The Prisoners of Fate: Sequel to The Emperor's Prey

by Jeremy Han

  “A great and illustrious soldier who died in a brothel, instead of the battlefield,” she snorted in derision. “But that is not what I care about. Men are men after all. What troubles me is the manner of his death.” She tilted her head towards the justice minister, and raised her eyebrows. “Is it as bad as I heard?

  “Majesty,” the man with the flowing white beard responded, “The magistrate offices reported that the assassinations of high-ranking military men took place when the men were alone. No witnesses. Investigations drew to a blank. All were perplexed, like our colleagues from the military, at how skilful and experienced commanders could be executed in such a frightful manner.”

  “The killer must be highly skilled, unless it really is a demoness with several hands,” she mused. The two men remained silent. She no longer made any more disparaging remarks on the deceased. and her voice was growing serious. “Do you have any clues as to who could have done this?”

  “Majesty,” the war minister spoke again. “Why are you concerned with this matter? It is beneath you.” She looked at him, wondering what he was really trying to say. Was he indirectly saying that she was only a woman after all, and should not be involved? Or was he trying to shield himself from her probing, lest he looked incompetent?

  Men and their games….

  “What truly worries me, gentlemen, is the rumour of the emergence of the long-dead Crown Prince Zhu Wenkui. His name appears near the killings, and if he is real and an uprising starts then the military commands will be seriously undermined.” She stared both men in the eye. “That, my friends, is my genuine fear.”

  The war minister spoke. “Zhu Wenkui is mere hearsay…Majesty.” He sounded like a lecturer stressing something obvious to a dim student. She felt her hackles rise, as she did not miss the condescending tone in the old man’s voice, and the delayed ‘Majesty’.

  “For now. Just because he is not captured does not mean he does not exist,” she rebutted. “Nothing is a coincidence, Minister, nothing. I may be a woman only,” she stressed sarcastically, “but I can see clearly how power is lusted after in this place, and how elaborate schemes can be. On the one hand generals die grisly, mysterious deaths that cannot be solved, and on the other rumours of rebellion brew near where they died. Surely, you cannot miss the connection,” she chastised him. The man looked unhappy, but kept his silence.

  “Majesty, who do you suspect?” the law minister asked, frowning.

  “I don’t know,” she said simply. “And I am afraid. Tonight, I believed that you two would have answers for me, but evidently you do not.” Her tone was enough to turn water to ice. Inwardly, she fumed. The two men, for whatever reasons, did not seem to want to see the link. She guessed it must be because they did not fully submit to the reign of a woman. Her son’s destiny was at stake, and to protect that she was prepared to step on their egos and crushed them like egg shells. The time for courtesy was over, and she would show them how to do their jobs. Pointing a bright red, two-inch long finger nail at them she spoke again.

  “Tighten military control in the southeast. Make sure command structures are intact so that military action would not be hindered by dead commanders. Find replacements. Draft emergency laws for magistrates so that they know what to do if rebellion breaks out. If you cannot give me answers, I will wait for the Dong Chang to solve the mystery. On your parts, ensure your ministries are on alert.”

  “Yes, Majesty.” The two elder ministers could only obey, before they were unceremoniously dismissed like recalcitrant schoolboys. Her disdain for them openly displayed. The food on the table remained untouched, as she contemplated what she must do and she was so deep in thought that she forgot to ask the servants to clear them. Her fingers formed a steeple as she took a deep breath and frowned. Despite the great power of the empire, it ultimately fell to her to protect her son. She could not depend on anyone else. She was no longer a mere woman. She was the sovereign, the mother of the Son of Heaven.

  And she must rise to the occasion.

  9

  When the ship had docked the commander of the Eastern Depot surveyed the scene before him with squinting eyes. He had sailed for weeks to reach this place in the south seas. There were several boats in the port and bare-backed port workers lined up like ants carrying goods on and off vessels. The men were mostly dark skinned, deeply tanned from working under the searing sun, though few were as large in stature as him. He could hear them shouting coarsely at one another in various dialects related to the Han language. No northerners this deep south, he thought as he wiped beads of perspiration off his forehead. It was hotter here, so far away from the Ming Empire. Ji Gang stepped off the shaky gangway and went in the direction given to him.

  The voyage had given him time to think, but without much information he did not get far. Two things were as clear as the crystal blue waters the pier was in – the Emperess Dowager would do anything to protect her son, and her mind was sharper than a blade. What she had asked him to do was radical, but it also revealed her willingness to take calculated risks. He had his orders, and he must fulfil them. He also did not think this task to be easy, given the fact that he had come to seek the help of those he had once tried to kill. His long strides took him down a path that led through the town and into a forest where, at last, he was shaded from the blinding sun. His eyes adjusted to the gloom, but the perspiration continued to flow, and before long he felt sticky, longing for the cool weather back home.

  He continued on through the humid forest until he arrived at a Buddhist temple, and paused when he saw the man he had been looking for there. Ji Gang’s prodigious memory replayed every single detail of the monk’s face, and even the obvious age could not hide the man’s identity. Seated before him in a lotus position was the former Ming emperor. He had been officially recorded as dead after his uncle usurped his throne thirty-three years ago, where, in reality, he had escaped. Ji Gang had pursued him to finish the job so that the Yong Le emperor could sleep at night without fear of retribution, but Ji Gang failed, the only time in his career and today the man he had hunted sat before him. The monk, his eyes closed, looked serene.

  “Commander Ji Gang.” The monk greeted the man who had tried to kill him calmly. His voice had a certain quality to it. It did not sound like an emperor’s, but a sage’s.

  Ji Gang kneeled. “Majesty.”

  “Lord Ji, I am a monk. Please do not associate me with something as mundane as the Dragon Throne,” Jian Wen replied without looking at the man who wanted to kill him.

  “You may choose the path of a monk, but the Dragon’s blood flows in you. That is undeniable.”

  Jian Wen nodded, acknowledging that physical fact. His lips moved slowly as he asked, “Are you here to kill me?”

  “No, Majesty.”

  “Why?”

  “Because your uncle has returned to his forefathers, the present emperor does not wish you harm.”

  “If you do not wish to kill me, then why are you here?”

  “Majesty, I came to seek your forgiveness. No one should ever attempt to shed the blood of the Son of Heaven. Not even the Dong Chang.”

  “You were under orders. You had no choice.”

  “Yes, Majesty. Only his Majesty can order the blood of another member of the House of Zhu. Now I am here to tell you that the feud is over. The Dong Chang will never pursue you again.” Lifting his eyes to the former emperor he asked, “Will you return to the Ming?”

  The monk shook his head. “When I ascended the Dragon Throne, I thought I had the power to bring an end to my grandfather’s harsh laws. That, to me, was the purpose of ruling. Now, the people are well taken care of, it does not matter to me who is the emperor. Let the historians record that I am dead.”

  “I will do as you say, Majesty,” Ji Gang replied with a tinge of disappointment.

  Jian Wen sensed frustration and knew there was something more that Ji Gang wanted to say. “Speak your heart Ji Gang,” he said. “You came all the way to tell me
something. Don’t waste your journey.”

  “The Yong Le emperor died a long time ago. His son took over, taking the imperial title of Hong Xi. Hong Xi liberalised the laws to prepare for a reign that no longer depended on cruelty. He also abolished Zheng He’s voyages, but he died within a year and his son ascended the throne. He reinstated Zheng He’s voyages to continue to extol the glories of the Ming as established by his ancestors. Like his father, he believed in a benevolent rule. He pardoned many who were victims of mistrial and he commissioned an inquiry to wipe out corruption among his officials. His reign was a golden age but, unfortunately, he died young due to disease and now his eight year-old son rules as the Zheng Tong Emperor.”

  Jian Wen digested the news and his forehead creased. “A child-emperor?” he asked.

  That was unprecedented. It was a dangerous development, as this would open the door for challengers to the throne. It was Ji Gang’s way of telling him that something needed to be done if he did not want to come back and claim the throne himself. Ji Gang had thought that the monk would bring stability to the realm again if he sat on the throne.

  “A man by the name of Zhu Wenkui has surfaced,” he continued.

  Jian Wen opened his eyes slowly. “My eldest…son.” His former nemesis was indirectly telling him that his son was involved in a challenge to the throne.

  “Yes, Majesty,” Ji Gang replied firmly.

  After a heartbeat, the monk said the obvious but unspeakable truth with a heavy heart. “And the Dong Chang is after him.”

  Ji Gang nodded gravely, saying, “Behind the façade of prosperity and stability the Empire is in trouble. The Dong Chang believes this Zhu Wenkui is being used to stir trouble. Hidden powers are at work against the boy emperor, powers that will shake the stability of the country and bring turmoil on its people.”

  “Then whoever he is, and whoever is making use of him, must be stopped,” Jian Wen stated, saying no more.

  Ji Gang was amazed the monk did not plead for the life of his supposedly alive son. Instead, he had put the people above his own family. He had once had hunted this man. Now, however, he found that he respected him. He bowed low, his forehead touching the ground in the way one would bow to the Son of Heaven before he got back to his feet and left.

  Back at the temple, Ji Gang’s words remained uncomfortably in Jian Wen like an undigested meal. Monk or not, he was human. The temptations of the throne he could shed, but the memory of his first-born he could not. Zhu Wenkui…my son….alive and in danger. Jian Wen closed his eyes and for a moment and remembered the scene of the night he had escaped.

  Don’t leave me Father…Please!

  The long-lost voice echoed crystal clear with guilty familiarity. The image of his pleading, wide-eyed, screaming two year-old son, and the desperate look of those he had left to die pierced his heart as though it was only yesterday. He placed a hand onto his chest as he endured the stab. He still remembered every one of them. He would be thirty five years now…if he lives. With the dreaded imperial secret service on his heels, there was only one man he could trust to uncover the truth and save his son. Jian Wen had to know.

  But would he go on one last mission for his emperor?

  Ji headed back towards the town, but just before reaching it he veered into another track. He followed the instructions of those he spoke to earlier when he asked them where he stayed. The locals referred to this man as ‘the guru’. The guru was crucial. Besides the monk, he was the real reason why Ji Gang had sailed all the way to the south and would be instrumental to persuading Jian Wen to return.

  Here the houses were distinctly local. There was no trace of Han culture and architecture. The houses were made of wood and were raised above the ground to protect them from frequent floods caused by torrential rains, as well as to stop predatory snakes from entering. The roofs were made of thatched leaves and the centre beam tapered upward, pointing sharply to the sky like the horns of a bull. The locals did not pay much attention to him as he passed through a village. Soon he saw an open field and in it a group of people were gathered around one man. The man looked older but was still every bit as powerful as he taught youths a martial art styled after the tiger. Ji Gang was in no hurry so he stood to a side and watched for awhile. He wondered what it was like to take disciples, to stop being the empire’s guard dog, to retire. I’m so tired…. But he had another mission and this man’s help would be invaluable, provided he would even consider aiding Ji Gang without killing him first. After the demonstration the youths broke into groups to practice what they just learnt. In this part of the world, a teacher or master was addressed as guru. Their guru turned and saw the unmistakable face of the man who had hunted him fifteen years ago. The recognition was instant.

  That’s it!

  Ji Gang approached him, and the guru’s eyes never left the bald man walking towards him. The imperial agent walked casually and as though to fan himself in the hot weather he flicked open his iron fan. The guru slowly clenched his fist.

  The guru attacked Ji Gang without hesitation. His shout turned all heads toward them as his students stopped in their training and stared. They had never seen him fight like that before. Zhao Qi struck with a devastating claw strike that narrowly missed Ji Gang’s face as the commander fluidly ducked. Ji Gang’s fist shot out fast as lightning but Zhao had pivoted away. He counter-attacked from a low crouching position, like a tiger leaping. Ji Gang retreated to avoid the springing attack and kicked. Zhao deftly swept the leg aside and pressed the attack, targeting at the commander’s chest. Ji Gang’s iron fan opened with a wrrrpp sound as it shielded him from the blow. Thunk! The metal had absorbed the force but it was still enough to push Ji Gang backward forcefully. Just when Zhao’s attack was fully committed, Ji Gang brought his elbow crashing down. Zhao’s palm blocked the elbow before countering with a foot sweep. His enemy barely lifted his front leg in time before he countered by launching a side thrusting kick at Zhao. Zhao’s crossed forearm took the blow, though he felt as if he had been rammed by a bull as he retreated.

  Zhao Qi had been Jian Wen’s chief bodyguard when the monk was a young emperor. It was Zhao and his team who had rescued Jian Wen and escorted him out of the empire, causing Ji Gang’s first and only failure. When Zhao had been under imperial service he was known as the Emperor’s Pet Tiger due to his skill with the Tiger Fist. Ji respected Zhao, even though back then he would have killed him without any compunction, but today it was different. They no longer needed to be foes.

  “Commander Zhao Qi. I’m not here to fight,” Ji Gang said. “Although I must say, I am glad we did.” He was not winded despite the sharp exchange of blows. Zhao did not look tired either. To indicate his peaceful intentions, Ji Gang closed the iron fan that had taken many lives.

  Zhao’s eyes followed the lethal weapon and asked with suspicion clear in his voice, “What do you want?”

  “I came to talk to you.”

  10

  Zhao knew that even though Ji Gang was completely ruthless that he was not without honour. If this was an imperial hit, the commander would not have come alone. It was the way such things worked. Ji Gang had never been interested in duelling. He only liked hunting.

  “So speak. Why are you glad we fought?” the shorter, wiry man said with hands on hips. He cut a commanding figure even though he was shorter. Ji Gang wiped his perspiration from his shining dome. Originating from the far north, almost near the land of the Jurchens, he was uncomfortable in this tropical heat.

  “I am glad your skills are still as sharp, but could we go somewhere cooler and where there is water?” Zhao glared at his former enemy before he beckoned him to follow. He did not like the sound of it, but he still led his former adversary to a make-shift tea house where everyone stared at the huge, bald man who dared fight with someone they respected as a teacher. Obviously the ex-bodyguard was wary of this hunter despite the years and Zhao looked at him warily as Ji Gang drank loudly, adam’s apple bobbing. What had his greatest
nemesis come all this way for?

  Ji Gang shared with Zhao all he had told the monk after he finished the water.

  “So why do you say you’ve come to speak to me?” Zhao asked, brows curved in puzzlement.

  “I hope you would persuade his Majesty to return,” Ji Gang replied, “He would listen to you. After all, he was once an emperor. The Empress dowager hopes he will reign as co-regent to ensure the safety of the throne.”

  “There are many in the royal family who will be glad to do that,” Zhao countered.

  “But none she trusts. Can’t you see that? I told her Jian Wen is ‘dead’ but she had already checked. She knows about your rescue fifteen years ago. She judged his character to be trustworthy because he is no longer interested in power and she tasked me to bring him back. Don’t you think it is fitting for Jian Wen to return to glory after all he has endured?”

  Zhao laughed, saying, “You don’t know him.” Ji Gang frowned. He did not like to be mocked, but he said nothing. He considered Zhao an equal. No one else in the empire would dare to ridicule him.

  “Then there is the issue of Zhu Wenkui,” Ji Gang added. He told Zhao everything he knew.

  Silence. Ji Gang knew he had triggered something.

  Zhao remembered that night. The poor boy, only two years old, was pulled away by eunuchs as his father escaped with Zhao. He had been left behind to die and of all the horrors etched into his memory Zhao ached over this one the most. He had seen the baby grow into a toddler, had played with him, and guarded him. Despite his young age, he had known that he would never see his father again. He had cried, “Father…..Father….don’t leave me….”, as they pried his delicate fingers open, off the emperor’s sleeve. This action meant death for the little one who did not understand why he must die so that the father could live. The life of a little prince did not weigh as much as the Son of Heaven’s. It remained one of Zhao’s greatest regrets that he could not save the boy who smiled at him whenever they met. For all his great skills, he could not deliver the boy from death. Zhao remained silent as his memories accused him. He gazed into the bright blue sky, but all he saw was a dark night filled with smoke and crying. Ji Gang continued his well-rehearsed script.