by Jeremy Han
So deep was he in thought, that it took him some time before he realised that the young emperor had fallen asleep. He looked enviously at the boy who seemed completely at peace, oblivious to the world and all its dangers and intrigues, and even his skin reflected innocence in the silvery moonlight, his young face smooth and free of worries. Wang felt a pang of resentment. In his childhood, he had never slept with a full stomach, and each year he worried that he would die of hunger from a poor harvest.
He rose from the edge of the bed where he was sitting and stretched. His legs were numb, and he felt the prick of a thousand needles over his skin as he placed his foot on the ground. He pulled the quilt over the little boy’s body to ensure the son of heaven would not catch a cold, and the child murmured something inaudible in his sleep, the voice soft and contented.
Wang winced with each step, and his stomach growled. He decided to get something to eat before he returned to the emperor, silently wishing that the boy would not get up suddenly and call for him.
At least let me finish my meal first.
He pushed the door gently so that it would not awaken the emperor, stepping into the corridor and nodding to the two imperial bodyguards who stood outside the emperor’s room. A gush of cold air rushed over him, and he noticed that the wu ‘mist’ had descended over the compound like a white funeral shroud. He shuddered and his guts told him that something was wrong, but hunger overrode the feeling as he made his way to the kitchen. One good thing about serving the imperial family was the food.
Wang smelled soy sauce braised duck, the rich spices slowly blending into the blackish liquid as the duck cooked. The fragrance of the spices, only found in the south, drew him to the kitchen like he was a fish being reeled in. Once he got to the kitchen he had shouted at the workers to get him his meal. They glared at him initially, but he relished the chance to lord over them despite the fact that he was a mere eunuch.
“What are you staring at, peasant?" he demanded. "I am the emperor’s personal eunuch. Get my food before I tell him how lazy you all are!”
A sullen man came over with a tray and on it was a bowl of rice, a plate of stir-fried vegetables and that heavenly smelling duck nicely chopped into bite size pieces.
“Tea!” he ordered as he slapped the table loudly.
The chief cook, a man with salt and pepper stubble retorted with hands on his hip, his chin and ample belly sticking out as he spoke. “Who do you think you are? Coming in here to order us around? You are a slave just like us. Don’t think just because you wear a purple tunic,” a phrase to denote a palace eunuch, “it means that you can shout at us you bloody peacock!”
The young eunuch stood up and cursed the older man. He pointed at his target with the pair of chopsticks as he replied hotly. “You stinking peon! All of you are just peasants! If you could read and write like I can you’d be having a better life.” He spat to emphasise his disdain for the kitchen hands.
“A better life? Ha!” But before he could say something he would regret later a few cooks came over and pulled their leader away.
“Leave it,” they muttered, “people like that are not worth it. A wrong word from them and we will be in trouble. You know how palace eunuchs are. They are more spiteful than a woman!”
Another one said, “Let him live with his own delusions of superiority.” He tapped his finger on his temple as he spoke.
“Yeah,” another one added. “And at least we still keep our jewels.” He was referring to the colloquial way of regarding a eunuch as a man without his testicles and penis, severed when the man entered imperial service. Eunuchs kept the withered parts in a beautifully embroidered bag so that on the day they finally did die they could be buried with their ‘jewels’ and be reincarnated a complete man.
They sniggered and gave him condescending side-glances.
Then another said soothingly, “Everything will be back to normal when they go. Just bear with it.”
It was true that the household staff at this villa enjoyed relative peace since the imperial family came so infrequently.
“La-Ji! ‘Trash!” Wang Zhen shouted one last time as they all retreated back into the kitchen, sitting back down to his meal. He gulped down the tea, hoping it would quell the fire in his belly. He let out a deep, calming breath and he started to eat. The duck was excellent. The meat was succulent as it separated from the fatty skin, the aromatic juices oozed out and he could taste the sublime combination of the salty, rich soy sauce intermingling with the natural sweetness of the duck to form a heavenly mix.
Hmmmmm…southern cuisine, he thought, relishing the food before him. It almost made the journey worth it.
He poured the oily sauce over the steaming, fragrant rice. He thought even the rice down south smelled better and was about to tuck in when thunder rolled over the villa. It sounded like a distant wave coming up before it ended with a clap, like water smashing against a cliff.
“Damn it!” he swore. “The emperor is going to wake up!” He abandoned his meal as he ran out of the dining hall. His heart raced as he anticipated the boy’s cry. Thunder had always woken the emperor. The boy would cry, and if he wasn’t there he would be beaten.
41
Ji Gang took a deep breath as he forced himself to relax.
The empress dowager kissed him, and her fragrance filled his senses and he fought it like a man resisting the tides, but he was slowly succumbing. He did not resist her majesty’s advances as her urgency broke down the walls of protocol that had jailed his desire. Body and soul, he belonged to the House of Zhu.
She seemed impressed with the multiple scars on his torso, and she tracked each one with her fingers like a treasure hunter finding the way to reward. She whispered into his ears as her fingers moved, saying how he must have suffered for the empire, how impressed she was, how moved she was by his loyalty, his strength, his courage. He could not ignore the fact that she was beautiful, how could she not be? Even the emperor had chosen her over thousands of others.
She took in his masculine scent and looked at him with her eyes half-closed. Her hand reached down and stroked him, and despite his iron discipline he stiffened against her touch. She was a woman, he was a man. The simplest biological fact overcame all man-made distinctions and rank.
He moaned. She smiled.
He is a man after all, she thought. A man whom I shall bind to my cause.
She took his hand and guided it into her tunic, and he moved his fingers over the soft mounds. He could hear her breathing quicken, and with one swift movement she untied the sash that held her dress together, letting the silk fall to the floor. At that very instant lightning flashed across the empire, and the most powerful woman in the Ming was naked before her deadliest assassin. Their lips locked, and her bright red finger nails bit hard into his corded muscles the way an eagle clutched its prey.
Thunder announced their consummation.
Victory is mine! I have locked this man to my cause.
42
The Mongols impressed Yang with their speed and stealth. After that moving speech by their tayji they had given one last shout, and then had became so silent it was as though the earlier moment had only been his imagination playing tricks on him. They ran through the thick growth like wraiths, their forms appearing and disappearing as they came in and out of the mist. After so many years of dodging the authorities, of living in the hills, of appearing unexpectedly before unsuspecting prey, these men were experts at what they did.
They had removed any metallic items that were movable so that there would be no sound when they ran, they wore dark clothing and their faces had been painted with soot. Two of them carried the ‘crows’ so they stayed close to him. The whole group crested a hill, and headed down the slope into a valley. Just one more hill and the villa would be in sight. Yang calculated that if they did not stop it would not be long before they arrived.
Good! Let them fall asleep first!
He chuckled to himself as he imagined the ru
ckus the exploding ‘crow’ would cause. An explosion, a horde of Mongols high on blood lust. This would be fun, and the bald man, who was nearby, looked at him strangely, wondering why the big man was laughing to himself as though he was crazy. Everyone else was tense, yet the big man looked like he was going to a party. Yang grinned back at him, his big white teeth gleaming in the moonlight and the Mongol shook his head and continued to run, ignoring the assassin as though he were a madman.
Soon, they broke out of the bamboo forest and crossed a field. Then another slope lined with bamboo rose before them. They reminded him of wolves hunting, filling him with adrenaline while the exertion filled him with excitement. He gripped his heavy sabre until his fingers hurt.
There was a flash of white light as a streak of lightning zipped across the sky, the sudden illumination revealing the men, running hard as they entered the bamboo forest, disappearing from sight. Thunder boomed as though someone far away had fired an explosive device.
Slowly, like curtains hiding a stage, the mist shifted with the wind and rain. The ghostly white walls of the villa loomed before the men, hiding in the bamboo growth. Two swaying orbs of weak orange light danced with the wind, illuminating the dark, solid doors to the villa. There were no guards outside, as discretion was supposed to be the villa's greatest defence.
Not if your enemy knows.
Yang smiled at the thought. His gut tightened with excitement and his spine tingled as he looked at his target. He imagined the powerful imperial bodyguard unit standing guard inside, all of them expert martial artists with distinguished combat records. In open combat he knew they would have been more of a match against the Mongols than they would be able to handle.
But two things were in his favour: surprise and the ‘crows’. The men inside were probably half-asleep, not expecting such an attack, as after all, nobody could attack a target that did not exist.
He raised a fist, signalling everyone to stop. Baldy and Shaggy barked orders in their own tongue and the bandits halted in response. All movement ceased and the night became as still as it had been before the arrival of the raiding party, and the Mongols’ discipline never failed to impress Yang. By now, every man was drenched by the rain and mist, and steam rose from their bodies, hot from running, yet nobody panted. They stared straight ahead, their concentration on the target was intense and Yang realised that they were not bandits anymore.
Tonight they were warriors descended from the great Genghis Khan himself.
Shaggy looked to Baldy. “Tayji?”
The bald man turned to Yang and saw a drop of water fall of his nose, whether from perspiration or rain he did not know. “What’s the plan?” he rasped. They kept their voices low.
“There,” Yang pointed.
“No guards?” Shaggy whispered.
“Inside. They are not expecting anyone.”
The bald man chuckled, and Yang gave his instructions. The two Mongol commanders relayed the orders and there were nods all around.
The men who carried the ‘crow’ set it up on a simple mounting frame, aiming it at the immovable, timber doors. Yang took out a flint, sparking a small fire and taking great care to shield the flame from the rain as he lit a joss stick. He took the fire to the ‘crow’ and carefully lit the fuse, carefully wrapped in a tube made of sheep gut so that it could burn unaffected by the elements. Once the fuse had ignited he signalled for the men to move back to a safe distance.
Pzzzzzzzzzzzt…BANG!
The wooden bird sped forward in a straight line faster than an arrow. In the dark they could not see the trail of smoke but the scent of burning sulphur filled the air around them. The ‘crow’ hit the wooden doors dead on, exploding against the doors and the wall that held the hinges. Everything blew inward with massive force, showering the immediate vicinity with a deadly spray of splintered wood and chunks of rock. The four Jinyi Wei on guard facing the door died immediately, thrown back like rag dolls, their bodies skewered by the shrapnel of the splintered wood and their bones crushed by the rocketing stone.
Just as fast as it had begun, it was over as smoke rose lazily from the dust, thrown thickly into the air by the explosion. Yang looked triumphantly at Baldy and Shaggy, who grinned back at him like schoolboys who had just discovered the joy of killing defenceless ants. The Mongols around roared victoriously, raising their arms and lifting their weapons. Everything from vulgar language cursing the Ming to cheers for their tayji filled the air.
But there were more to come, and they waited as hell broke loose over the peaceful villa.
The massive explosion rocked the entire compound. Its shockwaves were felt by all, and those who were asleep were immediatly thrown awake. The boy emperor screamed in fear for his mother.
“MUHOU”! ‘Queen mother!’ he wailed, and Eunuch Wang comforted the boy as best as he could as his own heart, jolted by the shockwaves of the blast thundered in his chest like a drum.
Could this be Kong Wei’s doing? Confused thoughts flashed through his mind as he tried to quieten the emperor but the eight year-old child continued crying in his panic.
Ji Gang instinctively threw himself over the empress dowager when the explosion rocked the villa. He felt as though someone had clapped him hard over the ears, but years of fighting the Mongols told him immediately what the sound meant: they had been bombed. Every Ming soldier who had fought the Steppe warriors knew the thunder of artillery, after all it was the mighty cannon and its stinking black powder that had driven the feared Mongol cavalry out of the Ming.
He stood up, stark naked. “Stay here!” he shouted at her majesty as he pulled on his clothes, running out of the room as she yelled after him.
“Ji Gang, don’t leave me!”
Her shrill, screaming plea was ignored.
The Acrobat was awake in an instant. He executed a back flip, one moment on his back asleep, and the next he was on his feet fully alert, crouched in the style of the Monkey Fist. Zhao Qi was already dashing out. He had not slept at all.
“What was that?” he called out.
“Nothing good!”
The Acrobat followed his commander, feeling naked without any of his weapons as all of them had been confiscated by the imperial bodyguards who guarded the compound.
Meng calmly surveyed the scene. Heavily armed imperial bodyguards were rushing forward to form a defence in the outer courtyard, and yet strangely he did not hear any sounds of fighting.
Then it connected.
The bombardment is not over! If it was, the attackers would have rushed the compound already!
“Wait! Don’t rush out!” he shouted, but the Jinyi Wei did not heed him. Their security had been breached, and it was their duty to defend their majesties. He noticed there were others who still stood guard outside the imperial chambers.
Good! At least they were still organised.
He also saw a bald man running out of one of the rooms half dressed.
Ji Gang in the imperial chamber? he thought. What a time to be screwing the empress dowager!
Despite the gravity of the situation he almost laughed, when a second explosion, much louder and closer than the first, shook the earth. He thought his eardrums had been crushed.
Yang had waited until he saw the Jinyi Wei form up a defensive perimeter in the outer courtyard before he loosed the second ‘crow’. He did not want to fight them hand-to-hand, it was too risky. So when a sizeable contingent had formed he had lit the fuse of the second flying device, watching it speed towards the miniature granite mountain in the bonsai garden.
The ‘crow’ impacted against the heavy rock, blasting it to smithereens and shredding the men with in spray of deadly rock chips, screaming as they were either blinded or maimed in the shrapnel.
“What the hell!?” Zhao cried, witnessing the mowing down of the defenders and knowing instinctively that this was a well-planned, well-coordinated attack. It was no coincidence. Whoever had staged it knew the exact layout, the defenders and their numbers, and
their strategy.
Do they know about us?
He turned and looked at Li Jing. The Acrobat stared directly ahead intently, and Zhao believed his friend had arrived at the same conclusion. His instincts came on.
“Rescue the emperor and find an escape route!” he called out to his friend.
“Got it!”
The smaller man bolted off.
43
Sulphur hung heavily in the air like the stench of death. The massive doors lay broken as though a giant had smashed through them, and as the smoke cleared it became clear that the way forward was open. The surviving imperial bodyguards were trying to recover from the blast. Several men were on the ground, and others tried to re-organise with little success. Most of them appeared hurt.
Yang lifted his sabre and shouted, “ATTACK!”
A loud, ululating war cry erupted, and with a great shout the Mongol band charged. Baldy and Shaggy did their part as commanders urging their men on while Yang kept a few paces back and allowed the men who were filled with battle lust to surge forward. He kept his head about him, resisting falling into the same bloodlust. He was the overall commander after all, whether the Mongols realised it or not, and he had to remain a distance away from the heat of the fighting so he could make tactical decisions. He had to keep Kong’s bigger picture in mind.
Shaggy yelled as he raised his axe and brought it crashing down on a Jinyi Wei who was struggling to stand after his leg had been severely wounded from the explosion. The heavy blade crunched through the neck of the man, blood spurting thickly from the severed neck. The few unhurt members of the imperial bodyguard fought like devils, taking several Mongols with them through superior skills. They soon found themselves outnumbered though and were driven backward before being overwhelmed as though they were trying to contain the crashing sweep of the tide. A few survivors retreated to the inner courtyard, where they had to make their last stand while trying to find a way to get the royals to safety.
