The Emperor's Prey

by Jeremy Han

  “To the point please. If you already know, then don’t beat around the bush.” Hong He looked at him with a sneer, goading him to hurry up. He was starting to feel disgusted with the bandit. But such was business, you never could pick who you like to work with sometimes. Or rather, sometimes you can’t choose who you can profit from.

  “We want you to look the other way.”

  “Uhuh?”

  “We want to raid the Liang Yang Chun ‘Bright Sun village’. And we do not wish to face any opposition from your soldiers.”

  “Hmmm...” Hong He nodded his head as he considered the request. It looked as though he was weighing a matter of national importance. Then he spoke solemnly,

  “I can’t do that. It is my duty to protect the baixing from people like you.” He spread his hands in a gesture of hopelessness.

  “It could be worth your while. Fighting can be nasty and it doesn’t profit either of us. I can’t share the spoils with you if I don’t carry out my business, and you don’t get promoted even if you win me.” The One-eyed Dragon winked.

  Hong He felt the insult but said nothing, because it was true. Although he knew the truth, he also needed to raise his own value by playing hard to get.

  “It will be hard to explain why no resistance were offered against you, the biggest bandit in the region.”

  The bandit continued, “There is a small local magistrate’s office in the village. It has a few policemen. Surely, they will send word to you for help, which you will respond – after we have left. The heroic magistrate sent word too late and the valiant Ming troops rushed there under the command of Commander Hong, alas….” He shrugged. The bandit looked proud of his script.

  “I will look stupid in front of my superiors.” Hong said. The bargaining has begun: he will look away for the right price. He looked stupid to his bosses anyway, so he might as well profit from it. The One-eyed Dragon said,

  “Twenty percent of the gold, twenty percent of the winter grain. And a bonus from the sale of slaves.”

  In war time, prisoners from captured territories were made slaves and eunuchs. In peacetime, the procurers had to be creative in ensuring their supply. The ethnic minorities were ideal targets; shunned by the Han authorities, poor and defenceless.

  “Thirty.”

  “Come on Commander, a man’s got to eat and feed his family. And his troops, surely, you can understand that right?” he spread his hands with open palms up like a reasonable man making a fair request.

  Hong He knew that he would get the price and so he smiled at the man and looked away, indicating that he was not in the mood to negotiate. What the heck, if he didn’t like it, he could have this man killed now by calling for his guards. But that was bad for business because no one would want to deal with him again. Worst, the bandits could gang up on him and destroy his puny garrison and then he would have lost everything.

  “Twenty five, no less.”

  “Done.” The bandit signalled the carriage and it came over.

  “What is that?” Hong indicated.

  “Consider it an advanced payment.”

  He smiled, pleased that the commander had a deal with him. This was a small price to pay to make the official happy. Curious, Hong walked over and opened the carriage door. There were two girls bound and gagged. One of them had tears streaming down her cheeks. Both were dressed in the costumes of the minority groups. And then the corrupt official started to laugh. He signalled for his men to take the two girls away. Then he turned toward the bandit, smiling,

  “A Pleasure.”

  Then he left. He was impressed by the bandit’s generosity but he could not show it. He smiled as he anticipated the pleasures awaiting him, a break from the company of filthy men and horses. The One-eyed Dragon bowed his head.

  The same evening, the One-eyed Dragon stood on a knoll overlooking the village he targeted. He liked what he saw; people returning back from work with no suspicion. The farmers in their distinctive black Miao outfits streamed back from the fields like rows of ants to their wooden houses in the misty valley. The evening mist rested on the black and brown wooden houses, covering the place with a softness that made one feel peaceful just by looking at it. Villagers carrying goods from the fields, water, firewood and various other food produces walked along the narrow paths that separated the plots of winter vegetables. The amazing thing about Miao houses was the absolute absence of nails. This was because the Miao people believed in the harmony of Man and Nature; putting a nail into the wood signified a breaking of the natural order of things. The wooden houses had tiled, sloping roofs and all of them looked the same. These structures were called Diao Jiao Lou. At the base of each house, a pile of stones were laid over and then trunks of wood that formed the pillars of the house were driven through this foundation of stone. This created an elevation for the house, which was useful in times of flood. Wooden or stone steps were crudely made to allow the inhabitants to enter the house. Often, ears of corn or other staple or condiments like dried chillies were hung along the balcony to dry. Paved roads linked household to household. Lamps and lanterns marked each home and guided people to their families. The villagers came down the undulating paths and vanished like ants into the winding pathways that were hidden by the close knit houses. Breaking the skyline of the uniform black garden patch was the drum tower; the centre of the village and its identity. The bandit noted it as the building to burn first. He loved raiding in winter. The cold made it easy to lull the peasants into complacency just like how the cold could turn the fiercest bear into a harmless, hibernating piece of fur. During the summer months when it was warm, some of the villagers would sleep in the open to beat the heat. During winter, everyone hid in their homes and thus when the robbers struck, it would be too late.

  He turned to his comrades who were either former soldiers or Han peasants who despised their lowly positions and sought to elevate themselves by becoming bandits. These were men who fell on hard times after being demobbed after the great campaigns. They were not from the region – just opportunistic men who followed a leader who could provide food, money and women.

  “Wait till night fall then we move.” He said in his raspy voice, his living eye gleamed hungrily while the dead counterpart remained unmoved. He was blinded by a Mongol who shot an arrow that nearly pierced his brain through his eye. Only pure luck saved him as he turned his head a fraction and the arrow only took the eye. His easy and affable demeanour before Hong He had disappeared. His face was hard and tone of his voice rough. Here was a man who had blood on his hands and tonight more would add to it.

  “Captain, the usual?” One of his men asked,

  “Yes. Take the food and animals, rape those you want, take those you want to keep. All children are to be taken to be sold as slaves. Males to the eunuch sellers and girls for the brothels.” After a pause and an irritated glare at the man who asked, the bandit leader said gruffly,

  “The rules don’t change until I say so. Don’t ask me again.”

  The mob laughed at the chided man and made insulting remarks at him: the camaraderie of thieves. Chuckles flew around as the men anticipated the excitement of a hunt against defenceless folks. There was also the sound of men going to war: clinking of metallic parts as equipment was readied; swords were drawn, and leather cuirasses were buckled and strapped. The joking and banter died and there was an air of seriousness. They were buccaneers before a raid. There was a clearing that they used as a staging base for the raid and parked side by side with the horses were the caged carts for the human cargo. The horse whinnied as they waited for the action to start. Darkness descended onto the village and the glow of torches and lamps punctuated the pitch black blanket covering the settlement. The bright moon illuminated the trails of smoke that were warming the families and cooking the evening meal for a village full of unsuspecting people, folks who did not know that their peaceful existence was about to be shattered forever. With a chuckle, the One-eyed-Dragon wore his helmet and then wav
ed his hand. They started to charge down the path leading into the village like a winter flood.

  The One-eyed Dragon kicked opened the door to the first house. The family inside jumped in shock at the sudden appearance of intruders and tried to huddle together for safety. The man of the house, dressed in black with a red turban dashed in front of his family with hands stretched in front; he was like a man trying to stop a flood of violence as the bandit leader drove his sword through his gut. Then the outlaws behind the One-eyed Dragon seized the mother of the house and separated her from the children; the children to be sold and she to be raped. The mother screamed her defiance and scratched the face of one of the bandits; he punched her so hard she passed out. She neither saw nor heard her devastated children screaming as they were dragged out of the house. The bandit leader shouted at his men,

  “Take them to the carts. Do not damage the goods!”

  After the men were gone, the One-eyed Dragon started to remove his belt and loosened his pants as he stood over the groaning, unconscious Miao woman. He laughed as his erection swelled with the thought of violence and rape. Everywhere, the scene was repeated except for the few instances where there was enough warning; those houses at the rear of the village were alerted by the commotion. The men rallied and offered resistance to allow their families to flee. They fought with farming tools and other household items that could be used as weapons. One of them drove a pitch fork into the gut of a bandit while another splashed hot cooking oil into the face of the outlaw who climbed through a window; he hacked the bandit with a machete as he tried to cover his face. The bandit died with his body half in the house and the other half dangling off the window sill, his face semi-cooked. The brave man ushered his family through a small door and sent them off to safety before he took an arrow in the back. Bandits gave chase and tried to corral the family before they disappeared into the darkness of the night.

  Hua Chen, a boy who was recently recruited into the One-eyed Dragon’s gang searched the house he raided. He had kicked the door down like he was taught to do and now that the door had opened, he panicked and did not know what to do. This was his first raid. He could hear the pulse in his ears as his blood raced with the adrenaline of being in power over the life and death of another person. He looked around; the house was empty except for the burning wood in the fire-place. There was a bed but it was untouched, and then he saw the half-eaten dinner on the table; the occupants couldn’t be too far. He gripped the sword in his hand and started to look around. The noise of the fighting outside almost masked the whimper, he heard the soft crying of a child and what he thought was a hushing sound. He followed the aural trail and found a grandfather and his child hiding in the store. The old man moved the small child behind him and lifted his hands in a gesture of begging. His old face was etched with sorrow and fear; not for himself but for his young grandson. He muttered something in Miao that Hua could not understand but the meaning was unmistakable:

  Spare us please!

  The child started to cry and tears rowed down the weathered face of the patriarch. Hua took a step forward. His heart started to beat even faster as the echoing instructions of the One-eyed Dragon reverberated in his head:

  “Kill the old and useless and take the children! Get rich! Be somebody!”

  He had not known it would be so difficult. When he was recruited by the bandit leader a week ago after he ran away from his parent’s farm, it had seemed so glamorous. Glory and wealth achieved by the strength of his arms, not sacks of rice from back-breaking, anonymous labour. He was wooed by the chance to be great; something that being a law-abiding farmer would never bring. So he joined the One-eyed Dragon and there he was, standing before his first test. He hardened his heart and took a step toward the beseeching old man. The old man gestured again,

  “Kill me if you want, spare the child.”

  His conscience raised its voice, telling him not to do it. “Turn back, run. It is no honour to kill the old and kidnap the weak.”

  Hua shivered. Then the One-eyed Dragon’s words echoed in his mind,

  “You look like a strong lad, but do you have what it takes to be real man? A man who is not afraid to shed blood and take what is not his by force?” The One-eyed Dragon had chuckled as he taunted the boy. “Cause if you dared to, then your future is limitless. After all,” he lifted both hands to emphasize his point, “all emperors build their empires by taking what is not theirs. Are you ready to act like an emperor? Or do you want to go home and look at your field for the rest of your life?”

  The desire to prove himself coupled with his eagerness to shed his farmer’s image and become accepted by the gang was a powerful opiate upon his conscience. His inner voice was completely drowned out by the thumping of his heart as he took the fateful step that brought him close enough to the old man; he drove the sword into his heart with all his might.

  The One-eyed Dragon surveyed the night’s work; houses were burning and people were trudged to slavery. He felt a sense of euphoria, the high feeling after sex and battle. He looked over to the line of women and children being led into the cattle carts on one side and the grain and goats being counted on the other and nodded his head satisfactorily. One of the women who passed him shouted a raging curse in a language he could not understand. She looked vaguely familiar. Was she the one he raped? As quickly as the question came, it dissipated. The working day was not over and he still had business to think about. Even after paying Hong He his share, the profits were handsome. Two men approached him but he did not bother to look at them. He continued to stare at his well-oiled team efficiently going about its task. Both men were in bloody attire.

  “Six dead and eight wounded.” The first one reported. “That’s our casualties for the night.”

  The One-eyed Dragon grunted and waved them away. He had his profit and loss now. Not too bad he thought. Six dead men would not be difficult to replace. His mind started to plan for the next assault and how much more he could make from raping the next village. Then he noticed the other man, or rather, an overgrown boy. His face brightened, “Hua my boy! How did your first raid go?” The One-eyed Dragon asked good naturedly like a coach enquiring how his student’s first test went.

  “Lord, you will be pleased. I captured a boy child with my own hands...after I killed his grandfather.” He looked like he was going to vomit but the One-eyed Dragon clapped him on the shoulder in an almost paternal way.

  “Good job! Well done! I can see a bright future for you.”

  The boy Hua Chen felt a burning sensation sear his conscience even as he felt the bandit clap his shoulder. He looked at the ground.

  FORTY EIGHT

  A month later after the One-eyed Dragon raided the Bright Sun Village, a letter was quietly placed before the grand admiral. Zheng He picked up the letter and read it. His face betrayed no emotion then he reached across his vast desk and burnt the letter over a desk lamp. He watched the flame consume the delicate rice paper slowly, releasing pale smoke upward. He looked at the pile of documents on his table, the stacks of paper that could conjure up a fleet of flesh and blood, of untold wealth and military power, and suddenly felt sick. He looked at his office, the chamber of the highest ranking naval officer of an empire and suddenly became self-conscious. He was a minority tribesman, a Muslim and a eunuch; he did not belong. Somewhere far and unknown, laid his best friend’s body in a cold, watery grave. Khun did not even get an Islamic burial. His best friend’s death reminded him that at the end of the day, he, like so many others who wore the uniform of the court did not belong. And would never belong. The Ming dynasty enslaved his people – him. Destroyed their bodies and enslaved their spirits before endowing them with power and wealth. He knew he was no better than a highly decorated beast of burden. Useful – that’s all.

  Khun was dead. Wen was dead. Khun who ran across the green fields in summer and pelted him with snow balls in winter, who sat side by side with him in the cattle cart rolling into captivity, who watched th
eir parents massacred together, was dead. Wen who taught him how to write and read, who took care of him when the other eunuchs, bitter half-men, unleashed their pent up frustration, both psychological and emotional, sometimes sexual on the young eunuchs. Young boy-eunuchs were the lowest in a hierarchy of this angst corps; the slightest reason could result in beatings and other forms of ‘discipline’. Zheng He knew of boy eunuchs beaten to death. They were slaves, no matter what. Wen who became a surrogate father and mentor to him was dead. Among the significant people in his life who cared for him, only Jian Wen was left. Khun and Wen died to protect the former emperor. Khun did not have the good fortune of knowing Jian Wen but had gone out anyway because Zheng told him to. Faithfully, he died because he did his friend a favour. Now, it fell to him. The shadow of treason still frightened him. The long years of slavery still held his soul in shackles. He closed his eyes as resolve flooded him. He was no longer the frightened little boy brought to a faraway land after his genitals were cut off. He had evolved into a tiger. While he was not stupid enough to fight the regime he hated openly, he would not abide by its tyranny either. His eyes flashed when he opened them again. Yes Khun was dead, but not forgotten. And his sacrifice would not be in vain. All the more Zheng must succeed if not he could never face those who made the ultieartmate sacrifice when they meet in eternity. Zheng He got onto his knees and said the Muslim prayer for the dead. He remembered it by heart from the years of study under his father’s strict instructions. His father had performed the Haj and wanted his son to follow in his adherence of the faith. He owed Khun that much. To pray for a fellow Muslim who died. He intoned, “Allahu Akbar” as he meditated the words in his heart “I intend to pray the Funeral Prayer for this dead Muslim.”