The Orchid Farmer's Sacrifice

by Fred Yu

  Han lifted the bowl to his lips, and this time he drank it all with one gulp. Feng’s own bowl was filled, and he did the same.

  “That night I brought her the ginseng soup like every other night. I wanted to tell her how much I loved her, that I always referred to her as my mother, even though I never did so in public. I wanted to tell her how much I loved and respected her daughter, that I would never do anything to violate her or bring shame to the family. She received me in her room and drank the soup without a word. I tried to talk to her when she started to vomit blood. I screamed for help. By the time someone arrived, she was dead. The soup was poisoned. My master was traveling, but the rest of the family and all the students believed I poisoned her. They attacked me. I was sixteen at the time, but I was the only one who had studied both my master’s and his wife’s martial arts, so no one could stop me. I left, and I was told to never come back.

  “I wandered the world on my own. I enjoyed it. To this day I enjoy traveling the land by myself. There’s something special about being a common man. Much later I finally found the man who poisoned my mother. I killed him. I’m ashamed of it, but I killed him, and in front of his daughters too. I regret doing it.”

  “Why?” Feng asked. “He murdered the woman who raised you. Why would you regret killing him?”

  “I never found out why he did it,” Han said. “Everyone deserves to tell their story, but I killed him and dumped him into a waterfall without asking questions, so I will never know why. Now I no longer want to know. People’s politics, why people kill each other, why people plot and scheme for fame and fortune—none of that is my business anymore. It’s so much better to be an ordinary man with no property so I have nothing to protect, no family so there’s nothing I can’t let go.”

  “So much better for you,” Ah Go said. He had been silent the entire time, drinking and eating and staring into the fire, lifting his eyes only to fill their bowls with alcohol. “Like Feng, I also watched my sister die. She was raped in front of her fiancé, in front of everyone! They placed a dagger in her hands and forced her to stab her fiancé before they killed her.”

  Ah Go bit into his pork, tore off a large chunk of meat, and tossed the bone into the fire. “If there was a warrior like you protecting us, my sister would be alive today,” he said. “I was twelve at the time; she was already sixteen, and about to be married. We were farmers, and we raised chickens. I helped my parents sell eggs at the market every morning. I never got to go to school, and I never drank liquor as good as this. But we were happy.

  “Then they came. The barbarians. They crossed the Chinese border—only a handful of them, no more than fifty. What were we to do against armed barbarians? They razed our village, they killed the old and the sick and the infants, and they captured everyone else. Our homes were burned. We were taken into Mongolia and sold as slaves. The clan who bought us, they beat us every day. They didn’t give us any food, and they worked us to death. That clan was eventually invaded, and most of them were killed. The invaders were worse. They tortured their captives to entertain themselves. They stood in a circle, clapping and laughing while one thug after another violated my sister. And I watched. And her fiancé watched.”

  A cold sweat dripped down Feng’s back. His face felt hot, and his eyes burned. He had no words.

  “Some people enjoy seeing others afraid,” Ah Go said in a cold, dark voice that was not his own. “They love to watch others beg for mercy. It makes them feel powerful.” He turned to Han. “Some people kill for money. Some do it for revenge, and some do it out of fear. We don’t concern ourselves with those people. But what about those who kill for fun? What about those who take pleasure in seeing other people’s houses burn to the ground, those who are entertained when others weep?”

  Ah Go poured the liquor down his throat, then swung his saber around to slash the pork dangling over the fire.

  “You’re right,” Feng said. “We can’t allow the people to suffer for no reason. Those with an extra ounce of strength should step forward and protect the weak. We’re not animals. We don’t leave the old and sick behind so the predators can capture them first.”

  Han sighed. “People killing each other. Will it ever end?”

  “Not with us it won’t,” Feng said. “I lost my sister, and I did nothing about it. You lost the woman who raised you, and you could do nothing except seek revenge. Ah Go lost his entire family because he was too young to do anything. What about those who are still alive, who can still be happy, who have not lost anyone yet?”

  Silence settled among them. The campfire withdrew its groping fingers, fading with small, lingering bursts of hollow sparks. All three men stared into the glowing cinders without noticing them.

  “The Orchid Farmer also lost his entire family,” Feng said finally. “He could’ve prevented it, but he chose to give them up in exchange for my life. He believed I can make a difference. So, I at least have to try. Whatever it is I’m meant to do, I have to try. Those who are capable do have a responsibility. I hope I am more capable.”

  “You’re the most capable among the three of us,” Han said. “You just don’t see it yet.”

  Chapter 13

  Han again waited outside at dawn the following morning, staring at the dark horizon. Feng stood next to him, absorbing the impending sunrise.

  “Wouldn’t it be wonderful,” Han began, “if today we didn’t have to ambush Ko Sun and tomorrow we didn’t have to pursue the Judge? Wouldn’t it be wonderful if our only duties this morning were to water the vegetables and clear the weeds and feed the chickens?”

  “The common people don’t have it so easy either,” Feng said. “It’ll be worse for them if we hide here and plant vegetables and feed livestock.”

  “I know,” Han said. “I know.” He turned to Feng with a bitter smile. “Let’s continue working on our devastating palm techniques, then.”

  It was past noon when they stopped to rest. Feng had completed eighteen of the thirty-six sets, and he collapsed on a bench, the sweat on his forehead flowing to his chin.

  Ah Go appeared in front of them, the Butterfly strapped behind his back, a small hunting bow in one hand and a large quiver of arrows in another. “They’re here.”

  “Ko Sun is early.” Feng climbed to his feet. “Are the villagers ready?”

  “All morning.”

  Han picked up the Dart. The villagers were gathering themselves, some of them running off with extra shovels in their hands, others returning from their fields to hide behind closed doors. “Be careful about the loss of lives,” Han said.

  “I understand,” Feng said. “Only Ko Sun deserves to die. Everyone else goes home unharmed.”

  He turned to Ah Go and glanced at the large quiver of arrows with their blunt tips soaked in diluted poison. He thought of how Han tested the poison on himself, enduring tremendous pain overnight before permitting Feng to use it on civilians. Yet, as expected, Han emerged from the experience unharmed.

  Feng wrapped his belt around his waist, his thumbs brushing across the embedded throwing needles (none of them poisoned), and reached for the silver gloves.

  “No need for you to carry weapons,” Han said. “They have a mere sixty men. If everything goes well, I won’t be drawing my sword either.”

  “Mere sixty,” Feng mumbled, tucking the silver gloves back into his pockets and heading down the main road. The planned ambush was to take place right outside the village in an area with a rugged hill on one side and wide-open fields on the other. The soil on the hill was dry and loose with little vegetation.

  Feng and Han circled to the back of the hill while Ah Go ran off to the other side of the village. He would hide by himself in one of the farmhouses.

  How much easier this would be if Ko Sun simply came with sixty men and Ah Go was allowed to kill them. But Feng had to respect Han’s wish. The enemy soldiers did not need to die. When all was over, the same soldiers would return to a village very similar to this, and they would t
ill the soil and feed the livestock.

  The afternoon sun stung against the back of Feng’s neck as he climbed the hill. The blaring light was behind him, offering him yet another advantage. Ko Sun would arrive in time to face the sun. Perhaps the heavens also wanted him dead.

  By the time Feng reached the top of the hill, Han was already standing at the top next to two dozen villagers, all strong farmers standing with shovels in their hands. In front of them were piles of soil and small rocks, none of the stones larger than the size of half an egg.

  Feng’s mind churned through the ambush, wary that anything could go wrong and that the hostages—or perhaps even the villagers beside them—could be harmed. Capturing Ko Sun should be simple, especially with Ah Go and Han by his side, but there was no way to know whether Ko Sun would execute his hostages.

  “Nothing will go wrong,” Feng said to himself, though loud enough for Han to hear. “We’ll free the hostages before going after Ko Sun.” The peasants waited by the mouth of the village, beyond the point of ambush. Feng gave the signal to proceed. One of the peasants waved to him in acknowledgement, grabbed a torch, and began lighting a pile of hay. The other peasants each ignited their firebrands and ran off to various bundles stacked around the road. In a moment, huge fires and stinging black smoke swept across the front of the village. Feng could no longer see the rest of the village, even from his high vantage point.

  “What did you put in the hay?” Han asked.

  “Wet straws.”

  Ko Sun was already in the vicinity. Once he saw the smoke, he would approach.

  It wasn’t long before two men ran up the road to assess the fire and their immediate surroundings. They hurried away and never looked up the hill.

  Shortly afterward a large group of people emerged from the bend down the road. The women and children were in front, their heads lowered, their wrists bound by rope. Almost sixty soldiers, their swords already drawn, pushed the hostages forward.

  One of the soldiers suddenly screamed. An arrow had embedded itself in his arm. It was not deep, but the unbearable pain from the poison took immediate effect. Ah Go somehow took aim through the heavy black smoke and placed his shot with perfect precision.

  Feng locked his attention on the person barking orders, his right arm still wrapped in a sling. It was Ko Sun. The image of the Orchid Farmer’s little daughter being stabbed from behind swelled into his mind. I will torture this animal before killing him.

  A handful of Ko Sun’s men each grabbed a hostage and held swords to their necks while pushing them to the forefront. Another arrow fired through the dense smoke and struck a woman in the thigh. She screamed and crumbled to her knees. Her bound hands struggled to remove the arrow. Ko Sun barked something else in alarm when another arrow struck a different hostage in the shoulder.

  Feng shook his head in wonder. How could Ah Go strike any target he wished while hiding behind so much black smoke?

  Another arrow landed in a soldier’s hip, and Ko Sun gave the order to circumvent the ambush. He pointed at the hill and ordered his men to take the high ground.

  Feng held out his hand, signaling for the farmers to hold still, and waited for the soldiers to climb. Ko Sun was still shouting orders, and he held back some of his men from following the first group until they reached the middle of the hill.

  Then, to Feng’s amazement the hostages were tossed aside, thrown into the dirt and pushed out of the way. He breathed a sigh of relief. Ko Sun did exactly what he predicted, and now there was nothing left to do but attack. He lifted his hand and ordered the farmers to prepare.

  Ko Sun’s men had climbed three quarters of the hill. Feng waited, holding back his men, watching for the teenage boys at the bottom of the hill gathering behind the burning hay. The soldiers were almost at the top when Feng leaped from his position, a heavy rock in one hand, and shouted, “Now!”

  He hurled the stone into the closest soldier’s leg. The farmers jumped to the top of the hill and began shoveling dirt and pebbles into the men’s eyes, striking their faces with wave after wave of filthy rocks. The soldiers screamed. Some attempted to charge forward, but the rain of rock and soil intensified. They could not see. They could hardly breathe when pummeled by dry soil, and most of them reeled back. They crumbled, scrambling away, but lost their footing and rolled down the hill.

  The teenage boys at the mouth of the village recognized the signal and rushed to the women and children. They were each responsible for two hostages, helping them to their feet and ushering them toward the village.

  An arrow flew high into the air, approaching from a tremendous distance, and struck Ko Sun in the shoulder. His body arched back in surprise and pain, and he lifted his face to scream.

  The soldiers fell back to the lower half of the hill where the projectile rock and soil lost their intensity. Feng picked up another rock and threw it in Ko Sun’s direction while shouting, “Nets!”

  Twenty-four farmers, twelve on each side, dropped their shovels and charged, stopping next to marked bushes well above midpoint. They reached into the soil, found the thick ropes they had buried, and pulled.

  Large fishing nets leaped from the ground behind the soldiers and wrapped around them, throwing them into a further state of confusion. Ko Sun writhed on the ground, screaming in pain. He was unable to direct his men. The soldiers slammed into each other, the sudden fear of encagement exaggerating their state of panic. The farmers anchored themselves and pulled, tightening the nets and drawing the captives together.

  Out of nowhere the screeches of a thousand cats facing slaughter—the high-pitched shrieks of the Zhuge Nu bolts in full flight—emerged from the distance.

  Han and Feng looked at each other in alarm. No! The farmers on the hill, the teenage boys helping the hostages on the road, and the women burning the hay at the mouth of the village were all exposed.

  It was too late. Feng and Han leaped back and crouched behind large trees, their backs pinned against the trunks, knowing they would be safe as the modified bolts dropped in from above.

  The screams of dying men, women, and children soared into the air, rising past the smoke and echoing against the side of the hill. Feng feared he would remember those horrible screams for the rest of his life.

  A second wave approached from an impossible distance. Feng closed his eyes, covered his ears to drown out the moans of dying children, and waited.

  “It’s my fault,” he shouted. “Why did I involve civilians when I knew they were after me? They would murder a colonel in their own army to ensure I die.”

  Han reached over and placed a hand on his arm. “Stay calm. We’re counting on you to lead.”

  The second wave of modified bolts pummeled the road, the hill, and the mouth of the village all at once. The screams from the soldiers, the women, and the children all stopped. They were dead, every single one of them, without a groan or a curse from their lifeless bodies.

  Then, the shrieks from a third wave of arrows roared into the air.

  Han released Feng’s arm. “I’m going to see where the Zhuge Nu is positioned. Wait for me here.”

  “By yourself?”

  “They can’t shoot me if they don’t know I’m coming.” In a flash Han disappeared.

  The third wave of arrows pounded the earth like heavy raindrops. What was the point of shooting dead civilians? Feng covered his face in his hands, holding back his tears, his body wracking in quiet sobs. He had miscalculated, and so many innocent people died. He should have done what he promised to the Orchid Farmer and hid in the City of a Thousand Heroes.

  The rain ended. Feng lowered his hands, climbed to his feet, and listened for a fourth wave of arrows. It didn’t come. He stood at the top of the hill and stared. The smoke had begun to clear, and below him were countless bodies, all of them lying motionless under a carpet of arrows, frozen in the positions they fell. The Zhuge Nu was no longer firing. They must’ve been certain three rounds had killed everyone.

  The civil
ians on the road were all dead. The women who stood by the burning hay were also dead. The sudden quiet amidst the drifting black smoke brought an eerie sense of calm. Feng was all alone and standing in front of a hundred corpses, the rising black smoke stinging his cheeks and bringing new tears to his eyes.

  There was a slight movement inside the fishnet. Feng knew right away who survived. Only one of them understood the Zhuge Nu’s design and had time to protect himself when the screaming arrows approached: the colonel who supervised weapons production for the Judge.

  Feng charged down the hill, the anger, the torment, and the guilt all rushing through him at once.

  In the middle of the hill was the cluster of bodies wrapped inside a fishnet, piled on top of each other and buried under hundreds of arrows. Feng yanked off the net, pulled aside one of the bodies, and stepped away. Ko Sun was writhing in pain, his only hand clutching a dreadful abdominal wound. Despite being surrounded by his men, Ko Sun was hit. He had already extracted the bolt, and the wound was gushing.

  Feng pulled away another body, exposing his target. He reached into his pocket for the flesh dissolver. He would pour it one drop at a time into each of Ko Sun’s wounds and watch him scream.

  Stay calm. We’re counting on you to lead.

  A large, bulky figure ascended the hill. It was Ah Go. The big warrior shook his head and looked away.

  They are waiting for me to make a decision.

  Feng lowered the porcelain jar. “Now you know. You’re only the Judge’s running dog.”

  Ko Sun turned to him, aware of the danger he faced but unable to respond.

  Feng held up a hand. “You and I have no history together. We simply work for different people. But today your people decided you’re as expendable as the enemy. Now you’re on the same side as I am.”