me as well?”

Zhen Qian glanced at Li Cui, who must have informed An Lushan of his reputation. His fame was indeed spreading thanks to Li Cui.

Historically, An Lushan was said to have been killed by his own son, implying a premature death. This suggested An Lushan might not die young after all. Formulating a plan, Zhen Qian asked, “Commander An, might you first describe your symptoms?”

“I have been troubled these past years by eye and foot ailments. For some reason, my body has grown suddenly corpulent, making movement difficult. Despite consulting renowned doctors, there has been no cure. I heard the prince’s daughter is under your care, so I thought to ask.”

Zhen Qian had already noticed An Lushan’s swollen eye that barely opened, his unstable footing upon entering the tent, and his grotesquely fat body—reminiscent of what later ages called obesity. Yet An Lushan was a warrior, accustomed to harsh frontier campaigns. Sudden corpulence in an ordinary person might be plausible, but for An Lushan, it seemed suspicious.

“Commander An, may I examine your foot?”

Just as Cui Qianyou was about to speak, An Lushan waved him off. “A healer’s heart is like a parent’s. What harm is there in looking?” He lifted his robe to reveal a swollen foot. “See for yourself.”

Zhen Qian didn’t need to look long to diagnose the problem. The foot was swollen with early signs of ulceration—classic symptoms of what later was known as diabetes. Feigning careful examination, his expression grew grave, and the atmosphere in the tent tightened. “Zhen Lang, please speak frankly. I will not blame you.”

The best treatment for diabetes was insulin, but in the Tang era, such a remedy was unimaginable; Zhen Qian would never find insulin, no matter what.

“Pardon my boldness, but could you tell me your daily dietary habits?”

An Lushan frowned. A true physician was a true physician—his diagnostic methods differed from others’. While others observed color, pulse, and asked questions, Zhen Qian wanted to know about his diet.

“My daily fare consists mainly of meat and wine, with some tea. The northern lands are harsh; soldiers endure great hardships. Naturally, I share their fate…”

Zhen Qian inwardly smiled. An Lushan’s complaint was clearly aimed at Li Cui and had little to do with his illness.

“I heard you favor steamed pears. Are you particularly fond of sweet treats? Also, is it true you take ‘Fu San’?”

An Lushan was inwardly shocked. How could a commoner know his preferences so well? He had underestimated Zhen Qian.

“Yes, that is true. But how is this related to my illness?”

Indeed it was. It was well known that excessive sweets harmed the body. Toothaches were mild compared to diabetes, which could ruin a life. As for ‘Fu San,’ it referred to the consumption of elixirs or alchemical pills, which were very popular in the Tang dynasty. Several emperors perished from such medicines. An Lushan, a high-ranking member of the Sogdian Yaozong faith, was no exception.

Some joked that An Lushan was a remarkable figure: a frontier governor, a Silk Road trader, connected to the Turks, the Sogdian Yaozong faith, Buddhism, and Daoism—scholars of various disciplines could all find useful material in him.

‘Fu San’ meant taking the ‘Five-Stone Powder,’ often a euphemism for consuming alchemical pills. This was a custom among Chinese literati since the Wei and Jin dynasties, seemingly unrelated to An Lushan’s Sogdian warrior faith. However, judging by An Lushan’s physical ailments and historical records of medicines granted by Emperor Xuanzong and his baths at Huaqing Pool, it was evident An Lushan also consumed such pills, akin to a Tang literatus.

In Zhen Qian’s view, ‘Fu San’ was a way for An Lushan to ingratiate himself with the self-styled Daoist emperor Xuanzong, illustrating the gradual Sinicization of frontier generals. ‘Fu San’ required a detoxification process; without it, severe ailments like ulceration, blindness, and irritability occurred. Zhen Qian believed An Lushan did not understand this, leading to his demise. The detox method, well known to Xuanzong, included bathing. Whether Xuanzong informed An Lushan remained unknown—but if he did so deliberately, it revealed deep, ruthless political scheming.

From the symptoms, An Lushan’s illness stemmed from two causes: diet and alchemical pills. The former was straightforward yet hard to cure; the latter could neither be confessed nor treated. If Xuanzong truly intended to harm An Lushan secretly, Zhen Qian’s disclosure might invite death.

Zhen Qian did not believe all famed physicians were ignorant of An Lushan’s condition. The reason no one had cured him must be obvious!