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

by Jeremy Han

  Ji Gang and Zhao Qi looked at each other, both having arrived at the same conclusion: the Jinyi Wei would not have retreated if they had contained the attack. They were the only ones that stood between the tidal wave of attackers and the imperial household.

  “I’ve sent Li Jing to find a way out!" Zhao shouted. "We've got to buy him time!”

  “Got it!” Ji Gang replied. There was no time to argue about tactics, strategy or who was in command. They were both commanders, and they had to work together.

  Funny, Zhao thought. How I am now fighting alongside my greatest enemy? But he had no more time to think before springing into action like a tiger.

  An imperial bodyguard had turned to block a slash by a Mongol, their weapons clashing loudly. When he tried to attack back, he was slashed by another attacker, thrown off balance as the two men raised their weapons. They were about to kill the fallen warrior when Zhao launched himself straight into their path, his extended fingers bent like tiger claws. Zhao struck without mercy, crushing the windpipes of the two Mongols before dropping his hands low and driving his elbows hard into the enemies’ rib cages.

  Crack!

  Both men dropped like stones.

  Crouching in the low stance of the Tiger’s Fist, he faced the next attacker. The Mongol slashed downward, screaming all the way. Zhao widened his already low stance and he went even lower without giving ground. This was his modification to this style of fighting. He learnt that in the far south where the soil was soft due to frequent rains, tigers keep their bodies lower so that they had better traction when they leapt at their prey. As a result the beast could generate greater power when attacking.

  The heavy blade swooshed over Zhao’s head and with a powerful twist of his lower body he launched his attack. His clawed left hand struck the man’s face and at the moment of contact all fingers tightened. He pulled away again hard, feeling the give of tissue as he tore the man’s face apart the way a tiger would rip at a prey with its powerful claws.

  The man screamed in agony and tried to push Zhao away. The commander caught his enemy’s other arm and twisted it, before his left hand struck again, this time finishing the fight by crushing the man's Adam’s apple.

  Shaggy turned just in time to see Ji Gang’s flying kick coming at him. He raised his axe with both hands, using the handle to block the blow.

  Thud!

  Shaggy was thrown back by the powerful kick. The northerner practiced the Long Fist, an extremely hard martial art that utilised powerful long ranged attacks, but Ji Gang did not stop.

  The moment he landed he allowed the momentum to carry him forward. At the same time he lowered his body and pivoted his ankle, transiting from a high kick to a reverse, low foot sweep in one smooth movement. The sweeping limb caught Shaggy and threw the man off the ground. Pressing the attack from a low position, he leapt high with athletic grace, turning his body in mid-air to generate torque before smashing his fist straight down.

  The Mongol was almost on his feet to counter-attack when Ji Gang’s fist, hard as stone, smashed into his face with all the power generated by the spin concentrated into one small surface area. The blow threw the man into the spin, and Shaggy landed face down on the wet ground, his long, messy hair covering the sight of blood oozing out of his ears and nose.

  He did not move again.

  Meng launched a powerful side-kick, catching one of the enemy in the chest as the man charged at the secret agent. Before he could fall Meng took a step forward and struck with the leopard fist, his fingers curled at the first knuckle. It connected solidly before his other hand shot out, palm up, into the man’s jaw, forcing his head backward with a loud crack.

  Another bandit swung his club viciously, and Meng clamped one hand on the club as he drove his elbow into the chest of the Mongol. Bending forward he used his shoulder to lift the man before flipping him onto the ground, stomping into the man’s armpit and breaking the joint. As the man released the club, he took it and brought it down with a sickening crunch before then the man stopped moving. He heard Ji Gang’s familiar voice break through the confusion of combat.

  “Protect the empress dowager! We are going to find a way to escape!”

  44

  The sounds of fighting and dying grew louder as the enemy moved closer, causing Wang Zhen to shake violently with fear. His young charge, the Zheng Tong emperor, was crying and screaming for his mother as he clutched tightly to the eunuch. The little child desperately needed to hold onto someone close to him, and the eunuch cared for him, played with him and taught him every day, and he hugged the boy to reassure him.

  “Wang Zhen, where is my mother?” the boy asked, his voice quivering.

  “Shhhhhhh….” he whispered back, patting the emperor’s head.. “She is fine and will come soon. Don’t cry alright? I am here.”

  Stroking the emperor’s hair he looked at the door. He could not help wondering what would happen if Mongols burst through them, only knowing that they would die. Wang was no fighter and could not protect the boy. It seemed strange to him that the entire army of the Ming had failed to keep the wolves at bay and now it fell to him, a skinny, young eunuch, to protect the son of heaven.

  You brought this upon yourself when you aligned with Kong Wei, a little ghostly voice accused him,

  I didn't have a choice!

  He heard the thunder of footsteps as his worst nightmare came true. The doors burst open, and a rough yell filled the room.

  “Ahaaaaaa!” a Mongol with his hair tied in a top-knot screamed as he charged in, his eyes immediately lighting up when he saw the boy, and the Zheng Tong emperor screamed in terror.

  “No!” Wang cried out. His hands were raised in protest but it meant nothing to the raider. The attacker kicked him viciously and the eunuch fell. He strode over to the child with a sabre in his hand. A sour smell filled the room as the emperor wet his pants and Wang’s panicking eyes tried to find something, anything, that could be used as a weapon.

  His eyes fell on a vase, rising and grabbing it before he smashed it over the Mongol's head. “Don’t you hurt the Tianzi ‘Son of Heaven’!” the eunuch squealed.

  But this only enraged the man further. He roared in anger and slashed at the boy but Wang leapt in front of the blade, taking the blow.

  “AAAAAHHHH!” he screamed in pain, and he felt as though his back had been filled with hot lead. Still he threw himself forward, grabbing the man’s ankles and stopping him from reaching the shaking boy who had retreated all the way to the edge of the bed. The attacker looked down angrily at the man feebly trying to stop him and he stomped hard, breaking the eunuch’s bone loudly. Wang howled in pain again and felt his grip weakening. Tears formed in his eyes as he realised that he was going to die, and surprisingly an ache filled his heart, as he realised just how much he had grown to care about the child emperor.

  “No….” he whispered, tears filling his eyes as he braced himself to hear the boy die. An image of the boy emperor running in a garden chasing butterflies with him filled his mind knowing that he would never see such a sight again...

  A man dashed into the room so quickly he could not see who it was.

  The Acrobat jumped onto the Mongol like a monkey, clinging tightly onto him. He wrapped his legs around the huge bandit’s waist and with his free hands struck viciously at the man’s shaved head. His hands moved so quickly Wang could hardly see them clearly, but there was no mistaking the shouts of agony from the victim. The Acrobat bent his body backward and using his hands to support himself on the ground twisted his legs that were still wrapped around the Mongol so that the bandit was thrown backward violently, smashing his head against the cold, hard floor.

  Without using his hands, the Acrobat did a back flip, landing solidly on his feet. He faced the door to deal with any potential threats and his vigilance was rewarded when another Mongol entered. The man charged with a spear but the Acrobat rolled. The spear went nicely over his head, missing him just as his roll stopped him in
front of the attacker. He kicked from the ground, his thrusting leg pounding into the stomach of the attacker as the man screamed in pain. Leaping into the air, the Acrobat struck him hard with both fists in a left-right manner, sending the man to the floor with the first. He quickly picked up the man's spear and threw it into a third man who was running into the room. The Mongol went down screaming as the spear protruded from his chest.

  “Leave…me. Save the emperor!” the eunuch’s said as the Acrobat approached, his face pale. He was still losing blood.

  The Acrobat assessed the situation with a frown before he bolted out, but before long he returned. One of the kitchen helpers was with him now, and he carried the wounded eunuch while the Acrobat piggy-backed the emperor.

  They ran towards the location where the escape tunnel was.

  45

  There were two imperial bodyguards who remained standing guard outside the empress dowager’s room, and they recognised the figure of Ji Gang as he approached them., yelling, “Get her Majesty and follow me!”

  They entered the room and soon returned, one man in front of her and another behind, as they followed the commander of the Eastern Depot.

  “Where’s my son?” she asked in panic. Her beautiful face was framed with anxiety, sensuous lips quivering out of control as her long black hair fell dishevelled around her. She had hastily dressed, and did not look as regal as she usually would.

  “Here!” Zhao shouted as he joined the Acrobat who was still carrying the child as he ran toward them. “Where are we going?”

  “There’s an escape tunnel!” the Acrobat shouted. “Follow him!” He pointed at the kitchen helper.

  “Where’s eunuch Wang?” the little emperor wailed.

  “Leave him!” the queen mother shouted. She did not want to be slowed down by something as worthless as a dying eunuch.

  “NO!” the boy screeched. “Don’t leave Wang Zhen! He saved my life!” He pleaded with his mother. and when she ignored him the boy-emperor shook himself free, running to the fallen man.

  “Come back!” she screamed hysterically.

  The Acrobat did not hesitate; there was no time to debate this. He ran and grabbed the boy, commanding the kitchen helper to pick up the unconscious eunuch, who was bleeding his life away.

  Ji Gang turned at the thundering sound of footfalls and saw a huge, bald Mongol leading a band of warriors toward them. Some of the men separated from the band and started to plunder the rooms where the imperial household stayed, but the rest followed the bald man to pursue the retreating group with a single-mindedness that revealed that their intent was not mere pillaging. These were the real wolves.

  “Let’s buy them some time,” Ji shouted to Zhao, turning to Meng Da next as he ordered, “Protect the empress dowager!” Then the two commanders were gone.

  Two against five, Zhao Qi thought as he looked at the enemy. Lightning flashed across the sky as if the heavens wanted to illuminate and remind them of the odds.

  The bald Mongol leader charged, swinging his sabre at Zhao but the commander leapt out of the way. Zhao attacked without hesitation the moment Baldy stopped, and despite being unarmed the commander’s attack was so vicious it drove Baldy onto the defensive. He kicked out at Zhao, but the ex-imperial bodyguard’s hand were fast as lightning and he intercepted the Mongol’s kick, moving at the same time and striking with his other hand like a claw. The hand struck the bald man on the shoulder, the five fingers biting firmly into his flesh. Zhao squeezed and the Mongol screamed in pain. With his opponent momentarily immobilised Zhao drove his other palm hard in a blow that sent the Mongol reeling.

  Someone shouted, “Tayji!” and Zhao looked up in time to see another man swing his war club at him to cover the Mongol who had fallen.

  Tayji ‘Prince’? Zhao remembered the term. Mongols? But he had no time to think this through and Mongol or not, the threat was real. He crouched as the heavy weapon moved over his head, feeling the air move just above his ears. Then he swung his hips forward as his body came up from its crouching position and launched a powerful kick out at the man in front of him, catching him full in the chest.

  If the man’s a tayji, then taking him captive for interrogation was a good idea.

  Zhao had made up his mind. He did not want to fight against these small fry. Instead leapt over the man he had kicked, not bothering to finish him off as he went after the bald man instead.

  In the mean time, Ji Gang’s long limbs gave him an advantage as he attacked. It was not in his nature to wait and despite the larger number of enemy he took the initiative.

  His fighting style, the Long Fist, suited his personality as the art favoured the maxim ‘a strong attack is the best defence’. He executed a cekongfan ‘a side somersault’, which threw him forward right into the path of the first enemy, and when he landed his long leg shot out like a battering ram into the face of the first Mongol. The blow struck, dropping him cold like a rag doll. Another Mongol slashed at him, the blade narrowly missing Ji Gang as the commander pivoted just in time to block the blow. The hulking bandit yelled and attacked again, slashing like a maniac. Ji Gang wished he had his iron fan with him, but without it he was left with the need to rely on his fists.

  He timed his attack nicely, just as the man’s right arm came into distance. The commander of the Eastern Depot bent his back so the blade missed him, then bounced back like a spring as he threw an upward punch into the man’s kidneys. The man howled but his misfortune had not ended. Ji Gang executed a roundhouse kick into the back of the man’s head, connecting hard with a loud, solid thud.

  Yang saw the attack stall like a wave that had been deflected by two high cliffs. He did not get into the fight but he followed behind the marauders, cautiously observing.

  Who are these two men? he wondered. They are not Jinyi Wei. He acknowledged that they fought like imperial bodyguards, if not a tad better. He also noticed that they were older. They must have extensive combat experience... much more than the younger guards, he mused, thinking they must have been from the generation of warriors who had been established through the Ming war. He wondered if he should get involved in the fight, eager to test himself against these deadly warriors.

  Yes, he decided as he broke into a wolfish grin, charging forward just as thunder boomed.

  Zhao went after the man he had wounded, and from the way his prey’s arm hung he guessed he must have dislocated it. The Mongol, though in pain, growled and turned to face his foe, and as Zhao looked into his eyes and saw no fear, only hatred. A hand shot out of the blue and pulled the tayji back as a towering man yanked the Mongol away and hacked his sabre downward, cutting straight into Zhao’s path. The blade sliced into the commander as he dropped to the ground.

  Pain streaked through Zhao’s shoulder where the blade had cut into him, and he rolled away as the giant brought the blade onto the ground where he had been merely a split second ago. With his powerful core muscles the commander bounded onto his feet and deftly moved to the back of the giant before he could react. With a mighty roar Zhao leapt like a hunting tiger onto a cow. Both his hands bunched like claws and he ripped into the shoulder blades of the tall man, feeling how hard the muscles were, and gripped even tighter as he tensed his fingers. Giant or not, the man was flesh and blood.

  Yang felt as though his shoulder blades were being torn from his body, and the pain drove him mad. Enraged and pumping with adrenaline now Yang drove his elbow backward. The blow lifted Zhao into the air and off his victim, and in the process Zhao Qi ripped the shirt off Yang’s massive body as thought it were made of paper. Yang turned around and roared in anger, and a streak of lightning flashed across the sky as though the god of rain was responding to his battle cry.

  Zhao’s eyes widened. What is that on his shoulder!? In that split second the lightning had made everything clear, Zhao had seen an angry birthmark on the towering man’s shoulder.

  Yang calculated the odds. These two men had stopped five Mongols, and only his
timely intervention saved the tayji. He might still be able to fight the shorter man to a draw, but he knew if the two of them joined forces…. There was no point. He needed to report to Kong Wei about these two men who had saved the empress dowager.

  Who are they? Yang wondered frowning at the thought.

  Who is he? Zhao tried to fathom.

  Yang turned and pulled the injured Mongol with him, yelling, “Let’s go!” They ran and joined up with the remainders of the Mongol men who had busied themselves with looting and burning the villa down. They were no longer interested in the battle.

  Zhao wanted to pursue the man with the birthmark, but Ji Gang tugged at him. “Come! The safety of the empress dowager and emperor is paramount!”

  As he ran Zhao turned and saw the giant staring at him from a distance.

  We will meet again!

  46

  “Here!” the cook yelled as he pointed.

  He had led them to the rear of the villa where royalty never went. Behind the array of service buildings like the kitchen, the laundry, storerooms and workers quarters a small, disused hut stood. A shrine to some minor deity, one among the many who was worshipped during the Ming that looked long forgotten. The roof of the hut was badly maintained, a further testimony to the statue’s junior position within the pantheon.

  The man unlocked the door quickly and went in. He shifted the altar, and an opening with narrow steps leading into the ground appeared like the gaping maw of a monster. The hole looked dark and ominous and the musty sweet smell of damp earth and stale air welcomed them.

  “Wait! Someone’s coming!” Meng Da hissed, afraid to speak too loudly. The boy-emperor gave a startled cry, and his mother hugged him tightly. The Acrobat could see that at some point the boy had wet his pants, or had it been the rain? A faint smell of ammonia confirmed it was the former.