The Emperor's Prey

by Jeremy Han

  The tall man strode down the hall and noticed that the guard had tripled. Jinyi Wei men were everywhere. They bowed as he passed. When he came to the emperor’s chamber, the eunuch did not waste any time; the castrated man dutifully announced that the Head of the Eastern Depot had arrived and opened the door even before the emperor gave the permission to do so. From all these, Ji Gang knew that something that would devour all his time and energy from here on was brewing.

  “Ten thousand years.”

  Ji knelt, bowed his head low to the ground and shouted out the required greeting between a subject and the Son of Heaven. The proclamation meant that the emperor would live for ten thousand years. Before kneeling, he had caught a glimpse of the emperor and was surprised. The august man looked frightened, making him look older, even weak. His jaw hung limp and his eyes kept blinking. Eyes that could judge the speed and distance of a quail and bring it down with an arrow seemed watery and unfocused. Ji could not help but contrast it to the straight-backed man on saddle, the man who crushed the Mongols, and overthrew his own nephew for the throne. Ji was there that night and had participated in that particular bloody episode of regicide in Ming history. Yong Le was getting old, but something bad had happened tonight.

  “Get up, Ji Gang. And sit.” Ji Gang obeyed, keeping his eyes lowered while he waited for the emperor to speak. One does not speak to the sovereign unless asked to.

  “You have no idea why you are summoned?” Odd. Ji frowned and replied dutifully.

  “No Majesty. But as always, I am at your service.”

  The emperor hesitated, “The hour is odd but I must say, the assignment I have for you is…strange.”

  “Majesty, the Eastern Depot is never unprepared to deal with any problems your majesty encounters. We will use all powers given by your Majesty to eradicate any threat to the empire and to your throne.”

  Yong Le paced the room. As Ji Gang followed him with his eyes, he was amazed at the ornate decorations of the room. Beautiful pottery, golden vases and chalices decorated the room. But the emperor broke his thoughts with a sigh. “Ji Gang. I want you to find someone and kill him for me.”

  “Your Majesty, that will not be a problem for the Eastern Depot.”

  “When I tell you who I want dead, you’ll find it difficult. But I know I can trust you.”

  “Majesty, please tell your servant who it is that is costing your Majesty your sleep and it will be done by daylight. His head will hang by the city gate.” Ji replied firmly.

  Yong Le turned and glared at the man; Ji Gang felt a shiver of fear flit through him, Did I say something wrong? He thought to himself. After all, the Eastern Depot had the power over life and death so why would it be difficult to kill someone who offended the emperor?

  “The man I want you to kill”, Yong Le paused. He struggled to continue as visions of his dream flashed through his mind. He stopped as a stab of pain struck his temples and his eyes closed. Ji waited, “is a man who is supposed to be dead. And he wants to kill me.”

  “Who is he, Majesty?”

  “He is my nephew Zhu Yunwen. The former Jian Wen emperor.”

  The words punched Ji as powerfully as any martial artist but he kept his face straight.

  “Majesty, I do not understand. Wasn’t he burnt to death?”

  Yong Le stared at him hard, wondering if the man was questioning his orders then he softened. Ji had to know the truth if he were to fulfil this most urgent of tasks. “No. It was I who ordered the imperial historians to fake his death. The truth is no one knew where he was when we entered Nanjing all those years ago. He escaped just before we took the palace. I ordered his place wiped out from the annals so that I alone will be the legitimate second emperor of the Ming. Over the years, I assumed he died.”

  Ji noticed the emperor’s shoulders sag. He could only guess why Yong Le would be bringing this up eighteen years later. He knew there was more to the story but kept his respectful silence. Yong Le looked like he was debating within himself whether to share his dream. He had the look of a lonely man; the look of someone who had many people surrounding him and waiting on him but no one to truly listen to his inner man. He was a man who commanded the loyalty of his servants but not their love, who owned the bodies of thousands of women but never their hearts. He looked like a despot. And for awhile, the tyrant looked like he wanted to unload his feelings onto Ji. Ji wished he would not do so, for to know a dictator’s inner thoughts and feelings would be to have one’s days numbered.

  “From now on,” Yong Le rasped, “this task shall take priority over all assignments currently carried out by the Depot. Report your progress to me every month. Spare no means. Bring me his head.”

  Ji Gang bowed his head to the floor and replied, “Yes, your Majesty.” He was glad he did not have to see the murderous rage in Yong Le’s eyes.

  The next morning, Ji cancelled all meetings with his deputies. He gave orders that they carry on with whatever they were entrusted with and report back only when he called for them. He did not want to be disturbed. Alone in his study, he stood facing a large map of the empire painted on leather and stretched across the wall. His room was sparsely furnished because he was a practical man not given to sentimentality. There were no battlefield souvenirs, no objects of high value often seen in the possession of officials with power as bribes were often presented to such men. One might even expect various weapons to be displayed but there were none. The security head had a large table in the centre for discussions and then a smaller desk behind a silk screen where he drafted his documents. Next to the desk was a shelf of scrolls that created the impression that he was a learned man. The wall with the map was next to the large table.

  Deep in thought, his finger started to trace the map. The digit tried to keep track of the mind’s journey through the Ming Empire. He touched Jiayuguan, the last outpost of the Ming with a large military fortress far out in the empire’s western desert. Anyone exiting the pass, and vice versa, needed papers. He did not exclude the possibility of Jian Wen doing so. Obtaining false papers were not difficult for an emperor. If the former emperor had indeed exited the pass into the vast western desert region controlled by barbarians and nomads, then there was really no way he could ever find Jian Wen. But somehow, his mind discounted that thought. It was more of a gut feel than anything.

  No…no emperor would leave his own domain no matter what, He muttered. His finger followed, tracing an imaginary path from the west of the empire to the eastern coast. Hmm…then to the south. To leave by sea, he would need a boat and the empire’s coast is wide. Coastal movement were not unknown due to piracy and smuggling, and Nanjing was not very far away from the sea. The far south, the Yunnan regions, he doubted the former emperor went there. Those were troubled regions and a large Ming army was there fighting the Annamese.

  No. His gut feel told him that Jian Wen was still in the empire. Going sea bound in the east was difficult. It was even more difficult than leaving the land border to the west. Hiding within the empire was most likely. That would be how an emperor would think, given the fact that everyone of them was a son of heaven. He wouldn’t have given up his mandate of heaven even when it was stolen from him. But first he would need to confirm his hypothesis. Now he was ready to discuss this with his men. He summoned his top lieutenants, and then sat down by the table while he waited for them to come. The fatigue of the sleepless night was replaced by the excitement of the greatest manhunt for a man who supposedly died eighteen years ago.

  THREE

  Grand Admiral Zheng He liked to come here alone. It was a place he never imagined he would live at and command. When he was a boy, he lived in the mountainous region at the southwest of the empire. He had never seen the sea before until he came here. From one of the empire’s minority group and a Muslim, Zheng He was not Han Chinese. His birth name was Ma Sanbao ‘Three Treasures. It was only much later, after a long and arduous journey that he received the sinicised name Zheng He from the Emperor Yong Le for
meritorious service against his nephew Jian Wen. Zheng He was born to a minor official governing a small county who rebelled. He became a eunuch slave after his father was killed. Through a twist of fate, he finally attained one of the highest ranks in the empire. He had grown into a tall man with a broad chest. His face was set with a square jaw that reflected his determined character. His voice was said to sound as loud and clear as a bell. He must have been an imposing sight as a battlefield commander. The red robe of the Grand Admiral complimented him; it signified both physical prowess and authority. His journey from slave to admiral was a perilous one; it was more dangerous than his voyages into the maritime unknown, but he had overcome them all.

  Based in Suzhou now, a place as different as Yunnan as heaven was from earth, Zheng He loved this place. It had the climate and sophistication of a prosperous city as compared to the mountainous and rugged landscape of his home. Occasionally he missed the simplicity of that life but it had become a vague memory to him already. Here, he was king. This was the place where his ships were built and maintained, large ocean-going vessels that could carry thousands of men, animals and goods. There were the nine-mast treasure ships that carried the grand admiral himself, his command staff and any important dignitaries, horse and troop ships that carried his army and his marines, and the numerous ships that brought the vast supplies needed to bring the empire to the world. There were ships that carried nothing but fresh water – one month’s supply of it to ensure that the fleet would never dehydrate. The power of the Ming Emperor was projected from the fleet that sailed from this port. From where he stood, he could see his entire fleet docked before him. He stood atop the hill behind the fortifications that protected his base and looked admiringly at his command – his command. The breeze told him that soon it would be time for his fifth voyage. He could visualise the activity of thousands of men readying the fleet; carpenters and craftsmen on the ships repairing, engineers checking, quartermasters at the store, marines practicing their naval battle drills and the numerous staff officers of all grades preparing the charts and maps, the instruments and all other technical matters that made a voyage successful.

  With such a thought, Zheng He snapped himself away from his revelry. To survive any voyage, he needed more than just Man’s help. He needed divine intervention against the treacherous waters and the numerous potential enemies of the empire out there. He turned and headed toward the one place that he sought his help from -- his private mosque. It was an inner sanctum where the admiral could pray and be alone to think of his childhood. His religion was the only connection he had to his previous existence as happy-go-lucky boy living in a place surrounded by white-capped mountains. Sometimes, he had to lead his men to offer sacrifices to the other gods respected by his Han subordinates. Although he was a Muslim, he knew that to the superstitious seamen, not appeasing the gods was tantamount to committing suicide. His actions would determine his men’s morale once they sailed, so he followed their beliefs to establish the rapport and unity of spirit so needed when they were at sea. He entered his private mosque, faced east and bowed face down.

  “Sanbao”

  Zheng He looked up but did not turn around. He was startled at the use of his childhood name, but at the same time felt at ease. The voice was familiar and soothing because it brought back memories of kindness. He slowly turned around and with a smile, returned the greeting,

  “Teacher.”

  Before him was an elderly man dressed like a wealthy merchant, but he was definitely not a trader for only people with some form of authority and connections could gain access to the heart of the Ming Empire’s naval base. Although he should not have been there and Zheng He should arrest him for the breach of security, the admiral did not. Instead he got to his feet and spoke kindly to the old man,

  “What brings you here, Sir?”

  The old man chuckled, “Well if you are not arresting me, can I speak with you in a more comfortable place?”

  “Come.” Zheng He took the older man’s hand and led his former teacher to a pavilion overlooking the sea. It was dark now and very private. He suspected something was brewing and wanted to hear his teacher out. For awhile there was silence except for the waves breaking against the beach and the hum of the never-ending wind.

  “Nice place you have here, my student.”

  “You have taught me well.” Zheng He replied.

  He did not push the matter because it would be impolite to rush a senior, especially one you respect. He would let his teacher speak his piece when it was time; etiquette was very important between master and student. The teacher remained silent for a long time, sighing and stroking his white beard, looking sadly at his student. It was a hint for Zheng He to ask because it was also inappropriate for a master to ask his junior for help if it was not offered.

  “Teacher, you look burdened. You came all the way from the capital to the east; there must be something urgent you want to tell me.”

  Zheng He left out the part about how he managed to sneak into the naval base, which was an extremely serious offence. Someone who had served the imperial court almost all his life would not have any trouble with that. Wen Xuan, a palace eunuch, and now Chamberlain, sat before the admiral. The eunuch also who tutored Jian Wen. Zheng He, when he was still known as Sanbao, served under Wen before. He had put on weight with age. His hair and beard white, eyelids heavy. But something radiated from the old man. A benevolent authority flowed from him. It was something Zheng remembered clearly.

  “I need your help. Someone close to us would die if we did not help him.” The teacher said gravely.

  ‘Teacher Wen’ who is it that you speak off? How can I help you?” Zheng knew this was the crunch.

  Wen looked at him solemnly. “Can I trust you? With my life?”

  “Please speak freely Sir. If it’s not something I should know, I will pretend I have never heard it.”

  “The former emperor Jian Wen is alive. The Emperor Yong Le had tasked the Eastern Depot to hunt him down.”

  Zheng He was shocked beyond words. Everyone was told the Jian Wen emperor died eighteen years ago on that fateful night. Zheng He himself took part in that campaign under the then Prince of Yan.

  “Alive? How can it be? Did he not die in the palace fire?”

  Wen shook his head. “Jian Wen never died in that fire. When Yong Le arrived at the palace, he tried to find the emperor. He expected to find his nephew cowering, pleading for mercy, but the nephew had escaped. In his anger, he had the entire imperial household executed and burnt. And then he ordered all the historians to record it as such so that his legitimacy to the throne would never be questioned again.”

  “In the historical records, it said that Yong Le tried to save Jian Wen from the fire but was too late. The former emperor, in his grief, had already immolated himself.” The admiral quizzed. A frown formed on his head as this new bit of information confused him; it made his head swim.

  “No, he did not. Jian Wen escaped because he knew that his uncle would never spare him. It was Yong Le’s attempt to portray himself as someone who was fighting a righteous war. You know the numerous executions that followed. How could someone, who could execute entire clans be willing to spare the life of his greatest rival? Yet if he did not reveal himself to have some merit by extending mercy to his kinsman, how would history judge him?”

  “Teacher”, Zheng He’s forehead creased. “Why are you telling me this?” Wen knew that Zheng was loyal to Yong Le because the latter valued his contributions and had rewarded him. But Wen could see that there was an inner struggle within the younger man. Wen had counted on this; deep within Zheng He, there was a conscience. The dilemma weighed on the admiral’s countenance. He did not expect to serve a man who would kill his own family. Killing in battle and in political intrigue was one thing, killing your own family was another. This was clear to Zheng He. The feud between the previous emperor and the current one was typical regicide. The younger emperor, in a move to consolida
te his power against his more powerful uncles, the generals who established the empire with Jian Wen’s grandfather, forced several of them into submission. The Prince of Yan, Zhu Di, refused to submit and marched against Jian Wen.

  “How do you know about this? It is a grave matter. If the Eastern Depot is involved, then the emperor is serious about the threat posed by Jian Wen.” Zheng He exclaimed.

  “But there is no threat. Jian Wen has been missing for eighteen years. If he wants to rebel, he would have done so long ago. By now, all his supporters have died; all were executed by Yong Le systematically, not sparing even the youngest in the family. This is evil.” The older man stressed the last sentence.

  “You did not come all the way here just to tell me this. Please Sir, speak your mind.” Zheng He was getting impatient. He knew where this was going but he needed to hear it.

  “If I can send Jian Wen to you, would you take him away?” Wen looked at him with pleading eyes. The admiral remained silent for a long time.

  “Please?”

  “But why would you do this? You are asking me to commit treason.”

  Wen’s voice raised a notch as he struggled with his emotions. “No. I am asking you to commit an act of mercy. Jian Wen has suffered enough. He does not deserve to die. Sanbao, you are religious. Surely your god requires you to show mercy and to help the defenceless?