by Jeremy Han
He chanted in his own tongue, the dialect Khun understood, and not in the language of the Han,
“O Allah, forgive our dead and alive, our present and absent, our young and old, our male and female. Allah, whomever among us You gave life, let him live with Islam. Whomever among us you took life from, let him die with Imam. Allahu Akbar.”
He bowed. And then he ended the prayer with the words,
“O Allah, do not deprive us of the reward of our praying for him, and do not test us after him”.
Then he bowed again, his head touching the cold floor. He stood up and walked away from his office to resume his duties of inspecting the ships. The die was cast. He did not regret it. His tactical mind raced faster than his long strides. He anticipated what would happen next, and made mental preparations for it. This was war.
At the same time in the north, Ji Gang went through mentally what he would tell the emperor. Yong Le had returned from one of his ongoing campaigns in Koryeo. Ji entered the Forbidden City escorted by a eunuch. When he got there, he waited. Yes, hurry and wait. What is new? The commander, used to military life, mused. It was often a sign of one’s power to make another wait. After all, Ji made many others wait too. Well, he is the son of heaven, so all under heaven will revolve under him. He thought again. As the chief spy, he knew that palace walls had ears, and the closer to the emperor, the sharper the hearing. But no matter how good the hearing, spies could never hear a person’s thoughts. As a servant of the emperor, he knew what to say and what to think.
During the journey to the capital, his formidable mind had tried to put together the whole puzzle. He thought about the monks killed and temples razed. The boatman’s appearance to take them somewhere could not be a coincidence. Slowly he saw a pattern. From start to end, the mission had a coordinator. Since Wen was dead, someone else must be doing that. Who could this person be? If this person could arrange for them to be picked up right in the middle of nowhere, then the final escape route should have been decided too. If not, where would they go? To leave a well-hidden sanctuary to go nowhere did not make sense. So that would be the key to his quest. He can’t think of any other option for Jian Wen except to leave the country. If the Eastern Depot could dig him out of the eagle’s nest perching on a cliff, then there was no place safe for him in the empire anymore. Blood would follow him as long as he remained in the country and this, he was sure, would make the monk seek a place where violence could no longer trail him like a plague. Yes, the man’s kindness would also be his downfall. His refusal to see any more bloodshed for him would drive him toward the places that would allow him to leave the country. So all he needed to do was to put the nets in the right place. With the Haijin just lifted, only the imperial navy sailed far enough. The ‘Sea Prohibition’ was implemented by the first Ming Emperor to prevent the influx of foreign influence and to stop illegal activities with pirates from Japan. But Yong Le lifted it. But due to the restrictions on ship sizes during the ban, only the navy had vessels that could go far. Although there were fisher folk who took to the seas, but this was winter so the choices were limited. And fishermen could not go far, not with the limitations placed on their ship sizes. So this meant that Jian Wen’s only escape route was to sail with the Imperial Fleet. He weighed this carefully; Zheng He was the emperor’s protégé. To accuse him of treason would be dangerous: it was tantamount to accusing the emperor of having bad judgement. But then again, Zheng He’s fleet was vast. It could be the work of underlings who were invisible within the web of bureaucracy that made up the fleet. He had to find a way to penetrate that web. Then his reverie was shattered by the eunuch’s call.
FORTY NINE
The Emperor strolled into the waiting room casually. Like a master, he walked to his chair and sat down. Ji Gang was on his knees with his forehead to the ground.
“Rise, rise. No need for such ceremony between old soldiers eh?” The emperor waved his hand, gesturing for him to get up. He laughed and the sound boomed across the room. It was true that the Prince of Yan was a soldier’s soldier. He respected his generals and officers and did not behead the talented ones like his father. And Ji was one of his generals indeed; a viceroy in the unseen war. But Ji knew he was a smart user of talent; Yong Le did not have any genuine feelings for his servants. He had never let his guard down whenever he was in the presence of this ruler. Ji stood before the emperor and took a minute to compose himself. The monarch looked terrible. So the rumours were true. The emperor returned from the front because of ill-health. He looked haggard and his face sagged. Dark eye rings framed his eyes, which were unfocused. Immediately Ji Gang knew why he had been recalled. The emperor’s sickness was not of the body but of the mind. The man had not been sleeping when he needed to rest most. The warrior-king did not fall ill easily, but a guilty conscience could erode a man’s spirit just as easily as disease could lay waste to the body. The emperor was living in the fear of his disposed nephew and his phantom army. While his heavy infantry and cavalry took on the Mongols and the Koryeo kingdom, he was afraid an army will rise up behind his back. Ji was not superstitious and believed that anything could be killed with the right weapon. Even more so, he did not believe in the nonsense of a man leading an army of spirits. He could not help but think that guilt wrecked the fine mind of the emperor and reduced him to this pathetic state. All the more he must be careful with what he said.
After a servant poured Ji a cup of fragrant wine, he ordered the commander of the Eastern Depot to report. Ji summarised the hunt as best as he could. Most of the earlier details were already sent to the emperor so he quickly recapped them before he gave the emperor his analysis, which as head of the secret service, was the point of the whole meeting. He already worked out how he would tell the emperor about the suspicion that Jian Wen would escape on the Imperial Fleet. He would plant the clues and let the emperor join the dots.
“I am sure Jian Wen is heading toward the sea. That would be the only logical escape for him.”
The emperor grunted as he adjusted his weight. It was affecting him badly. Ji could see that there was a great imbalance of qi in the monarch’s body. Once he could have leapt on a warhorse without effort; he now found it hard to sit straight on a comfortable chair lined with fur. The emperor said,
“I have sent Zheng He to look for him. Maybe I have been looking at the wrong place.” He thought aloud. His face darkened as ominous thoughts filled his mind. Ji quickly added, “Of course we have no evidence that the Grand Admiral is involved. His fleet is huge, and we have seen how deeply planted the Jian Wen faction is within the entire government service. It is entirely possible that the admiral is unaware of the plot against your Majesty.”
It was not time to make an enemy out of the admiral yet; he had no proof. Zheng He belonged to the emperor himself. Also, to accuse the Son of Heaven of making a mistake was to impugn the authority of heaven. That could lead to losing one’s head.
“Purge the navy.” The emperor said in a low and gravelly voice laced with menace; his countenance another shade darker as he contemplated the treachery against him. Those three words could have destroyed years of hard work but to the emperor, nothing was more costly than his rein on power.
“Majesty, I suggest that we do not do that.” This was the dangerous moment. Ji had thought long and hard how to convince the emperor.
“State your reason.” Yong Le was vicious but he wasn’t stupid. He knew that there was wisdom in his men; that was why he had promoted them in the first place. He was not so egoistical that he failed to realise that he could not run an empire by himself.
“We are in the open, Jian Wen is in the dark. The only light that is drawing the moth to us is the promise of escape in the Treasure Fleet. If we purge the navy, they will just disappear into the vastness of the country again. Let them come. There are only a few ports that the Treasure Fleet will stop at. Those will be our nets. Let the navy be, so that they will come to us, the hope of escaping fuelling their headlong dash i
nto our arms.” Ji emphasised his point by indicating at the few insects hovering around the lamps, coming closer and closer until one of them got singed and fell to the ground.
The Yong Le emperor smiled. He nodded his head and stroked his beard. His eyes lit up and he chuckled. It was the low sound of a predator. He smiled at his Head of Intelligence and dipped his head in approval. Then he got up and walked out of the chamber. Except for one last instruction, the emperor did not turn back to glance at his kneeling servant.
“You have until the fleet sail to catch the traitor. Or else...”
A bead of perspiration fell off Ji’s forehead. The emperor had bought his reasoning. Now he had to deliver the results.
FIFTY
As Jian Wen’s entourage made their way down the hill along a muddy path, they saw that the path ahead was lined with plum tree blossoms. The trees seemed to stretch unto the horizon; its soft pinkish white flowers touching the blue sky. It was beautiful and it also signalled that the weather was becoming warmer. The plum tree blossoms announced when winter was ending and spring was approaching. Also, for the last month, the team was heading south toward the great coastal city of Quanzhou where the climate was milder. But it was still a long way to go and soon they would have to take refuge again. They passed numerous hill villages and settlements, sticking to the rural areas to ensure that they were not spotted by their enemies. They passed farmers on their way to somewhere with their grey ducks marching in front. Or villagers sitting on a cart loaded with fire wood. Nobody cared about a group of dishevelled travellers and a gaunt looking monk. As long as they did not come asking for money or alms, it was fine. Money was not the thing they lacked; they had the secret funds handed over by Wen for their mission, but they never flaunted it. They were in a place where people were poor so they blended in. They did not take refuge in Yunnan because Khun Sa was no longer with them to navigate them through the strange south western province. Yunnan was already pacified by the Ming and had a stronger presence there. Unless they had an insider like Khun, it was dangerous to go there. So they headed south from the region of Chongqing and headed south to Guizhou. From Guizhou, they would eventually reach Fujian. The province was remote and still relatively under-populated by the Han so they reckoned that the government network here would be weaker than the established provinces.
In the past month or so, they had crossed mountains and forests, rivers and streams. Finally the high cliffs of the Great River were far behind them. Now they made their way slowly down hill passing the forests of pine, cedar and spruce. They hoped they could find a sizable town to rest. Tough as they were, living in broken country temples or filthy barns took a toll on their morale. Inwardly, all of them wished they could find a proper inn to wash, rest and eat decently. Zhao Qi reasoned that they were far away enough to break surface and appear in civilisation before they go underground again as they neared the port city. So they went trudging forward. Soon, the mud path gave way to a paved road lined with fallen plum blossoms; it looked as though a welcome carpet was laid for them.
The paved road led to a set of stone stairs lined with moss so they took care as they descended. The party continued to walk until they heard the sound of rushing water; they came before a beautiful wooden bridge sitting on stone pillars. The bridge was sheltered and at intervals, punctuated by steep pagodas. The walls of the bridge were beautifully engraved with ethnic motifs and told the story of some ancient legend. This was a Wind and Rain Bridge. It was built by the Dong minority people of Guizhou; it was a cross between a stone bridge and a wooden one. It was long like a corridor filled with wooden rails and pillars that stretched in a symmetrical straight line so that when one stood at the end, one saw only one set of pillars or rail. When they stepped onto the bridge, it felt solid; the wood did not creak. The amazing thing was its method of construction; the entire thing did not have a single nail. All joints were dovetailed nicely so that the whole structure sat solidly inter-joined together: a great symbol of strength in togetherness. After crossing the bridge, they saw the town that sat at the valley before them. The town was surrounded by green fields, another sign of the milder climate here. There was another flight of stairs hugging the undulating spine of a knoll that led to the front of the village. They ascended the stairway and followed the flag-stoned pathway until they could see the buildings ahead. Their faces lit up. Even Jian Wen seemed happy at the thought of hot tea, warm food and a bath. Of course food and drink was not the only comfort they seek. The lovers had been inconvenienced by the lack of privacy in the spartan accommodation they had for the past month. It had been difficult for anything more than lying down next to each other. They held hands and a similar electrifying thought filled their minds simultaneously. As they continued passed a clump of bamboo, the town gate stood out and as they approached, something else became obvious too.
Zhao tensed. Why is the town empty?
As Zhao took in this fact, he recalled that over the last few days, they had encountered less and less people. But now as they come into the open again, the absence of life was too inconspicuous to ignore. There was nobody farming the fields in the middle of the day and there were no people going on the various businesses that made up the mosaic of life. They stood below the arches that signified the boundary of the town. They looked at each other uneasily and then they entered.
As they stepped foot on the main thoroughfare, the only movement they saw was the lonely dance of dead lanterns in the wind, the only sound they heard was their laboured breathing. They looked around and saw buildings with windows boarded up and doors sealed. Inns were closed and shops had planks nailed across their doors like giant bandages covering a gaping wound. There was not a soul around. Tension replaced disappointment. They did not expect to arrive at a ghost town yet they were here and the place intrigued them. Hands slowly touched weapons as they glanced around. Zhao clenched his fist. Fu Zhen gripped his staff with a little more pressure. The Acrobat held his daughter’s hand tighter like any protective father would do. With his other hand, he quietly withdrew a throwing dart from his tunic. The lovers bringing up the rear fanned out on both sides of the emperor to protect him. Long’s hand fell to the handle of the sabre while Yula armed her short Mongolian bow. They walked toward the centre of the town.
Zhao signalled a halt. It was too dangerous to proceed further without any intelligence. He pointed to a pagoda that sat desolate; its doors broken and unhinged. After checking out the building, they went up to the highest floor, and from there they could look over the town. All streets were deafeningly silent and devoid of movement. The commander surveyed his surroundings and made his tactical decisions. He gave his instructions.
“Majesty, please stay here while we check out the town. As you can see something’s not right.” Then he turned to the team,
“Yula, stay here and be our eyes. Your bow will cover us if we need to retreat to the pagoda. Li Jing, check out the north.
“Gotcha.” Li disappeared down the stairs with the agility of a monkey.
“Fu Zhen, you take the south. Long, the east and I will cover the west. The rest of you stay,” Then they were gone. The man nicknamed the Farmer ran stealthily from corner to corner. He was observant and tried to find as many clues as possible, mentally registering the little details everywhere. Each time he passed a house, he would try to find a way to peer into it. Through a window, a door ajar, or through a broken-down wall, the small man tried to put together what could have happened. Some of the homes were built on stilts so he had to climb a short flight of steps to look within. Ever careful of ambushes, he scampered lightly through the street like a cat. Each turn added depth to the mystery of the place. Doors were left unlocked, things were stolen or broken. He rounded each corner expecting a fight with an unseen nemesis. Each time he felt a flood of relief when he rounded a corner and there was no assailant waiting for him, only to feel it drain away at the next corner as the unseen waited to be discovered. He turned again and before h
im stretched a lonely street. There were some abandoned carts lying along the side of the road and they obscured the doors of some houses. His instincts went on alert. Something was here, just behind the carts blocking his view. He could sense it. Instead of approaching it head on, he circled it until he could look at it from an angle. The door to a residential compound was opened and he could barely make out a lonely form inside. As he took another step closer he could hear singing, a dirge surprisingly devoid of emotions. It sounded like a matter-of-fact mono-dialogue with spirits. He approached the opening from the side so that whoever was inside, man or spirit, could not see him. His hands tightened on the staff as he raised the weapon. The singing became clearer, the melody was haunting and in a language he could not understand. But one thing was clear - the voice was very very old and extremely sorrowful. Human emotions are universal and even the barrier of language could not mask it.
