The Emperor's Prey

by Jeremy Han

  They had arrived at the busy riverside town of Cizi-kou. Behind them was the pier where lines of workers loaded porcelain and other earthen goods bound for the eastern areas down the river. From the crude pottery used by the poor to the white porcelain for the rich, lines of labourers filled ships with pottery goods. Cizi-kou was a small town at the edge of the major city of Chongqing. Chongqing, the city of ‘double celebration’ was founded by a warrior race known as the Bai hundreds of years before the Ming was even established. It was during the Sung dynasty that christened it with such a pleasant name to commemorate the coronation of one of its emperors who was actually born in the city. Now, it was an area that was ambiguously ruled. While it had some semblance of Ming governance, it was also a place where rebels had control from time to time due to its great distance from the centre of Ming authority. It was the perfect place for a group of people wanted for treason to hide and plan their next move.

  They joined in the human stream, as it cruised along the arteries that led to the heart of the city. Yula looked on with both fascination and disgust. As they went further away from the docks, the dull buildings became more and more beautiful as the city centre obviously attracted the wealthier populace. There were shops and hawkers selling all manners of goods. Her nose was teased by the myriad of smells coming from roadside sellers roasting, baking, frying or grilling all types of meat. She passed a store where a large pot, black with soot outside, was boiling a dark, thick liquid that smelled of medicine. She took a step forward to satisfy her curiosity and peered into the pot. There were chunks of meat floating amidst the herbs. She wanted to ask the smiling old man what it was, but his attention was somewhere else. He greeted a man and her gaze followed his line of sight; a man hauled a pole over his shoulders and a row of fresh water turtles were hung upside down from it. The cook directed the man through an open door, which was obviously where he slaughtered the poor reptiles. He turned his attention back to her and asked if she would like a bowl of turtle soup, very good for health in the increasingly cold weather. Turtle, after all, was considered ‘hot’, a very important source of heat to maintain the body’s balance in winter.

  Would she like a bowl? “Yucks.” She stormed off.

  Next to the soup seller, a man stood beside a trough filled with burning coal. He turned the spit, and the roasting hog rotated with it. The fat under its skin crackled and just that sound was enough to cause her stomach to growl. Roasted meat of a pig, something she never ate on the Steppes, but grew to love wandering with the pork-eaters of the Middle Kingdom. Zhao and Long were already there, ordering slices of it wrapped in bun. The white wheat buns soaked the fat and softened the bread. She smiled appreciatively at Long as he handed her a bun. By the Sky Father, what a taste! Her appetite had improved tremendously after just an hour on solid ground. She thought her desire for food was forever destroyed by the never-ending ride on the boat that brought them here. No more fish, turtle or anything that lived in water for her. She swore she would never eat anything without four legs or wings. She took another bite, warm grease dripping down her chin.

  They continued walking until they passed the city centre. There was a major intersection where wheeled vehicles and horses competed with the walking masses. He led the group through the opposing streams of people and vehicles that could knock them over. They passed the danger and entered another series of long, winding alleys that now led them away from the centre. They passed through an area where people became fewer, and soon there was no life of any sort, just long, winding alleys lined by endless grey walls. There were graffiti on the walls and once in a while, Zhao seemed to stop and study them before proceeding onward, leading the silent group into an uninhabited area. At the end of the pathway, the obstructing walls gave way to an open area, where a run-down warehouse stood. Made of the ubiquitous grey brick, the building stood three stories tall. Its windows were nailed shut and its roof, made of tiles, was broken. There was nobody to be seen at this isolated part of the city. The only sound they could hear was the breeze and some distant cawing of a crow. A gust of wind came and stirred the dust clouds and debris around the derelict building. Yula looked at the place with no expression on her face, but her hand moved subconsciously over the hilt of her weapon. Long swallowed visibly and his hands did the same. Only Zhao looked unperturbed. He walked forward and pushed the door. The wooden door opened with a painful creak, like an old man forced to move against his will, exposing an interior of broken furniture and wrecked fittings. Collapsed beams, spider webs and piles of dust accumulated over the decades welcomed them. Zhao stepped into the interior and looked up and around, surveying the place until he saw a dark, disused stairway. The placed smelled of disuse and mildew. He signalled to Long, who drew his sabre and took the steps up while Yula covered his back. Zhao proceeded into the dark belly of the derelict warehouse until the darkness swallowed him.

  Long Wu took one step at a time, carefully placing each step one ahead of the other. He made sure that the balls of his foot landed first; slowly adding more pressure until his weight is balanced before laying the rest of his foot onto the floor. This way, the old wood would not creak. He painstakingly repeated the process up the stairs until he reached the second storey. The entire floor was pitched dark except for a broken window at the far end. It allowed a ray of weak light to steal in like a burglar, but it did not penetrate the dark interior. He turned away from the light to adjust his eyes before he approached the first room. As they entered the darkness, Yula turned her back towards him so that she they were back to back; she faced the direction they had just came from and covered his back. The first chamber was huge but empty. There was nothing to hide there. After a brief walk-about, Long signalled to leave. He checked the floor to make sure there were no trap doors or secret openings. They entered the next room. Nothing. And slowly and cautiously, they made sure the second storey was empty and held no nasty surprises. They proceeded on towards the third and highest storey.

  Zhao entered a warren of chambers on the ground floor. The second section of the vast empty warehouse consisted of small rooms. They were offices and bedrooms. He could tell from the furniture. There were platform beds in several rooms; the long wooden platforms could sleep several people at one time. On it were rolls of rotting weaved mats used by labourers. This was a room for the workers. Next he came to the kitchen. Rows of utensils, pots, woks and other things used in the preparation of food for several people were still there. It smelled old, oily and dusty, as though some phantom cook had used it. In the kitchen, there was a well, and it was covered, as all wells usually were.

  The third and highest floor was partially exposed to the elements due to a caved-in section of the roof. Visibility here was better because it allowed the full, winter moon that had just risen, to illuminate the place. He turned around to check Yula’s progress and the corner of his eye, the part of the human optical organ that is most sensitive to movement caught a slight disturbance in the shadows. Long immediately lowered his body and hid behind the low wall along the stair. Yula did the same in case an ambusher had arrows or darts ready. Sabres ready, they peeked. Nothing. No movement. They waited, breathing slowly, they braced themselves for action.

  Zhao was about to step out of the disused kitchen when he heard a scrape; a soft tell-tale sign he was not alone. He slowly turned until his body was out of the door, yet facing into the kitchen where the scrape came from. He heard it again. His hand reached into his bundled leather and slowly withdrew his sabre without sound. He squinted into the dark as his senses pin-pointed the source of the sound - the covered well. He took a deep breath then he burst into action with lightning speed. He spun around and his sabre came up faster than the eye could see. The only indication he moved was the snatch of moonlight stolen and returned by the steel of his blade. And its sharp edge touched the nape of the man who stood behind him.

  TWENTY FOUR

  Early that day, the grand admiral’s entourage had sailed into the ancie
nt port city of Quanzhou. Quanzhou sat at the southern tip of the empire facing the area that was vital to Chinese traders – Nanyang ‘the southern oceans’. It was from there that wealth flowed into the empire from the spice traders. This region was the start of the maritime Silk Road. From silk, tea and porcelain to spices and sandalwood, the city teemed with products. Exotic fish could be found in its markets and all manners of strange marine animals which lived in the warm southern waters were sold. The city itself had more than half a million inhabitants of every race and religion. The harbour was hailed by Marco Polo as the ‘largest he had ever seen.’ Ships of all sizes, ranging from the sampan to the many-mast junks, bobbed in its harbour. Here, there was a sizable Muslim community, and it was the place where the admiral hired his sailors and closest officers.

  Zheng He arrived with his senior staff to meet the governor of Quanzhou city. The port was a major calling city for the Treasure Fleet when it sailed the following year. It was the place for the fleet to pick up the myriad goods it needed to bring wealth to its southern subjects as well as to ensure a lively trade for the thousands of merchants who sailed with the grand admiral. The chief naval officer met the governor to agree on important matters that supported such a vast effort before begging release to visit the tomb of the Disciples of the Prophet who brought the holy word to the empire. Those men of the past underwent great difficulty to fulfil their religious duty, and the admiral could not call himself a devout Muslim without paying his respects. He left his senior staff to work out the details with the governor’s quartermaster corps before heading to the Lingshan Hills to offer incense at the tomb. The tomb was a crescent-shaped construction and its winding corridors signified the holiness of the place. The governor accompanied his esteemed guest and stood a respectful distance while the admiral prayed.

  After the prayers, the governor invited Zheng He to a meal as protocol dictated. However the meal was short as the grand admiral did not fancy the traditional forms of entertainment reserved for the wealthy and the powerful -- wine and women. As a Muslim he could not touch the former and as a eunuch he had not need for the latter. The meal also did not include the traditionally important roasted suckling pig because Zheng He could not eat pork. Still, the governor brought out his best tea and toasted the grand admiral according to his rank. The eunuch had the ear of the emperor as well as a command far larger than the army at Quanzhou. Moreover, Zheng He’s reputation was magnificent; he was a discoverer of lands and the bringer of knowledge and prestige to the realm. Even the emperor was in awe with the eunuch, much less a city governor. When the governor asked out of courtesy if the eunuch would require any other act of hospitality, he asked where he could go to perform his evening prayers? It was there that he found the solace he needed; a port of quiet while the storm raged inside him.

  The governor had suggested the largest mosque in the city – the Qingjing Si – Mosque of Tranquillity. The imposing building was situated by the city wall. In front of it were the foreign quarters, the fanfang, where the Arab traders who built the mosque and used it resided. The governor sent his men to clear the mosque of the devotees and posted a guard around the massive building. Although Zheng He had protested mildly, as all worshippers were equal before god, the governor would not listen. The man did not dare to risk anything happening to the emperor’s confidante under his watch. He did not relish a one-way trip to Beijing to answer why a man as important as Zheng He could suffer a mishap in his city. The inner area would be guarded by Zheng He’s bodyguard, all Muslims, to give him privacy. When the admiral’s carriage arrived after a journey through the narrow, cobbled streets, he stood before the impressive stone gates and admired the Damascene design. He had never been to Central Asia but the architecture filled him with a yearning to visit the heart of his religion. Up north, the mosques were more Han in design and they somehow did not tug his heart as the middle-eastern designs would.

  The grand admiral passed through its gates and entered into the sanctuary, passing under the carved decree given by the Emperor Yong Le in 1407 protecting the rights and freedom of the Muslims to worship here – something largely due to his influence. Black-green granite is rare in southern China, which made the construction even more impressive. He looked upward at the dome to admire the Arabic calligraphy carved and inlaid into the black-green granite that seemed to spiral heavenward, like ancient prayers arising to heaven. Next to the script were inlays of flowers, red, green and purple, each flower distinctly carved from coloured stone and laid into the granite. Around him were the tall pillars reaching up to heaven like the hands of supplicants; they supported the roof and the amazing dome of the mosque. Archways surrounding the prayer hall allowed the faithful to enter the rectangular room facing Mecca, but today he was alone. He continued to look; amazed at the architecture that seemed to speak of eternity. The mosque he stood in was build more than four hundred years ago. Like the teachings of the Prophet, this building would stand the test of time whereas man would go from dust to dust. The thought humbled him and suddenly all his achievements became meaningless. All that remained was the everlasting. That helped him frame the right perspective he needed to commit treason. The grand admiral knelt before the Fengtian altar and prayed for wisdom. His knees felt the chill emanating from the cold stone floor. The room was colder than the autumn air outside: The hard stones surrounding him were as cold as the world. He tightened his fur coat and moved his lips. Perspiration beaded on his forehead despite the low temperature. Only heaven knew how much he needed it to deal with the turmoil in his heart. When one was considering disloyalty, the storm inside was greater than the monsoon hurricane that lashed the coast of the Middle Kingdom. He needed to calm the raging sea inside him before tomorrow. He valued the solitude of the place after a day of frantic meetings that would make Quanzhou a busy place when the Treasure Fleet sailed the following year.

  He started to weep. In his mind, the image of Wen Xuan came, Wen Xuan the young man and Ma Sanbao the boy. Then Wen Xuan the middle-aged man and Sanbao in a suit of armour; drafted into the Prince of Yan’s army. Then he saw the final one of Wen Xuan the old man and Zheng He, the grand admiral of the Ming. The elderly eunuch had guided him like a son through every phase of his life, but the man was now gone. The eunuch wept and begged for the soul of Wen. Suicide would lead to eternal damnation, for who has the power to take one’s life except god? Zheng He pleaded Allah to have mercy on Wen. For all his goodness, Wen was an unbeliever and worst, a killer of self. He interceded before the Divine that no man, without divine strength, would be able to resist the Eastern Depot. And Wen should not be blamed for he was a good man who gave his life, albeit wrongly, to protect the innocent. He started to struggle again with the question of treason. Would following Wen’s instructions be tantamount to betrayal? Love for his teacher clashed with the loyalty to the emperor who promoted him. Yong Le had been good to him as well. Raising him from nothing to the highest rank in the navy was no small favour. It was not something Zheng He was prepared to repay with disobedience. He knelt down and the weight of the matter pressed deep. Tear drops fell as he recalled images of the Prince of Yan praising him, toasting him after each campaign, recognising his courage and skills. And finally, the image of the Prince of Yan, now the Emperor Yong Le, rewarding him for his bravery in the civil war against the former emperor Jian Wen. He felt the guilt fill him and crush him from inside. How could he have helped Yong Le destroy Jian Wen? And images of Jian Wen came, a young boy smiling, crying, and laughing; the young prince putting a coat over a cold, drenched slave boy. Memories of a warm friendship filled his soul when he recalled how the young prince had transcended hierarchy and became his friend. He could not stop a smile forming on his face even as he wrestled with the thought of betrayal.

  Conflicting images flooded his mind as another part of him screamed the ugly word ‘Traitor’. He remembered the battles he had fought and won under Yong Le. How a gangly teen was fitted with armour and a sword thrust into his
hands, to the day he commanded armies under the Prince of Yan. The prince rewarded him well and gave him his confidence by elevating him to become the highest ranking officer in the largest navy in the whole world. To rescue the enemy of one’s benefactor would be the epitome of ungratefulness. A part of him wished he wasn’t in this position and he blamed his mentor. If only the old man had not been so persuasive! But Wen Xuan had taught him and guided him, so there was no way the elderly man could not have known how Zheng He’s mind would work. Moreover, Wen was his teacher and to disobey a teacher is the same as challenging one’s father or emperor. But Wen had the force of morality behind his plea. Yong Le’s orders did not.

  Slowly it became clear to him which course of action he would choose. Between the images of a kindly old man teaching him patiently the ethics of a gentlemen, a smiling young boy who bestowed warmth and kindness, and a grateful, smiling emperor laying the imperial seal of Grand Admiral into the hands of a prostrating soldier, Zheng He saw it plainly. The Emperor Jian Wen loved him for who he was; the Emperor Yong Le treasured him for what he was. One was a friend and the other a master. A friend’s devotion had no shelf-life, but a master’s favour ends when one ceased to be useful; the way horses are sent to the abattoir when they could not longer run or walk. Loyalty to a tyrant or love for a friend, Zheng He found strength in the revelation. He stood up and straightened his aching knees and looked heavenward, his countenance bright. He felt strangely light. He turned and walked out of the prayer hall passing the lamps that lit the arches framing the long corridor leading out towards the front yard of the mosque. His stride was confident. The comment that he walked like a tiger could not be more apt as each step revealed the confidence and purpose he had. His chief of bodyguard was there and he turned towards the Grand Admiral. The senior officer just nodded his head and the bodyguard followed. The soldier that accompanied Zheng He was a man from the minority tribes like himself. He had served with Zheng He on both land and sea. He had saved Zheng He’s life before. Dressed in the battledress of a marine with leather armour girding his torso and a sabre at the waist, the man was always ready and vigilant. Zheng He trusted no one from the Han who had taken him so savagely from his kin. Despite his high station, he remembered. Even after so many years, Zheng He never really felt at home. Whenever he could, he visited the Muslim communities in the cities he stayed. There he could worship naturally, and could eat without worry. He could speak without fear and enjoy the oneness found among The People. Yes, no matter what station he held now, he was never a Han. Tonight’s epiphany strengthened his conviction that his choice was right. The only two people of the Han who cared about him deserved his reciprocation.