by Jeremy Han
“You know it will be my task to hunt him down, if he is real. His only way out is if Jian Wen returns as regent. If, as Regent, he pardons the rebel than Zhu Wenkui’s safety is guaranteed. At first I did not understand why the Empress Dowager ordered me to do this, but now I understand. She is offering Jian Wen his son, in return for her own son’s safety.”
“But you are not certain he is real,” Zhao replied.
“She believes he is. That’s important enough.”
“What do you believe, Ji Gang? You have your own agenda, no doubt.” Zhao stared hard at him. He still did not trust the man. Ji Gang was loyal to the throne, but he was never altruistic.
“The more I thought of it, the more I realised that there’s a storm brewing. A major power play is going to take place and it will be from an unseen hand.” Ji Gang explained the mysterious killings by a ‘demoness’ with several hands, and the coincidental emergence of the ‘dead’ crown prince.
“I believe the Dong Chang, being the greatest protector of the emperor, will soon be targeted in this conflict,”. he added with great seriousness. “It may even be compromised. To protect the throne, I need people who have no interest in it.”
“We do not wish to be involved in the political games played by people like you,” Zhao said. It was really none of his business.He got up and began to leave.
“I’m giving you a chance to save Zhu Wenkui again. An opportunity to erase your regrets,” Ji Gang stood up and said to the departing former bodyguard. Zhao paused. Ji Gang was an expert manipulator, making it his prioritity to know what made his enemy tick. Zhao was a man of conscience, and it was both a strength as it was a weakness.
Zhao turned his head slightly to address his former foe. “You do not care about him, Ji Gang. I know you enough to know Zhu Wenkui’s life means nothing to you.”
“You are right,” Ji Gang said. “I will kill him when I arrest him for stirring a rebellion unless the Empress Dowager or the Regent says otherwise. But as I said, I am protecting the Eastern Depot from a bigger battle. I am prepared to trade his life for your help in this conflict.”
Zhao gave him one last look that was filled with disgust before he walked away without saying anything or even looking back.
11
Zhao Qi knocked on the door of his last surviving comrade. Li Jing, nicknamed ‘the Acrobat’ because of his family’s profession as street performers, opened the door. Not as powerfully built as Zhao, the Acrobat, skilled in the Monkey Fist, was lean and supple and could perform amazing feats of flexibility. Alone he had held off two Eastern Depot veterans and fought Ji Gang to a standstill fifteen years ago. Besides his martial skills, he was also full of tricks.
Fifteen years ago everyone else had perished during Jian Wen’s rescue while Li was left severely wounded. The Acrobat embarked on this dangerous venture because he wanted his daughter to have a new life safely away from the Dong Chang, which were hunting aggressively those who helped Jian Wen. Fifteen years later, Li Po had already married and Li lived alone. Zhao rapped the door sharply in a pre-arranged sequence to identify each other. Old habits did not die, and vigilance had kept them alive for many years.
“Come in…,” Li muttered.
He led the way to the dining room. For the last fifteen years, they had reminisced about the past in this room, talked about their departed comrades and complained about the boredom that came with peace. The house the Acrobat lived in was modest, but it was enough, and it was far better than anything he had lived in when he was a fugitive. The windows were opened constantly in this warm climate and a gentle breeze blew at the two old friends. It rustled the leaves on the surrounding coconut trees and filled the room with the lazy melody of nature. The Acrobat poured a cup of tea for his guest.
“So to what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked as his wrinkled face beamed. Zhao noticed the creases were deeper than before.
Zhao did not waste time on small talk. “To a person we both know from the past.”
Li raised his eye-brows quizzically.
“Ji Gang.”
“DAMN!” Li Jing shot to his feet. “That demon is here?” Li panicked, assuming that their enemy was here to kill them. He thought the Eastern Depot had finally found them and his eyes were wide as saucers as though the news alone had brought his greatest nightmare to his door step.
“Wait. Listen to me. Calm down.” Zhao laid a reassuring hand on his friend. “He sends a message.”
“For us?”
“No. For our master.”
The Acrobat swallowed tightly as Zhao told him everything. Nothing about Ji was good.
“A child-emperor?” Li repeated the fact.
“Yes.”
“Damn! Rivals will come like vultures to dead meat.” The Acrobat pressed his friend, asking, “So his Majesty knows?”
“Yes. Ji Gang spoke to him first, before he came to me.”
“Did you see his Majesty? How could you take the devil’s word for it? For all we know Jian Wen could be dead by now.” Li placed his hands on the table as he pointed the possibility out to his commander.
Zhao pursed his lips. He had not considered the possibility that Ji Gang could be lying. He frowned, worry creasing his face as he spoke. “Ji Gang wanted our help. If he wanted to kill Jian Wen, he would have come with his agents for us as well.”
“I don’t trust him,” Li Jing said, his eyes narrowing to slits and he folded his arms. Fifteen years ago Li’s best friend Fu Zhen, the man also known as the Farmer, had sacrificed his life so that his friends could escape. Deep down inside the Acrobat had always wanted to avenge his sword brother and although it was not Ji Gang who killed Fu, it had been one of Ji Gang’s men.
“Best we speak to his Majesty,” Zhao said urgently as he stood.
“Right. This concerns his son after all,” Li replied.
They opened the door and walked off into the night. They passed by a few lit huts before they entered the forest path that led to the temple, extinguishing the lights behind them. It was ominously dark.
As the two former imperial bodyguards made their way to the temple where Jian Wen resided the monk-emperor weighed the information given to him by his former hunter. Jian Wen bore no ill will towards Ji Gang, the imperial agent was simply doing his job. But he did not know what to make of his request. He had no desire to re-enter the world of politics and be sullied with earthly desires and ambitions, yet he felt a heavy responsibility toward the son he abandoned.
Abandoned to die.
That guilt even the Buddha could not erase from his heart. The monk rose from his sleeping mat and went to get some water, filling a cup before he stepped out onto the porch of the temple where he usually met devotees or guests. Facing the yard he looked into the dark, starry sky.
I am old now, he thought. So much has happened since that fateful day thirty-three years ago. I thought my son was dead, but what if I am wrong? How can I turn him away from this path of violence? Do I really have to trade my monkhood for my son’s life?
He sighed. He had seen how meaningless power was, and loathed going back to it like a man returning to eat his own vomit, but he owed his son.
Do I really? Or should he be left to his own karma? What karma? I abandoned him. I brought this upon him. He did nothing to deserve this. Maybe it is my karma that led to this. If that is the case, I need to make it right while I still have a chance.
Hence the struggle between enlightenment and human frailty continued. He sat down in the darkness and began to mediate, seeking an answer to his conflicts. The night was surprisingly quiet, even the insects were not singing their usual nocturnal anthem. It took him a while to realise that in this silence, this stillness, something was very wrong.
The old monk opened his eyes and sinister shapes emerged from the dark, coming for him. Light glinted wickedly off the blade the assassin hurled.
12
That morning it was only after Zhao left that Ji Gang realised he was being follo
wed by experts. It was not some curious bum or a common thief trying to pick on a foreigner in an unfamiliar place. They blended in, and kept the right distances so that they could watch the commander without being noticed. It was only when he watched his ex-foe storming off that he realised that he too was being observed. His watcher had made a mistake by looking at Zhao too intently. There was a moment of hesitation on the man’s face as he glanced between Ji Gang and Zhao, not sure which one to follow. Ji Gang caught that split second gaze, and returned to his drink, pretending not to notice as his mind raced.
Who was following him, and why? Was he trailed all the way to the temple? Besides him, who was interested in the whereabouts of the fugitive emperor?
The man did not follow Ji Gang anymore after his meeting with Zhao, and as the commander of the Eastern Depot returned to his ship for the evening he carefully checked his trail. No one. Strange. That meant that whomever followed him was only interested in his morning leg of the journey. That means they knew who I was looking for! Jian Wen was the target! Not me! But what were their intentions? Who were they? All these questions pointed to the fact that besides the empress there were others who knew about his highly covert trip. If they were on the empress’ side they would have made themselves known or openly approached him, but they did not. Therefore, he could only assume that they were hostile, and it that were the case, then their searching for the monk could only lead to one conclusion, and it was an outcome he could not afford to allow.
As the sun set he decided that he could not wait any longer. He stepped off the boat, iron fan in hand, and re-traced his steps in search of the monk. How strange! he thought, once I would do anything to kill this man, now I am trying to ensure he does not die! The commander’s heart raced. He doubled his pace and disappeared into the dark forest trail that led to the temple.
At the temple Jian Wen screamed in pain as the blade punched into his shoulder.
“Ahhhhhhggggh!”
He staggered away, blood pumping onto the ground from the wound, leaving a sticky red trail in the main prayer hall as the monk dashed into the meditation room behind the stone Buddha. Five assailants followed but they reached the hall just in time to hear a door slam shut and lock. The masked killers looked to their leader for instructions,
“Make sure there is no one else here. Find a way in. Kill the monk and anybody else before we torch the place!”
They scattered as the stone idol stared impassively at the defilers of its sanctuary.
I must have been too clouded by my own earthly concerns! Jian Wen castigated himself. With his level of spiritual awareness he could sense intentions even before they were announced, yet he had missed this completely. How can it be? He blamed himself as his heart raced. His shoulder burnt as though someone had shafted a red-hot glowing brand onto his flesh. He reached for the wound and tried to stem the flow of blood to no avail. His hand came away sticky and scarlet and his breathing raced. He supported himself by leaning against a wall and left bloody handprints there like a vandal.
Who are they? Did Ji Gang send them because I refused him? He tried to process the information, but the edges of his vision grew dark as and started to faint from the loss of blood. He was brought back to consciousness by an angry thump on the wooden door as the assassins tried to break down the only barrier that stood between life and death.
Thump! THUMP!
A sheen of cold perspiration covered the monk as he struggled to think of a solution.
“Wait!” Zhao Qi lifted a hand to call for a halt. “Something’s not right,” he whispered urgently to the Acrobat. The smaller man stopped and crouched automatically. He had sensed it too. The temple just ahead was not unfamiliar to them, as they came frequently to visit their master. They were standing at a fork where either way could be taken to reach the temple, but they sensed violence. In the silence, they could make out a faint thump-thump!
“You go this way! I’ll take the other!” Zhao barked, and the Acrobat disappeared into the night in the direction of the temple.
The assassins were covered in black from head to toe. Three of them were in the temple trying to break into Jian Wen’s hiding place while the other two remained outside watching. One of them saw the Acrobat approaching stealthily, and his eyes narrowed in question, but he was not here to talk. He drew his sabre and attacked. The Acrobat rolled away just as the steel blade singed over where his head was. Li was prepared for something to happen and when it did he did not need to see it before he reacted. Hedropped to the ground and rolled, but he did not stop there, his leg lashing out at the onrushing attacker and catching him in the thigh. There was a grunt of pain and the assassin was momentarily slowed. Li did a back-flip and faced his attacker.
The attacker thrust his blade and the Acrobat dodged. A feint! The black-clad killer switched to a slash just as Li danced to the right. Li ducked and moved in fast and aggressive. He came under the arm of the attacker’s wide swinging arc and rammed his elbow into his enemy’s ribs. The attacker retreated in pain, but the Acrobat did not give up. He somersaulted to close the distance and leapt at the last moment to plant a solid kick into the assassin’s chest as he exerted his energy with a great shout.
Damn! I was not prepared! I did not take any weapons with me! Li cursed. He could not enter the temple without neutralising the threat behind him. The assassin facing the Acrobat recovered from the kick and attacked, lunging straight at the man crouched like a monkey. The Acrobat side-stepped out of the way of the blade and at the same time he locked a hand over the straightened arm and took the man down with a vicious arm-bar, locking the arm and paralysing it by jamming the elbow forcefully downward with a knife-hand. He forcefully brought the man down to his knees with all body weight concentrated on the locked joint and then,
Sna-ap.
The assassin screamed as his elbow popped. Li was not in the mood to be merciful, and a one-armed assassin was still an assassin, a threat, so he decided to neutralise the danger permanently. He yanked hard and the man jerked up, he tensed his hand, aiming his knuckle at the assassin’s exposed temple and struck hard. The man jolted then became still.
Sounds of fighting! Jian Wen thought as he heard the familiar shouts of his former bodyguard. The welcomed sound broke the giddy spell caused by his severe loss of blood. He looked nervously at the wooden door, almost completely broken through by the assassins. The image of the door started to blur and his breath grew shallower, but he marshalled all his strength and shouted, “Li Jing, Zhao Qi, I am here!” There was a crash, and the last plank shattered. The three remaining assassins charged at the weakening, old monk.
When Zhao rounded a corner and approached the temple he barely noticed the shadowy shape coming behind him. Reacting from pure instincts, Zhao dodged the slash that was aimed at head and he felt the air move as the blade narrowly missed. The man attacked again, but his arm was pushed away with a sweep of his hand when Zhao turned to face his enemy. Time to attack! He did not see who the attacker was or where he stood, but he counter-attacked with the ferocity of a tiger based on gut feel shaped by many years of fighting against powerful foes. His hand, shaped like a claw, struck the upper arm of the attacker. He squeezed and the man roared in pain as he targeted the acu-points, which allowed him immobilise the arm holding the sabre before ramming his fist into the enemy’s torso repeatedly. The man tried to retreat but Zhao’s hand held onto him like a vice, keeping him there so he could ram his elbow into the man’s face, immediately knocking him out cold.
The former emperor got up feebly, just in time to dodge the first assassin’s slash. The blade hit the wooden pillar instead, but there were three of them. He had evaded the first but could not avoid the other as the next man drove his blade deep into his chest. The monk’s eyes widened in pain, and he struggled to pull the weapon out with shaking hands. His yellow frock turned a dark crimson.
Then he saw something unbelievable. A huge, bald headed man dashed into the room and launched a flyi
ng kick, striking the assassin guarding the entrance of the room like an asteroid. The monk stared in disbelief.
Ji Gang?
His greatest enemy coming to his rescue?
The commander of the Eastern Depot battled the two remaining assassins. He skilfully avoided a lunge before intercepting another with his iron fan, sparks flying as the metal clashed. He manoeuvred himself between the assassins and the dying monk. The killers’ eyebrows rose sharply when they recognised the imperial agent, and the commander caught it. They know me, he thought, and they did not expect me to come. If they know who I am, then they know my mission. They are here to foil it! He was glad he had followed his instincts and returned.
At the same moment Zhao and Li burst into the room. The assassins were trapped – sandwiched between Ji Gang in front, and the two bodyguards behind. They glanced at each other before they launched a suicide attack. The first man charged at Zhao Qi, who blocked and struck simultaneously, striking the man’s throat viciously with the palm. His eyeballs rolled upward and clutched at his crushed windpipe, a gurgling sound rising as the man died. The other assassin moved to attack Ji Gang, but the agent was faster. With one smooth move his iron fan opened like a deadly flower and he slashed the assassin’s throat in a split second as he swept the fan from left to right. The arterial spray sullied the wall, and the man slowly sank to the ground.
