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

by Jeremy Han

  My stalker wants Meng Da! He saw me with him, but he could not enter the Eastern Depot to hunt so he followed me instead!

  He saw the man draw a heavy sabre, and with his good hand he drew a dagger.

  Let him come then.

  Yang stepped into the ruined hall, quiet and still around him. A huge statue seated in a lotus position was in the middle, and on its side was a row of smaller ones in various postures.

  Bodhisattvas.

  Their paint had faded and the statues were in various state of discolouring. Facial expressions were stripped away by age but still he could make out their features. Some were benevolent, some snarling, and their sightless eyes would bear witness to violence tonight.

  He walked toward the huge statue that glared down at him, expecting his prey to be hiding behind the idol.

  Surprise!

  Bursting into action he launched a flying kick at the statue. Kicking with all his strength he struck the Buddha with so much force that the statue fell backward. There was a loud crash as a cloud of dust bloomed up thickly into the air. He brought his sabre up in anticipation of his prey darting out from behind the altar.

  He was partially right and the attack came, but not from where he had anticipated. He felt a hot, searing pain in his arm as the man leaping from one of the rotting beams appeared suddenly before him and slashed with his dagger. In his prime An had been known for his lightning-quick sword draw. But he was using his left hand now, and it lacked power. Moreover he was using a dagger, not his sword and Yang was not slow. He slashed in an arc that drove his attacker back.

  “Who are you?” An snapped at the giant standing before him.

  Yang grinned, exposing a row of straight white teeth, his eyes lit with the excitement of the fight. Then he attacked with a speed that was unbelievable for his size. An ducked, his ears less than an inch from the blade. The sound of the steel blade cutting through the air vibrated in his ear but it was a feign. Just when he straightened his body again Yang’s hand came back, striking him in the face with the pommel. An reeled from the blow and then dodged to avoid another cleaving blow. He kicked viciously and his roundhouse kick connected with Yang’s face but the strike did not seem to hurt his enemy. Instead, it stimulated him, and Yang retaliated with a massive fist into his jaw. An thought he had been struck by a meteor as bursts of light danced before his eyes. He spat blood and amidst the ringing in his ears he heard his tormentor laugh.

  Damn! DAMN!

  The empty hall around him echoed with Yang’s laughter. It was hearty roar, as though he were at a party.

  An rose and faced his attacker. He needed a change of strategy. He could not take on this man with only one hand.

  Yang saw the fleeting glance An made toward the exit and knew what the man was thinking. He leapt forward in an attack and An kicked hard at a piece of debris, sending the rock at Yang. With a flash of his blade he deflected the stone, only to realise that it had been a way to get his blade out of the way. An threw his dagger as he ran and Yang ducked just in time. The blade pinged off the stone wall. He dashed after his prey, and with his larger steps quickly caught up.

  With his back facing an enemy he had not expected to be so fast An knew it was over, and in that flash he felt a sudden satisfaction that he would die an imperial agent. Retirement did not suit him and he had missed the adrenaline of danger. The only mystery was he did not know who would be taking his life, or why.

  The heavy blade crunched bone and severed flesh. Blood splattered across the wall like the work of a vandal as An fell.

  Yang searched his victim, finding the letter that the man had been carrying. He read it and smiled.

  Perfect.

  Looking to heaven, he spoke softly.

  Tayji, tomorrow I can repay your debt. Bless me in my hunt and keep me safe so that after I avenge you I can still fulfil my mission.

  77

  The empress dowager allowed her servants to dress her slowly.

  She was in full imperial regalia, swathed in royal yellow, the colour reserved only for the emperor and his mother. Over the yellow dress they slowly laid a red sash, embroidered with dragons using gold thread and pearl. The dragons were jade green, another symbol of royalty, and then with great care they put on the final piece: the phoenix crown. It was many tiered, and each layer was made of the finest blue silk laid with pearls.

  Next, they applied a thin layer of powder over her face, but to look austere before Heaven the maids did not apply rouge to her lips. Instead they lined it with a paste made from ground pink pearls and water. She pursed her lips as the brush swept over them and the sensation was slightly sensual. She could not help but miss her husband.

  The lady-in-waiting finished, taking a step back as she bowed. She nodded her appreciation and looked into the bronze mirror. She looked both regal and simple at the same time, appropriate for an empress dowager going to meditate. She looked at the reflection of the servants standing respectfully and felt a tinge of pride, then her eyes gazed upon the phoenix emblem on the mirror and sadness filled her heart.

  The mirror was a marriage mirror, with phoenixes carved onto it to signify the fidelity of the bride to her one love, monogamous as phoenixes were supposed to be. They had been a gift for her wedding and she allowed herself to linger in the past while her lady-in-waiting waited. When she was done one of her most trusted maids took her hand in support, and the queen mother rose unsteadily on her bound feet. There was still time before she joined her son, so she headed to a chamber that contained her husband’s shrine. His tomb was too far away for frequent visits, and the imperial family had a chamber dedicated to each deceased emperor.

  Incense greeted her as she entered the dark room. In the winter the servants did not ventilate the room too much for fear of the strong winds damaging the place where the spirit of the previous emperor lingered. She kneeled and bowed three times as a dutiful wife and subject should, and when she spoke her voice was a mixture of longing and worry.

  “Majesty, how I miss you! It was only last year when you entered the Hall of Great Harvest to offer sacrifices and now the burden falls on our son. He is not ready, but who else could be worthy except the Son of Heaven? You know how precocious our boy is. How could he stay still for three days? I am going to meditate on his behalf. I hope your spirit will intercede for us so that Heaven will take no offence. They must remember I am only a woman, and he a child.”

  She stopped to breath and a gentle breeze caused the candle flame to waver. She gazed at the portrait of her beloved, staring into those eyes that could never look at her again.

  “Master, something’s wrong.” Her gut tightened and she shuddered. “Even Ji Gang had failed to solve the mysterious cases. I sent him south, but I wonder if I made the right choice.” She wrung her silk scarlet handkerchief until her knuckles were white. She looked intently at his unmoving countenance, hoping for guidance. He had always been there for her.

  “I have a bad feeling about the ceremony. I don’t know who to trust. What if Ji Gang is right and Kong is the one behind this? The Commander has his suspicions but I can’t tell who is right or wrong! Am I safe, even if the Jinyi Wei surrounds us?”

  She felt terribly vulnerable. Tears flowed and she dabbed them quickly. An empress must not cry. She struggled as slowly a thought formed in her mind. It felt like warm water filling her and courage gradually replaced fear like light illuminating darkness. She realised that her husband’s spirit was saying something to her.

  Conceal a dagger...protect our son.

  She looked up sharply, and though the previous emperor’s eyes of ink looked back with no movement she thought they looked brighter. She got up and bowed. He had reminded her of her duty as mother. It was a high calling to bring up the Son of Heaven and if need be she must protect him with her life. But who was she fighting against? Ghosts or eunuchs? She shuddered as an image of a woman with many hands filled her imagination. Can anyone fight against that?

  In
the room next to hers Wang prepared the emperor for the ceremony. The boy was in the full ceremonial dress of the emperor of the Ming and the eight year old Zheng Tong Emperor looked regal, if he did not fidget too much. Already the boy was pleading for the eunuch to accompany him into the room specially prepared for the two days of abstinence and prayer. He could not do that. Besides protocol he had another reason.

  The child heard his mother’s footsteps and ran to the door.

  “Mother!”

  Wang kneeled and lowered his head to the ground but she did not notice him. All her attention was on the boy.

  “My son, how grand you look!” she said as she embraced him.

  “I want Eunuch Wang to come with us,” he begged.

  “That is not possible. Even I am not supposed to come with you, but for your age.”

  “But there is no one to play with me!” he pouted.

  “You are the Son of Heaven. Stop thinking of playing all the time. This is your duty.”

  “I hate duty,” he said as he folded his arms and ran off. She trailed after him and Wang watched them go. Priests were ready to escort them to the hall amidst burning incense and candles. Wang’s heart started to beat in anxiousness.

  Once they entered the chamber it would be the time for him to act.

  78

  Yin’s face was bathed in an orange glow. The room was empty except the fireplace that glowed as the wood burnt. He could remain stationary for a long time in this position.

  The assassin’s eyes were closed as though he were asleep, but inside him an all-consuming emptiness was eating him up like a black hole swallowing the universe. Darkness churned from his gut like a tornado. His eyes were closed but the shadows in his soul looked like a growing tsunami before him and slowly he clenched his fist.

  He tried to fight the urge and something resembling sanity deep in him called out like a child hiding in a dark forest, shouting to keep the wolves at bay. He knew what would come next, and sure enough his stepfather’s face loomed. It came out of the sinister shades like a spirit from an enchanted forest to hurt him, to do unthinkable things to him, to destroy his soul. His clenched fist started to shake and he could feel his teeth grinding as primal wrath built up. A voice shouted inside his head to commit the greatest sin of mankind.

  Kill your father.

  Kill him, before he rapes you, before he forces his swollen, red penis into your torn, bleeding anus.

  He craved release. He needed to kill. He required a target to die by his hand so that he could kill his stepfather again. Kong had promised him action in three days but he could not wait. In that time he would have been sodomised a thousand times by the rapist who reared him, who resided in his soul.

  I can’t wait! I can’t wait!

  He gripped his head tightly, and he was about to howl when he heard a soft click. A sliver of light appeared and grew as the door widened to allow a long shadow to fill the room. Yin thought it was Kong, for only the grand eunuch knew where he was, but the image that appeared before him was taller and broader. It was his counterpart Yang.

  Yin looked at him through the long, unruly hair that almost covered his pale face. The slim assassin realised he was panting from his fight with demons and he took a deep breath to calm himself. In his rage he might have tried to kill Yang. The other assassin was carrying his heavy sabre.

  Why did he come?

  “Come with me, if you wish to kill.”

  Meng Da opened the letter and read it. He wondered why An had not come to meet him and frowned. He held An in high regard, and knew that the retired agent must have had a genuine reason why he could not meet Meng at the pre-arranged time.

  A few days ago Meng had given An a list detailing the information they needed. Guard details, security, and movement of troops around the capital during the winter solstice ceremony that Ji Gang could not obtain directly, so An had to get it through subterfuge. It was not difficult given the fact that the Eastern Depot still wielded great power over a network of informants, willing and unwilling. Favours owed could be called and threats could be renewed. By hook or by crook the Dong Chang could extract anything they wanted, which was why Meng could not understand the delay. Ji Gang was anxious because the ceremony would take place in a mere three days, and when the commander was restless he was frightening. He read the note again, committing to memory the place where An wanted to meet.

  He must have been followed, that’s why he is taking evasive actions. He does not want to be traced back to the Dong Chang.

  That must be it, he concluded. An was very good in tradecraft.

  He put the letter to a candle and watched the white paper turn into gray ash. He let it thoroughly burn, until his finger almost touched the flame and picking up his sabre he left. He went to the stated place, the disused temple. It was desolated, broken down and eerie under the winter moon. The wind blew and the two old, torn lanterns moved nonchalantly, like they did not care about visitors.

  As he approached he saw a soft glow coming from inside the building. An must be waiting, yet he thought it strange that An would light a fire if he wanted to be inconspicuous. Then the thought occurred to him that it was also common for beggars to seek shelter in disused buildings and he relaxed. An must have disguised himself as a vagrant.

  He stepped into a hall where a Buddha had fallen over its lotus seat and landed face down on the ground. Tracing the glow he followed a bricked corridor that led into the bowels of the temple. He spied a man sitting with his back to the door, his head slumped forward as though he was dozing.

  His instincts went off like a gong. The man there was without a doubt the retired agent, but he was not asleep. He was dead.

  Who killed him?

  An had been highly skilled and his mind raced, searching for the possibilities until one leapt at him.

  A TRAP!

  A deep voice broke the silence. “I remember your face.”

  He spun and saw a huge shape emerge from the shadows of a corridor. Yang beamed at him. “No need to guess, I killed him to lure you here.”

  Meng remembered him too – the crown prince from hell.

  Meng unsheathed his sabre, causing the rings on it to rattle when slowly, like a spirit emerging from hell, another figure came out of the dark room on the other side. Meng’s blood turned to ice at the sight of the demure figure with long, black hair. The pale face was marred by dark eye rings. The apparition carried a leather bag, and something in it stirred. It thumped softly.

  “Who are you?” Meng rasped as his throat went dry. He was trapped.

  79

  There is a saying that went something along the line of: when a person is between the netherworld of Yin and the living world of Yang, that person is about to die, and Meng did not wait for an answer to his question because he knew it would not come.

  His sabre flashed brilliantly, catching the glow of the fire. Yang attacked at the same time and sparks flew at the clash. Yang pushed mightily, but instead of resisting Meng allowed himself to be pushed back so that he could avoid the attack that was coming from the other side. Yin came in low like a snake, attacking from a crouching position as he allowed his lower core muscles to propel him forward and upward. His hands were a blur and Meng retreated swiftly. Yin’s attack was deep though that he had to raise his leg to dodge the attack coming at his lower body. At the same time, he kicked in a counter-attack, driving the assassin backward.

  Yin rolled left, Yang moved right, and Meng quickly turned to re-orientate his position so that neither of them was to his back. Then he attacked.

  He took a large step forward, swinging the heavy weapon. The sound of the rings on his blade sang their deadly tune to announce the lethal intention of its user and Yin dropped like a snake falling off a tree. Almost hugging the ground he moved swiftly out of the way, then as fast as lightning he lashed his leg at Meng. Meng blocked it, and sensed Yang’s attack aimed at his back. He spun and parried, effectively stopping the huge man’s bla
de but Yang lowered his shoulder and rammed through like a bull, slamming Meng to the wall.

  Thud!

  Yang pressed the attack and with a great howl he swung his sabre. Meng ducked and the blade hacked into the brick wall in a shower of sparks and a cloud of dust. Yang had overcommitted his reach, leaving himself open as Meng attacked. He struck with his leopard fist, snapping Yang’s head backward. The blow stunned the giant with the explosive power generated from the twisting of Meng’s hip, and he staggered backward. But before Meng could strike with his blade he had to face the threat coming from the other man.

  Yin came in so close that Meng could not use his blade decisively. His hand flashed upward, darting for the eye and the agent had to snap his head to the side to avoid being blinded. He felt a sharp pain as the slim assassin’s palm struck him across the face. He raised his hand to block but Yin slithered around the obstacle like a cobra and went for his throat.

  Meng roared in anger. He swung his blade downward, using the pommel as a hammer to break Yin’s attack and effectively struck the assassin’s hand away before ramming the cold, hard iron pommel into Yin’s chest. His blow sent the assassin staggering backward, and though he knew he had hurt the ghostly assassin, strangely the man’s face did not register any emotion. He just stared at Meng with an intense hatred.

  “Come on, you bastards!” Meng roared. He knew he was in deep shit but he felt no fear. A fire raged in him and he shook his sabre, rattling the rings in defiance.

  “You must have given him a painful death,” Yang spat.

  Meng immediately knew he was referring to Baldy. “And you betrayed him.”

  “I had no choice,” Yang retorted.

  “It does not matter. You will die like him,” Meng rebutted.

  Yin ended their shouting match by attacking first. The lust for blood in him consumed him like a great hunger. He felt as though he would explode from within, and this compulsion drove him forward. He came in fast, seemingly without regard to Meng’s heavy blade, which was coming in his direction. He dodged fluidly and struck deep with his palm at Meng. His leopard fist shot out and intercepted the palm strike while at the same time he executed a side-kick aimed at the assassin’s abdomen. Yin blocked, and his hand continued forward like a snake curling forward on a log, his open palm striking Meng with great strength. The agent roared in pain and instinctively his right leg swept with a roundhouse kick that caught Yin in the face.