by Jeremy Han
“Don’t you know, Yong, that before you beat a dog, you have to first see who its master is?”
SEVEN
Everyone knows that chickens smell when they get wet. The moist feathers unleash the strange odour associated with living in a dirty, cooped up space. From where he sat, the Farmer could smell it but it no longer bothered as he was so used to these animals. He sat with his legs tucked towards his chest and arms folded around at his usual corner of the road where all hawkers set up their stores on market day. Earlier on, housewives milled around bargaining and purchasing the different groceries they needed to keep a household going; business was good. On his pole, suspended horizontally, were the few remaining chickens suspended by the legs. He used the pole for transporting his chickens from the farm. He sold almost all of them today, so he could pack up and go if he wanted. He loved this place. He had grown used to this little town, deciding to stay even though that was not his intention initially. He visited different towns during those early years, selling his wares at different locales, so no one would get to know him. He guarded his anonymity tightly because his identity could kill him. But he struggled because he had gotten so familiar with this place. He guessed it was because Man was never designed to wander forever. For the last year, he had been debating within himself; the logical side asked him to leave but the sentimental side begged him to stay. He put off any decision making and just lived day-to-day.
Until today.
Usually, he would stay on until all his chickens were sold, but this evening, he had two reasons to leave; it was starting to rain, and he had a rare appointment. The thought of fulfilling the appointment filled him with anxiety. He had always been afraid that this day would come and now it had. He put on a conical straw hat before taking out a rain coat made from yellow straw. The beads of water flowed off his primitive rain gear, and dropped onto the ground as he shook himself. He would still be soaked eventually. He heaved the bamboo pole that carried his chickens onto his shoulder and started to leave. His sandals were soaked through with water as he stepped on muddy puddles. He made casual conversation with fellow hawkers who were packing and leaving like him, cursing the weather for spoiling a fine evening or something like that. A couple of them asked if they would see him the next marketing day, and he replied cheerfully that he will be there just as the sun would return when the rain ends. He almost bumped into a maid rushing home, one hand full of wares, and the other holding an umbrella made of waxed paper. She cussed him, and he nodded his apologies, keeping his head low. There was a hierarchy in society, even a house maid ranked higher than a smelly, bird-farming peasant. As she dashed past him, he caught a whiff of her perfume. Unconsciously, his eyes trailed her before he came back to the present. The sense of anxiety and dread filled him as he contemplated his appointment. A part of him was screaming that he loved this place, its people, its colours, its sounds, smells, and just about everything that could provide a person who had been wandering with a sense of familiarity and belonging.
He crossed the arched, stone, ‘moon’ bridge over a canal that was usually docile, but had been whipped into a rage by the rain. When the waters were still, the mirror reflection of the bridge had never failed to stir in his heart the longing for a home, but today the turbulent waters reminded him of his state of mind. Today, he could not see the lazily swimming fish; they were all gone, hiding somewhere. By now, the sky was getting darker, and most people were gone. Lightning streaked, followed by thunder. He passed the row of houses that lined the road leading out of the town. He could see servants lighting up the lanterns, the big cream coloured ones with the character that denoted the clan outside each door. Some of them turned, and looked at this poor man wandering in the storm, shaking their heads. At the edge of the town, he nodded at the municipal guards who ensured the nocturnal peace would not be shattered by someone’s mischief. They nodded back at the familiar chicken seller and gave him no further attention, as they returned to the brazier inside the guard house.
He crossed another bridge, and took the crude steps up the hill. He crested the hill before descending to the other side, and embarked on the path that would take him to the place he needed to go. The rain got heavier and the steps became mini waterfalls further soaking his sandals. His feet shivered in the cold and got a little pruned. Usually, there were many people along this path, but tonight it was empty. Soon he crested the hill and went down slope. Another hour’s walk and he would be there. He trudged on with a heavy heart.
He could see the disused farm house. He approached it carefully when he was within earshot, then he took out a flute and played. The sound wafted across the field, and he was sure that the people inside could hear him. If they were the ones he was supposed to meet, he would soon know. A ghostly tune floated back to him. It was part of the same piece that he played but another segment. He hefted the pole onto his shoulders again and made his way down the field. Soon he was inside the building. Warmth from a fire greeted him and his shoulders relaxed visibly. Heat and friends beckoned.
He remembered the circle of men seated before him fondly. There were six of them seated; he was the seventh man. They were waiting for him to come, so that they could start the meeting. Next to the wall where a large man sat, his name was Tu, was the fire place. The fire was consuming a stack of twigs, bathing the room in warm amber. There was a smoky feel to the place, and the occasional crackling of the wood added to the heavy atmosphere. At the head of the circle was the man who called for this meeting - the seventy year old Chamberlain Wen of the Imperial palace. The old man was not unfamiliar to them.
Zhao Qi, their former commander spoke. “Brothers”, he looked around at the gathered. They had gathered near Nanjing, the former capital of the Ming. It was in this city eighteen years ago where they rescued the young emperor. They had stayed in its vicinity even after the Emperor Yong Le moved his capital to the north. Tu, the one nearest to him was a black smith. He had with him a mallet which he placed on the floor next to him. Tu was a northerner, hence his great size. He had curly hair which he bundled up neatly, so that it would not obstruct his work in the furnace. The big man sat hunched forward to listen. Yuen was next to him. Yuen was an alert young man the last time they met, but has since aged. He did not know what Yuen did for a living but the man came nonetheless when he saw the signal, the sign pre-arranged so many years ago to gather. For that, Zhao gave him credit. His face was lined, and there was a permanent worried look on his face. He blinked as he waited for Zhao to speak. Zhang Liao was next. He knew that Zhang had become a farmer owning some land. He had the dark and wiry look of a land farmer. Zhang held a hat, and that was all he had. He clearly looked like someone who had no intention of giving up what he had. He did not carry anything that looked like a weapon. And Long Wu came next. Long Wu had become an armed escort. Tall and handsome, he was always the one who stood out among Jian Wen’s guards, attracting the interest of the palace maids. In the empire, with caravans going long distances, it was inevitable to encounter bandits in areas where government control was weak. This was especially so when traders travel into the Xiyu or Western regions. Many of these trading houses would hire the escort companies to provide armed men to guard their caravans. Long had been working in a few of these companies. The long distance journeys made it hard for anyone to keep track of him. He carried a non-descript sabre. He was the only one licensed to carry it as an armed escort hired by a legal escort agency. He carried it with a certain ease that showed confidence. Zhao noted it with satisfaction. Finally, there sat the Farmer in his road-side hawker style, legs tucked to the chest and arms around it. He looked sullen and unhappy to be there. Typical of the Farmer. He never looked happy no matter what. That was how the man was. He was nonetheless reliable. Zhao saw the pole next to him. The Farmer, named Fu Zhen was the smallest man in the group. However, whatever he lacked in size he made up by intelligence and skill. No one doubted his fighting skills, and everyone acknowledged his astuteness. He did not l
ike to talk and call attention to himself, but he saw and understood everything. Zhao counted. There was someone missing; it was the man known now simply as the ‘Acrobat’. His real name was Li Jing, and he travelled around the country performing feats of wonder and could not be located in time. It was his way of ensuring that he would never be found by his enemies. As best as Zhao could gather everyone, he did. He could speak.
“We are gathered here because our mission eighteen years ago was not finished. Our master requires our help once again.” This brought curious glances around but there were no murmuring. He continued, “We may be required to perform our duties again, one last time as Imperial Bodyguards.”
Chamberlain Wen picked up the briefing, “A few months ago the Yong Le Emperor had a dream. He dreamt that his nephew, the Jian Wen Emperor would return and hunt him down. The superstitious huangdi saw it as a bad omen. With his campaigns going on in Kogryo and Annam, he thinks that Jian Wen’s resurgence would come at a time when his armies were distracted. He has ordered the Eastern Depot to find and kill Jian Wen once and for all.”
Zhao spoke after his men digested this. “We have an advantage. To date, the Eastern Depot, before they carry out its lethal mission, must first establish whether the former emperor is still alive. We know he is, and where to find him. We must get to him first, and take him to safety before the Eastern Depot finds him.”
Yuen spoke. “We are no longer imperial bodyguards. Look at us. We are a bunch of nobodies now. How can we fight against the Eastern Depot and the entire Ming army?”
Zhao looked at him, “I know, but when I saw you gather, I saw our spirit. The fierce dedication to do what is right. Now we need it again. If not an innocent man we swore to protect will die.”
Now Tu spoke in his northern sing-song accent that was pleasing to the ears. “It has been eighteen years, Commander. Allegiance may not die, but time and circumstances change. We are not young, we no longer command authority. How do we fight against an enemy as formidable as the Eastern Depot?”
Yuen picked up the conversation, and all heads turned toward him, “This is foolish! We have established our own lives now. This is too much to risk. We go against the Eastern Depot, we will never have peace until they hunt us down. That is the end waiting for us if we do this. At least now, they could have forgotten about us. This might be the only chance for us to live out the rest of our lives in anonymity and tranquillity.”
When he finished, he looked away from Zhao, who glared angrily at him. He knew he was being selfish, but he no longer cared because he no longer considered himself an imperial bodyguard. He had a life now, and he was not going to throw it away.
Zhao rebutted him, “Do you think you have peace now? Look at you. All of you carry something that can be used as a weapon wherever you go, even to this meeting. It means that you expect danger, which means that even after eighteen years, you still look behind you. Is that the way you want to live for the remaining years of your life?”
Zhang Liao spoke angrily now. “Tian! It has been eighteen years of looking behind our backs for heaven’s sake.” He spat. “Finally we are being forgotten, why should we bring ourselves back into the Eastern Depot’s notice? We have done our duty. We deserve to live our lives now. Please, you shouldn’t have asked us to come. By coming, you already endanger us.”
Zhao said, “I know the price you paid. I’ve been paying it too. But now, the Jian Wen Emperor only got us.”
Zhang Liao stressed, “Eighteen years, Commander, eighteen long years. Eighteen years is a long time to fulfil our oath. We have paid it in full.” He looked away, indicating to the rest that his mind was made up. Chamberlain Wen raised his hand, indicating he wished to speak. “I know the sacrifices you made. You have all been living in fear of the day that the Eastern Depot would find you. And now, when you have been forgotten, to raise your heads again would be suicide. The Jian Wen Emperor cannot stay in Ming anymore no matter how obscure he is, so will those who help him.”
“You are saying?” Long asked; curiosity lacing his voice.
Wen continued, “There is a way for him to leave the country for good to go to a place where no one knows him, and where the Eastern Depot would never find him.”
Zhang Liao snorted, “I know such a place. It’s called paradise.” His sarcasm hung in the air, mixing with the smoke to add an ominous mood to the place. “I hope he goes there on his own without dragging us along with him.”
“Enough!” Zhao shouted at Zhang Liao. “We can understand if you do not wish to help but do not curse our master with an early death.”
“Better him than us.” He retorted.
Long Wu wanted to break the antagonism between the two men and get back to the business at hand, asked Wen, “Where do you plan to hide Jian Wen?”
“For now, I can’t say.” Wen replied him softly. A depression settled over the room like a blanket over flames. The fire of enthusiasm that was slowly rising with Long Wu’s question snuffed. “If you can’t say, then how do we know if this plan is workable? Why should we risk our lives and all we have now for this unless we know this would really give us freedom from being hunted?” Tu said.
The rest nodded. Even the Farmer, the silent one, agreed with Tu. Tu added, with a little angst in his voice, “If you want us to risk our lives once again, then it must be a gamble that is worth it.”
“Trust me on this. I have found a way for you to leave this country. If I tell you now, it would endanger too many people. For now, secrecy is required.” Wen pleaded with them. He knew how they felt. Long Wu spoke. “No Sir. We can’t do this. If you do not trust us, then how can we trust you with our lives? Look at what Yong Le did to all those who served Jian Wen. All of them, save the eunuchs, are dead. We have created an eighteen year distance between Jian Wen and us. It may not save us in the end, but at least, it is better than exposing ourselves to the Eastern Depot now and hasten our end.”
Zhang Liao got up abruptly. “I have nothing more to do with this.” He looked at them sadly. “I have land now. I have a family. I deserve a normal life. I don’t wish to hear anymore because I know the more I hear, the more trouble there will be. And the more I hear, the more I am in danger of revealing.” He shook his head sadly, “You have been my brothers during those years we served together but things have changed. For my sake and yours, I’ll leave. Farewell.”
“Wait! Don’t go.” Zhao stood up and lifted a hand to hail his comrade, but Zhang Liao did not look back. He opened the door and left. The commander looked sadly at the rest. It was true. These men had suffered too much. All of them had assumed a life far below their status as imperial bodyguards. They were once officers who held rank and commanded respect. Now they were nobody. Just when they started to get their lives back, they were recalled to duty with no guarantee of reward or salvation. He knew that they were at a critical juncture of the mission. He had to be fair to them. He could no longer ask them to perform this last mission based on duty or loyalty. There must be a reason convincing enough for them to undertake this most dangerous of tasks. Only one reason can be sufficiently compelling: survival.
He turned to Chamberlain Wen. “Tell them. It is only fair.” Zhao said sadly. Wen knew that Zhao was right. It was only fair. And these men deserved fairness after all they went through. Then he thought of Sanbao, the Grand Admiral, and remembered how difficult this whole thing was.
“No. You have to trust me on this. I will tell you, but tonight is not the time.”
There was a silence as the collective will of the group challenged Chamberlain Wen’s in a tug of war. To make peace, the old man said, “I accept that this is a matter of fairness. You would want to know how to end this agony, whether this last gamble is worth it or not.”
“Say it or I will leave.” Tu countered with a tight voice.
Silence.
“Damn it old man. I’ve had enough of these games of trust.” He got up, looked around at the tight faces around him. Then he left with
out looking back. Zhao Qi noted that the two who left first were the ones who had settled down. The years had numbed their sense of danger and they had grown roots in a hostile land. Still he did not fault them. Not everyone could stand a nomad’s lifestyle. Even he had succumbed to it albeit in isolation. A streaked of lightning flashed and it illuminated the now vacant seats left by Zhang and Tu. The team looked woefully inadequate. Thunder clapped and Long Wu, the armed escort got up and left silently. The door creaked open and he stepped into the driving rain.
The Farmer looked at Zhao; both realised that the mission had failed even before it begun. Zhao glanced at Wen, who looked grieved.
EIGHT
Ji Gang’s horse entered the outer camp at a pace that signified urgency and authority. The man sat with his back straight, one hand controlling the horse, the other behind his back to cut an imposing, dignified figure. His bald head gleamed. Behind him, his subordinate Yong Ju followed. Ji liked Yong and felt that the young man had great potential. He wanted the agent to follow him on this mission to speak to the grand admiral and learn. In his mid-twenties, Yong was full of vigour and ambition. Yong had ambition that was as clear as sunlight, but he was not arrogant or irritating like Ma Hun. He knew his boundaries, and was discreet enough to know his place among the senior agents. Ji liked him, because it reminded him of himself in his younger days. Yong was not as tall or physically imposing as Ji, but he possessed doggedness in his character. Ji knew that in a fight it was not the size of the man, but the size of the fight in him that counted. He was also ruthless.
