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

by Jeremy Han

  The Snake Fist. Deadly, fast, unpredictable.

  He regained control of himself, and his anger against the dead man ebbed, his conscience faded like a candle flame overwhelmed by darkness. He became cold and unfeeling again.

  When he was done, he slowly emerged from the water. He ignored the frosty winds caressing his body. Without a penis Yin could not stand and urinate, so he squatted. By now the sun was stronger, and it lit the forest around the stream with a gentle golden glow. Birds sang cheerfully. The assassin put on his dirty clothes, picked up the leather sack, and wandered down the forest path until he disappeared.

  29

  Zhao Qi stepped onto the deck. He gripped the solid wooden rail to steady himself and stared at the distant yellow-green hills that lined the eastern coast of the Ming.

  By now, he had gotten used to the gentle movements of the boat as its great mass glided across the blue waters. A layer of orange laid sandwiched between the dark night and the blue sea to his right, the East. The former commander of the imperial bodyguard could not sleep as the return to the Ming stirred memories in him he would rather forget. Despite the early hour, the deck was already buzzing with activity as hundreds of hands worked to ensure the ship would arrive on time. A uniformed naval officer stood at the bow and raised his thumb to his eye, aligning it to a distant object to gauge its distance. He shifted his weight almost unconsciously, maintaining his balance despite the bobbing motion of the waves. A pair of sailors lowered a rope into the dark blue, and though Zhao could not see what was submerged he gathered from what they were saying that they were measuring for depth, ensuring that the hull would not hit the reefs as the ship neared land. Somewhere in the water a piece of wood got stuck to the rope, causing the flotsam to knock against the hull with a dull, rhythmic thump every few seconds.

  He was alone in his thoughts, and paid no attention to the crew. A chilly breeze swept over him, causing an unfamiliar tingle to creep up his spine.

  Autumn. I’ve been away for too long.

  After fifteen years in the far south he had gotten used to the warm climate. The sailors, however, were undisturbed by the change in weather and they continued their labour bare-chested, the activity keeping them warm. All around him bright yellow Ming flags fluttered loudly in the wind, declaring that this was a ship on imperial business. He leaned forward, resting his head in his hands as he gazed at the little hamlets that dotted the coast.

  Those were fishing communities, and further up the hills were farming villages. The soft light illuminating the villages and Zhao could imagine the cocks crowing, dogs barking, and peasants waking to a new day. Smoke rose lazily from the communities to the grey sky, a sign of a community at peace. Farmers would get ready to go their plots of land while fishermen would be readying their boats. Men, old and young would be mending their nets, preparing bait, and storing equipment onto the boats, and some would be breaking out in song as they work, while their womenfolk prayed to deities for their men’s safety. The women would be preparing meals and helping their men get ready, while children old enough would be accompanying their fathers.

  The wind carried the sound of a distant gong, calling the monks of the monastery nearby to prayers. It chimed softly in an idyllic, peaceful way, and from the light, vibrating sound Zhao could tell it was a chan ‘zen’ temple. A strange feeling came over him as he looked at the homeland he had fled. There was something about the ringing of temple bells that stirred his emotions and suddenly, Zhao felt a pang of longing, a desire for a normal life.

  He had been a tanner after he shed the ox-blood coloured uniform and high, black riding boots of an imperial bodyguard and became a fugitive. Though he lived on the edge, it was the closest thing to a normal life that he had had, and he sighed as he contemplated the mission ahead. Danger clung to him like skin, one he could never rid himself of. He marvelled at how he survived so much warfare and killing, and still chose to return to it after he had finally walked away.

  The last fifteen years were good, he reflected. But this was his fate, to serve Jian Wen even after the man had gone to his ancestors. It had defined his life and several others, except that the others were not so fortunate as to remain alive. Duty hung around his neck like a ring of silk, one that at anytime could tighten. In the palace executions were carried out this way, by strangulation with a roll of si ‘silk’. Thus, when one was said to be presented a roll of silk, it was a euphemism for the death sentence.

  Let this be the last duty to the House of Zhu.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder and turning he saw the Acrobat. The shorter man was staring at the homeland they had almost forgotten. Zhao looked at his last surviving comrade, and saw the man looking intently west.

  “Nothing seems to have changed,” Zhao said dryly.

  “No, the life of peasants will never change. Seasons can come and go, dynasties rise and fall, but their lives go on.” After a pause Li asked, “Something troubling you, Commander?”

  “Just wondering what our comrades would think of this mission.”

  Li knew he meant their dead team mates. “You mean…working with the Eastern Depot?” Images of Fu Zhen, his best friend, of Long Wu and Yula, filled his mind. They had all been killed by the Dong Chang.

  “I wonder if they would forgive us for joining hands with the devil.”

  “We are still serving his Majesty,” he said. “And Zhu Wenkui, his son,” Li added softly. He turned to saw Ji Gang coming over to them. He had a soldier’s coat over his broad shoulders, and he passed a flask of wine to combat the chill. Zhao and Li drank silently as Ji spoke.

  “Won’t be long before we dock. When we get on land, we will proceed to a safe house.”

  “Are we docking at Quanzhou?” Li asked. He referred to the great maritime port, the gateway to the ‘southern silk route’ that brought Chinese tea, porcelain and manufactured goods to the region in return for spices and other exotic produces. The city was also the place where they had escaped Ji Gang’s dragnet fifteen years ago. It was where the Dong Chang and Jian Wen’s bodyguards had fought their final battle, with heavy losses on both sides.

  “No. We sail into Suzhou,” Ji Gang replied. That was noteworthy; It was a major city Suzhou was near Nanjing and Hangzhou, where the problems were. Suzhou was also the place where the grand admiral Zheng He’s great Treasure Fleet had sailed from. “There, my men will brief us on their findings.”

  “What will your men say when they see us?”

  “Nothing. My word stands in the Eastern Depot,” Ji Gang replied confidently. His eyes were fixed ahead, searching for something in the morning gloom. Zhao sensed his uneasiness,

  “What is it you are not telling us?”

  After sometime, the agent turned to Zhao. “There is someone else who will also be there to meet us.”

  “Who?” Li butted in.

  Ji Gang shot him an irritated look. In his mind only Zhao was his equal. Li glared back.

  “The Empress Dowager.”

  “So?”

  “She is expecting Jian Wen. She did not authorise me to recruit you.”

  Zhao’s gut felt like it was being twisted. “You mean, she could have us arrested?” he demanded.

  “In a nutshell, yes.”

  “You filthy bastard,” the Acrobat hissed.

  “I know what I am doing,” Ji Gang replied evenly.

  His words were firm, his gaze steel. He stopped short of saying ‘trust me’ because he knew it was useless. With heroes words counted little, and only action mattered. He turned away from them and continued gazing into the distance, fighting his own demons.

  Zhao shot Li a look. The empress dowager had never seen or heard about them before. How would she react? Would she see them as heroes, or as criminals? Li returned the look.

  Shit.

  30

  Yong Ju frowned as he contemplated his lack of progress. He had received word that Ji Gang was due in Suzhou, and he must have some information about the mysterious
Zhu Wenkui for his commander soon. Between Meng Da and him only one would succeed Ji Gang as the most powerful man in the empire after the emperor. He had no idea how Meng was progressing, but he knew he had nothing concrete. All he had were questions.

  The powerful, mysterious stranger who massacred the magistrate and his men.

  The stolen money from the imperial treasury.

  The killer who selected who to spare to tell the tale.

  All Yong could conclude was that he was dealing with a clever foe who had a clear strategy, and it was still not the most important question he had.

  Does he know the Dong Chang is on to him?

  Yong assumed he knew. The great Ji Gang had taught the agent many years ago on his first mission with Yong to never, never underestimate their foe. He visualised the commander lecturing him with one finger raised.

  “If they become the target of the Eastern Depot, then they are worthy foes to be respected.”

  Yong recalled one of his colleagues who had died under Zhao Qi’s hand. That young fool had always over-estimated his own abilities, thinking that just because he was a member of the Eastern Depot that he was invulnerable. The man’s name was Ma Hun, and he was dead while Yong remained alive. Instead of obeying Ji Gang’s orders to defeat Zhao through superior numbers he had wanted the glory of defeating the emperor’s pet tiger alone. During the final battle fifteen years ago Zhao had crushed Ma’s throat with his famous Tiger’s Claw. To this day Yong still shuddered at the memory of fighting Jian Wen’s chief bodyguard.

  Is this crown prince from hell and the woman with many hands more frightening than Zhao Qi? Ji Gang’s advice reverberated in his mind: If they are foes of the Eastern Depot, they deserve to be respected.

  With a vigorous shake of his head he dispelled the doubts that were starting to cloud his thoughts. Inaction bred hesitation. He must do something, but what? He had been making his rounds in the remote areas where the rebel was seen, but most of it had turned out to be rumours. He had even turned to the criminal underworld, something else he had learnt about investigation from his seniors. Criminals usually had more information than the authorities on what was happening on the ground. He had threatened them, cajoled them, but nobody knew who the mysterious prince was. Ever since the magistrate and his men had been slaughtered the crown prince had remained silent. He looked out of the window and saw orange on the horizon. Dusk had come, and another day had been wasted. He smashed his fist onto the table in frustration.

  I need a lucky break!

  A flock of birds flew by, calling out loudly to each other as they returned to their nest, Then he heard footsteps, resounding with urgency as the headed towards him.

  The footsteps became flesh in the form of a man panting. It was the constable who had survived the massacre and he fell onto his knees as he entered Yong’s room.

  “Lord Yong, Lord Yong!” he said as he tried to catch his breath.

  “What is it? Speak up man!” the agent snapped.

  The man looked up at him with nervous eyes, his lips making little movements like a fish. “He is here. He…he….is here! I saw him!”

  “Who? Damn it!”

  The man pointed into the distance, his countenance pale. Yong Ju knew what he was trying to say. Only the crown prince from hell could instil such fear in the constable, making him look like a child who had seen his worst nightmare. This is my opportunity!

  The agent did not wait, rising as he shouted, “Lead the way!”

  “Yes…yes…Lord Yong!” The man got up unsteadily, and Yong had already grabbed his twin cutlasses.

  “Which way!?” Yong shouted.

  “This way!”

  The man led him out of the town so quickly that Yong had no time to call for reinforcements, but he was supremely confident of his skills. Like a wolf, hungry and confident of his own strength, Yong raced toward where Zhu Wenkui was.

  However, in his anxiety to get results, he had not asked himself why the constable had not been the one to suggest that they get reinforcements?

  Yang looked at the same setting sun and smiled as he thought of the elaborate plan he had set up. He remembered Yong Ju, although he was fairly certain the agent did not know him. The day Yong had arrived at the scene of the killing with the military, Yang had been observing them from a distance. The soldiers milling about for clues did not notice a well-built man in farmer’s garb chopping a tree some distance away. Why would they pay attention to that? Farmers chop things all the time and they disdained peasants anyway, so no one thought he could be a ‘witness’. But his eyes had locked immediately on the man in plain clothes who observed everything coolly. The only one not required to wear a uniform or carry a standardised weapon.

  Dong Chang!

  That night at the industrial area the beggar had confirmed his suspicions, and right away Yang knew the agent had to die. Eastern Depot agents were bad news. They were like dog shit, and once you've step on them, they can’t be gotten rid of it.

  Five days ago he had promised the two Mongols a gift, and tonight he would hand over a prized trophy. He took a deep breath as he went over his plan. He had wondered how to spring his trap when he found inspiration from a childhood memory of the wolf hunters in the village. Wolves preyed on their life stock and when their presence had become unbearable the farmers had turned into hunters.

  They shared stories of how they baited the wolf. Yang could almost hear the soft steady voice of the village’s champion hunter floating over the crackling of burning wood as he told stories of how he had killed the marauding wolves.

  Wolves are territorial, and hungry. If you know their characteristics, you can turn it to your advantage. Bait a wolf at night when it is most hungry, when it hunts. Beware of the pack, try and lure the lone wolf into your trap. Destroy them one by one. Together, they become formidable, but alone they are vulnerable. Wolves are drawn by two things; sound and scent. Call to them, or mimic the sound of a lost farm animal, put a carcass out and let the smell of blood drive it to its own destruction, let it come to you.

  Never go to a wolf. Never wander into its territory where it had the advantage, where it could rip you to pieces without you realising.

  Always make a wolf come to you.

  Yang cracked his knuckles in anticipation. Tonight a wolf would come to him, he had made sure of that.

  31

  By now it was fully dark. Yong ran at a steady pace, controlling his breathing so that he would not tire as the constable led him to a deep forested area where he pointed and said their prey had camped in a deserted village. A few more turns led them onto a path that guided them straight into the square of the isolated and empty village. Rows of vacant houses stood like tomb stones, and suddenly Yong realised just how alone he was. A murder of crows flew by, their flapping wings resounding loudly, amplified by the silence of the night. Questions loomed like storm clouds.

  How strange? Where are the crickets? Can I depend on this lone constable?

  He banished the doubt with a slight shake of his head. He had neither trusted nor depended on anyone except for himself and his twin blades. He took a deep breath. He was no longer the rookie agent who had fought against Zhao Qi and his men. He had risen through the ranks by sheer merit, and he was second only to Ji Gang in the dreaded imperial secret service. He was a skilled fighter in his own right. This is not a time to doubt! he thought.

  “Lead the way," he commanded in a confident tone. "Take me to the-”

  A woman’s scream pierced the village’s stillness like a knife ripping through cloth.

  “Over there!” he shouted, and they ran in the direction of the scream.

  They dashed into a double storey house. A woman was suspended on a beam by a rough looking rope, and a huge man looked down at them from the balcony above.

  It is him, the Dong Chang agent.

  Yang smiled like a lord welcoming guests into his manor and his voice boomed as he spoke. “You did a good job.” With a slash, he cut
the rope with his sabre, and the woman crashed loudly to the floor.

  “Niang-zi ‘wife’!” The constable threw himself forward in an attempt to catch her. Her glassy eyes stared back at him without seeing, and her pale face was a stark contrast to the scarlet opening across her throat. “NIANG-ZI!” he screamed.

  “What the hell!” Yong accused as he stared at the constable, perplexed.

  The constable choked on his own sorrow as he replied.

  “Sorry, Lord…he,” he pointed at the hulking figure laughing above them, “he kidnapped my wife. The only way I could get her back alive was to deliver you to him. But…but….”

  Anger flashed across the imperial agent’s face and his hands moved in a blur. Yong’s twin cutlasses were out, and the exploding red mist confirmed the deed.

  “Worthless dog!” Yong shouted into his dying face. “How dare you betray an imperial agent!” The man looked remorseful even in death. He might have escaped the first encounter with the crown prince from hell, but fate had not forgotten him. The secret agent turned his attention to the man who was now staring at him like a hunter who had trapped a dangerous animal.

  When the wolf comes for the bait, do not hesitate. Strike hard and fast, and with superior numbers. A wolf is a dangerous animal. Never under-estimate it, even if it is wounded. Wolves have been known to fight and win against overwhelming odds. Kill it from a distance if you can. If not surround it and do not give it a chance to escape. If it does, its pack will come.

  Yang clapped and two long shadows filled the room, one on each side. Yong took quick glances around. The one on top must be the crown prince Zhu Wenkui, but the two men who covered his escape routes looked like Mongols. One was bald, and the other had long shaggy hair. Both were huge and looked wickedly at him.

  “This is the trophy?” the bald man shouted upward to the larger figure.