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

by Jeremy Han

  “Yes…Lord. I…am.”

  Yong Ju noted that the fear was infectious. Already he sensed the guards were jittery as though that very night the crown prince from hell would appear and kill them all. Already, men were talking whether the frightened constable had met a man or a demon. Well, let him come, he thought. I am really curious as to what you are. Man or spirit, I would love to fight you, Yong mused. His curiosity was piqued as he studied the man again. He was in his thirties, average build, and had a serious looking moustache. He did not look like a rookie prone to exaggerate. Yong had asked around, and the other officers had vouched for him. He was a conscientious officer of the law, popular among the town folk, and he was as reliable a witness as possible.

  Yong decided that he had heard enough. Some things were clear, such as the whole thing had been staged to spread fear. Whom do they wish to frighten? Word would eventually reach the imperial court. Is this to strike fear at the heart of the Forbidden City or was it just local mischief? There were too many questions, and he needed time to put his thoughts together to report to Ji Gang when the commander returned. He could picture the bald man lecturing him with a finger raised, as he had always done.

  The manslayer was aware that the name Zhu Wenkui would catch the attention of the authorities, so his actions were deliberate. The next question that came to his mind was, how did he know? Simple. He is linked to the conspirators.

  The constable observed Yong clenching his fist. The agent was also in his thirties, but he did not have the look of the regular soldier. There was menace around him even when he was not tensed - like a coiled, resting snake. The constable stole a glance at him again. The agent had long legs, and although he carried no weapons now he had seen a pair of cutlasses strapped to his back when he had first appeared. He looked like he was in deep thought, but he did not dare ask.

  Finally, the agent simply said,“You are dismissed.”

  The man scurried away, leaving Yong alone in the room to his thoughts.

  Soon, night fell. Fires were lit everywhere to illuminate the place as soldiers patrolled the compound. The town was unusually quiet this night, and even the night watchmen were afraid.

  Suddenly Yong had an idea.

  “Summon the constable,” he ordered.

  “Yes, Lord,” the sentry replied as he fetched the man.

  “Lord?” Yong turned to find the constable he had interviewed by his side. “You summoned me?”

  “Yes.”

  “What can I do for you, Lord?”

  “Take me to the scene of the killing.”

  “Now? At night?” the man said sceptically as he visibly shivered. The whitish moonlight made him look sick.

  “Yes. Now.” Yong did not give him any chance to debate. This was an order. “Take your weapon and come with me. Show me everything.”

  “Can we bring more men?” the constable blurted. He was not ashamed of revealing his fear.

  “No. Let’s go.” Yong strode off. The constable swallowed hard and reluctantly followed, his legs heavy like lead. He noticed the civilian was armed with his two cutlasses behind his back. Soon they were out of the town, the fires at the gates receded together with the security of numbers as the distance between them and the illusion of safety increased.

  Finally they reached the spot. The constable had half expected Yong Ju to turn into a crazed killer once they had reached their destination. A few times when the agent was in front of him during their voyage he had had an impulse to stab him in the back, just in case. The rational side of him recognised that the visitor was shorter and less muscular than the killer, but he was not thinking logically now. The darkness of the forest, the familiar scent of the bloody night and the fresh images in his mind filled him with dread. His knees were almost knocking against each other and he struggled to control himself. The forest air was cold, and an owl’s hoot reminded him of his mad dash away from the laughing maniac. He was so deep in his thoughts he did not notice the agent turning to him.

  Yong took in the scene around him: a perfect site for ambush. The bamboo had concealed the view from the main path in case anyone came. There was a slight rise, and that had been where the earlier bodies were concealed and there was an opening amidst the bamboo, enough space for him to fight. Everything had been planned to the last detail.

  “It was no accident,” Yong muttered to himself as he realised he was dealing with a cunning foe. If it was not random, then it must be organised. If it was planned, then there would be a mastermind behind it, and if there was a mastermind, there would be a plot. The constable was full of curiosity by now. Who is this man? He did not wear a regular uniform, yet he obviously possessed great authority. Why was he so interested in a killing in this secluded place? And how did he deduce all that so quickly?

  Adam’s apple bobbing, he mustered his courage, asking, “Lord, who are you?”

  “Dong Chang,” Yong replied without turning his head.

  The answer was like cold water on a naked body. He shivered as he realised the severity of this case, and at how fortunate he had been to be selected by his enemy to live.

  Selected.

  “Tell me how the fight took place. Show me where he stood,” Yong commanded. The constable recounted the sequence of the fight to the best of his abilities. He pointed out where the giant stood, and the relative positions of the rest. He described the fight, and He had to fight the urge to cry as he did so, but he controlled himself. If the ominous Eastern Depot was involved then there was really more to this than what met the eye.

  Yong Ju listened to the quivering man without speaking. Every imperial agent in the dreaded secret service was selected not just for his fighting skills but for a sharp, analytical mind. These agents ranged the country, listening for secrets and hunting for enemies of the state. Often, they worked independently, so they must be men of great intelligence and resource. His powerful mind captured every detail, mentally projecting the scene before him, blending in the minutiae with the landscape to form a visual of the fight. He closed his eyes to allow his subconscious to work, taking in a deep breath and watching it play out before his mind’s eyes. The sudden brutal decapitation of the magistrate, the efficient fighting techniques that wiped out the rest, and the strange incident of not being hurt when kicked in the groin. He juxtaposed these with the layout of the battle scene, and saw how the killer had carefully chosen his kill zone, his victims and how he managed to defeat more than one enemy. The man was highly skilled, dangerous, and a tactician. He did not randomly kill them. He had chosen the place, time and ground. The killer understands Sun Tzu’s Art of War…This was not a mad man, or a bandit. This was someone who understood military ambush tactics and psychology. He had seen enough.

  He turned to the constable, saying, “Let’s go.”

  The constable sighed loudly in relief. He was glad his nightmare did not come alive. He followed the agent as the man walked, and as they returned, one thing continued to bother him,

  How could the manslayer not feel anything when he was kicked viciously in the groin?

  18

  Meng Da arrived at Hangzhou at dawn. The sun was still weak, and the massive walls and sturdy gates looked dull in the morning gray. There was already a long queue snaking through the gate but he ignored the queuing peasants and walked up to the guards , drawing hostile glares and curses that he paid no heed to.

  The sergeant in charge saw him sauntering arrogantly to the gate and shouted, “Get in line like everyone else!”

  He reached the man and merely presented his ling ‘seal’ without a word. Dong Chang agents did not lower themselves to address lowly guards, and the guard’s jaw dropped as the seal glittered, even in the weak light. Imperial agents were bad news.

  “Take me to the Magistrate’s office.”

  The guard commander dispatched a man to take the agent to the Yamen. Meng Da looked around him. Hangzhou was a very pretty city, surrounded by verdant green hills layered with tea plantation
s like the stairways of a giant. From where he stood, he could see specks of yellow bobbing up and down as farmers in straw hats harvested the tea leaves. The east coast of the Ming had a wonderful climate, and flowers were abundant. These cities were prosperous, and even the people were well-dressed in silk from nearby Suzhou.

  The agent noticed that the roads were properly paved as he followed the soldier. Hangzhou sat at the mouth of the Grand Canal, the massive waterway that linked the south all the way to Beijing, bringing grain and other much-needed goods to the dry north. This strategic location was what fed the city’s prosperity. Active commerce took place, but the merchants spoke with refinement, and they did not shout their wares as was common throughout other parts of the empire. Those vendors who tried to sell to him did so with great courtesy and he found himself reciprocating by being equally gracious in his refusal.

  His keen sense of observation took in everything. The magistrate’s office was along the lake and he had a chance to admire the beautiful emerald waters that stretched to the looming hills beyond that had inspired so much poetry and many paintings. Almost every emperor in the empire had stayed here. Boatmen were ferrying people to a temple on an islet and the teahouses were full of connoisseurs savouring the regions longjing cha ‘dragon well tea’, a famous local specialty. A group of rich men who did not have to work sat around a garden and showed off their prized song birds. He also noticed that the city was heavily patrolled. Armed soldiers were everywhere and it filled him with intrigue. Nothing escaped his eyes. Not only were there soldiers everywhere, but he also noticed tough-looking men glaring at him, their eyes following him, seeming to be sizing him up. Bodyguards.

  The assassination of the general by a ‘demoness’ must have spooked everyone. Meng was aware that this region had a unique practice when it came to defence. Fighting houses known as dahangs were common where different martial artists were trained and hired out as thugs or bodyguards. The imperial agent felt no discomfort from the ruffian’s stares though, fully confident in his skills, and anyway they were none of his business.

  Meng Da stood out because he carried a heavy sabre. The weapon had a red cloth tied to its end, and the upper edge of the heavy, curved blade had a series of rings attached to it. When the weapon was wielded the rings sang a deadly, distracting chime that diverted the enemy’s attention, and with each step he took the blade rattled.

  “This way, Lord,” the soldier indicated, and Meng climbed the moss covered steps that led to the gates of the Yamen. He pushed open the wooden gates and stepped into the courtyard, a willow tree swaying lazily in the soft breeze as Meng walked under its dangling leaves. True to the wealthy nature of the city the magistrate’s office was well decorated and resonated power and status. The city had status, and thus the general in charge of the city would be a prominent man. Wang Long, the deceased general, had indeed been a mighty warrior, and since he had been murdered under mysterious circumstances, the imperial court had sent the Eastern Depot to probe.

  Meng Da waited while servants went to find the magistrate. He sipped the cup of longJing, holding the warm, green-yellow liquid in his mouth to let the fragrance saturate his senses before swallowing. He heard the magistrate’s footsteps and rose. He was well-educated man who understood the need for protocol. Despite his merciless nature he was polite, and unlike other agents who behaved like a blunt instrument, he was sophisticated. Unlike the guards at the gate this was the magistrate of a city, a man of rank who deserved courtesy. He always got what he needed with persuasive words first, before he used violence. He was like a blade hidden by a piece of silk.

  “Your Excellency,” Meng greeted the magistrate, bowing from the waist.

  “What can I do for you, Imperial Agent?” the slim man with a moustache replied. His small eyes shone with intelligence.

  “Take me to the place where General Wang died.”

  “This way.” He did not ask why. When the Dong Chang got involved there was only one reason – state security. He was intelligent enough to know when not to speak, or to ask things he would regret knowing. Along the way to the brothel Meng asked the magistrate for the details and the official filled him in. Already the agent’s mind was searching for patterns.

  “Don’t you find it strange that such a skilled warrior would die like that?” he asked.

  “Of course,” the magistrate replied as his head bobbed.

  “What’s your opinion on this?”

  The magistrate looked at the agent with a strange expression on his face. Eastern Depot agents seldom asked others for their opinions. They usually expected others to follow theirs.

  “Tell me what you saw that night,” he asked, and the official told him about the ghastly sight of the blind, broken, dead man.

  “Do you truly believe it is the work of a demoness?”

  “No.”

  “Why?” the agent pressed, anxious to hear the man’s explanation.

  “Because there were two other deaths.”

  “Two others?”

  “Yes. The brothel owner who led the General into his chamber, and a girl whom everyone fingered as the client’s favourite courtesan were also killed. Clearly the murderer killed them to gain access to the private chamber where he, or she, could have killed him without witnesses.”

  Meng frowned. Thinking aloud he muttered, “If it was a demoness she need not have killed the other two to gain access.”

  “Precisely,” the magistrate answered without looking at the agent. He stared straight ahead and pointed. “We are here.” They stood before a glamorous building and even in broad daylight business was good. Courtesans stood by the door welcoming male guests but kept their distance from Meng Da because of the official. Furthermore, Meng carried his sabre openly and it frightened them.

  “Another point Agent, the killer must be a lady.”

  “Because it is hard for a male to hide in this place among the women?”

  “Yes, and the General would be alarmed if a man entered his love nest.”

  “But how could a lady overpower the General? He was a noted warrior. If what you said is true of the wounds, the assassin must be exceptionally deadly,” Meng asked rhetorically. This was the toughest question, and The magistrate did not answer it as he did not know.

  They entered the room where the slaying took place and Meng easily surveyed it. No one had used it since the murders, nobody dared to. Blood was on the wall, not high up where a person’s standing position was, but low. He knelt and saw that the arterial spray was aligned roughly to his kneeling height. That means the killer forced the victim to his knees, facing this wall before slashing his throat execution style. How could a strong, well-trained veteran be brought to this position by a female to be helplessly slaughtered like a goat?

  Next he walked to the window and peered out. It was a straight drop down to the ground several floors below. How could a girl jump off and land without getting hurt? He looked around at the busy street that thronged below. Hawkers, pedestrians, and other city folk added to the life there. It’s lively during the day, what about at night? he wondered, recalling his conversation with the magistrate and remembering that no one had seen anything. They had heard rough sounds, but this was a brothel and that was expected. His eyes took in the plush decorations, the elaborately carved rosewood bed, the exquisite furniture, and the fine silk curtains. This was a special room for high-end, regular customers. So…it is likely at night this room faces a quiet street. Exclusivity. And the killer took advantage of it. Another piece of the puzzle that confirms this is pre-mediated.

  He left with even more questions than before, and he wandered aimlessly around the lively city. He needed to think. He needed answers for when Ji Gang returned. His commander did not suffer incompetence but this case was challenging. Maybe he should come and solve it himself! Meng fumed. But Dong Chang agents were dogged and his frustration flared and disappeared just as quickly.

  As he stood by the lake a boatman rowed by, asking,
“Sir, would you like a ride? See the lake?”

  “Why not?” Meng answered. “How much?”

  “Where do you wish to go?”

  Meng shrugged his shoulders. “Just around.”

  “A copper coin, Sir.”

  The boatman skilfully held the boat still as the agent took a tentative step before he allowed his full weight onto the boat. The wooden craft shuddered at the increase in weight as the boatman pushed the boat off the edge of the lake with the bamboo oar, and off they went. Meng Da sat facing the front and the rower worked the paddle from the back as the craft moved lazily over the green waters. They passed clusters of lotus pads, the occasional pink flower reaching up to be noticed among the dull green leaves, like the beauty of a family standing out among her plain cousins. There was a slight splash as a frog leapt off the plant and into the water. Meng stared blankly at the ripples as they slowly disappeared, the water regaining its stillness. The hazy green hills beyond the city stretched into the background, away from the lotus, away from the lake, providing great depth to the scenery. The faintly sweet fragrance of wine could be detected amidst the cool air as there was a winery not far from the lotus patch.

  The boatman rowed diligently. Swish..swish…swish….

  The boatman started the conversation with pride. “Do you know the story of the West Lake?”

  “No. What about it?”

  “It is said the lake was formed when a battle raged in heaven. The Heavenly Empress fought against the Dragon and Phoenix over a piece of jade so exquisite it looked like water. The jade fell from their grasp and crashed to earth, and where it landed the Xihu was formed.”

  “Re-ally?” Meng chuckled. “What is that?” he asked, pointing at a broad path across the lake.

  “That is Su ti ‘Su’s Causeway’. It was built by the famous poet Su Dongpo. He was an administrator here maybe, three to four hundred years ago?”

  “He built that?”

  “Yes, so that people could cross the river on foot.”