by Jeremy Han
“Damn it! Damn it!” cursed Hua Chen. His heart was beating fast and he breathed raggedly as he tried to cope with a situation he was not trained for. He was a gangster and a bully, not a soldier or a commander. Little did he know that he was being driven like a rat into a cage.
Yula eyed him like a straw man put atop a horse. That was how the Mongols learnt to shoot; a scarecrow was mounted on the saddle of a horse. The horse moved and they tried to hit the moving target. Her breathing was calm and subconsciously she felt each heartbeat, measuring the rhythm until nothing else existed in the universe except the target framed in her eye and the pulses that told her when her body was still enough to shoot accurately. It was an intimate moment between the hunter and the prey when the entire universe revolved between them. In between heartbeats, she held her breath and loosed an arrow. The hand movement was gentle and graceful so that the arrow would sail straight instead of being jerked upward. The projectile pierced the rider through the throat and she thought she heard a muddled grunt before seeing the man fall off the horse. She yelled,
“Shoot the hell out of them!”
The alleyway below came alive with the sound of stones pelting against flesh and bone like a rain of hale. Two rows of shooters lined the roofs of the houses that lined the pathway where the bandits were trapped. The Miao were shooting and shouting expletives and curses; the fat butcher, in particular, was shouting his heart out, getting all the pent up rage out of his system. Most of the bandits were not killed immediately, but they fell down after the being hit by stones. A few of them were bloodied. Hua laid on the ground as his blood soaked the sand around him. “It was not supposed to be like this. Mama...I want to come home. I know I am wrong now...I should have listened to you....” The last thing he saw was one of his men shot at the back, the arrow protruding through the front by almost half a foot.
Then suddenly the pelting stopped and before them, another man appeared. This man was unarmed. Between the three attacking demons from the back and one lone attacker at the front, the remaining bandits gambled wrongly. In their fear and rage, they charged at Zhao Qi. The first bandit’s spear missed Zhao; the commander was now behind him. Zhao elbowed him in the throat as he tried to turn and respond to the threat. The man reeled backward from the blow, his Adam’s apple crushed. Then Zhao ducked a cleaving blow from a huge man. He could hear the air being sliced by the blade and then he twisted his torso to generate power. Zhao punched rapidly, hitting the man repeatedly until he fell where he stood. Another man tried to seize the opportunity and attack the commander. Zhao moved in to block the slashing arm with one hand while his fingers clamped around the neck. He lifted and twisted his torso at the same time to slam the man onto the floor. Then the commander somersaulted over the fallen man to do a drop-kick at an onrushing attacker, catching him full in the chest with a one-two kick. Before him, four men were down in less than three seconds. The one with the crushed Adam’s apple gurgled his life away while the others lay on the ground with broken bones and damaged organs. Zhao had not held back his strength. These wicked people deserved his full treatment. Within full sight of the dead, dying and fleeing, the men clad in black gathered and kneeled before Zhao Qi,
“Commander Hong, please give us your instructions.” They said as one loudly in the Han language.
“Kill them all.”
FIFTY FIVE
The One-eyed Dragon frowned. He had fretted the whole night when the raiding party did not return. All sorts of suspicious thoughts of the young Hua Chen betraying him in a thousand different ways filled his mind. He could not control himself as his mind raced over how he would deal with the treacherous boy when he caught him. Maybe the boy took the prisoners and sold them? Maybe the boy wanted to rebel against him? Maybe this and perhaps that. But he did not consider the fact that the boy was dead; only how he had betrayed him. His face scowled and turned even darker. The men knew something was amiss and avoided him. When the Dragon was in a foul mood, he could even turn murderous. Then suddenly there was a commotion from the gate of his camp that tore the bandit king from his spell. At last, he would get some answers. He strode out of his pavilion, toward the gate where his men were gathering. There would be hell to pay for any betrayal.
Instead of Hua Chen, before him was a bandit half-dead. He was coughing blood and looked beyond any help. Yet he had returned to tell last night’s tale. Eager for news, the One-eyed Dragon pushed the crowding men aside and knelt before the dying man.
“Tell me!” He screamed.
He was not as concerned about the man’s well-being as he was about the mysterious disappearance of his raiding team. He still believed Hua had killed his men and ran off with his bounty. Hua must have found another buyer. Once he had gotten the facts, he would hunt the boy down and skin him alive. The One-eyed Dragon would make an example of him.
“Am...am...ambush.”
“What? Where is Hua Chen? Tell me where is the traitorous son of a mongrel?!” The One-eyed Dragon screamed at the man, not caring that his spittle was raining on the hapless man.
“Dead. Shot through the throat...It was an expert shot. He was shot off the horse.”
“Dead? Hua is dead? How?”
“We were ambushed at the town. We had no chance...” He said, gasping now for breath.
“Where are the rest? So many of you went!”
“All dead. Except two of us. Song Lu died on the way back due to wounds. I am the only one left.” The One-eyed Dragon’s eye glanced over the wounded man, only now realising that the man’s wounds were mortal. There were no open wounds, so most of his injuries were internal. The One-eyed Dragon could picture how the organs inside the wounded man had turned to mush. Whoever did this was highly skilled.
“Who...who ambushed you?” The bandit leader asked softly. Shock had taken the wind out of his lungs.
“Soldiers. They were highly skilled...not Miao...not peasants. They used Han weapons...practiced kung fu.” The man coughed blood from his crushed lungs.
The Dragon knew he did not have much time left so he needed to make the most of it. “Tell me! He screamed. Tell me who is encroaching on my turf!”
“They...they...called him Commander Hong...the man who ordered our deaths.” Rage built up in the One-eyed Dragon until a flash of red filled his eyes and pain shot up his head. He screamed in anger and drew his dagger. To everyone’s surprise, his fury overtook his senses and he plunged the blade into the dying man’s chest repeatedly, screaming unintelligibly over and over again. Blood splattered over the bandit leader until he was bathed in it but, he was oblivious. Some of those who were close enough heard him screaming sounded something like ‘Hong He” over and over again.
As dawn broke far away from the One-eyed Dragon’s camp, its gentle light fell onto the town where the bandits were slaughtered so unceremoniously the night before. Birds chirped and welcomed the sun. The whole scene was deceptively peaceful, as though the passage of time had erased the violence of the previous night. It might have been possible except for the slew of broken corpses below them. The smell of blood mingled with the freshness of the morn. Yula sat on the roof where she had shot Hua with Long Wu; they had volunteered to watch the approaches to the town to make sure no one else had come. The rest went to sleep. As the golden sunlight bathed the buildings in an orange yellow tinge, she murmured to her lover, whose shoulder her head rested on, “Another day.” Her voice drawled dreamily, as though the serenity unfolding before her was unreal.
“The man you shot...”
“What about it?”
“It seems he was only a boy.”
“So...you rather I didn’t?”
“No...it’s war.” He replied matter-of-factly. “In war, people die; if you are on the wrong side.” Subconsciously, he touched his sword; the blood on the blade had been cleaned off but the iron tang had not subsided.
“Yes. Another fight, but how many more?”
“Let us hope not too many more.” He squeeze
d her hand.
“I am tired.”
“So am I, Lover. So tired of killing to live.”
They got up. Some townsfolk were coming their way to relieve them. They went back to the grain house and slept while Zhao and the rest planned their next move. For a few hours, they were at peace.
Zhao Qi and Jian Wen walked around the town surveying the place as well as to take the chance to talk. In bright day light, the town looked different. It seemed that the action last night had brought some life back to the town folk. The oppressive fear and gloom seemed to have evaporated and people smiled at them as they emerged from their hiding places. But the duo knew that this was not a long term solution. Until Hong He and the One-eyed Dragon destroyed each other, the people were not safe. Even then, there would be another corrupt official and another bandit who would be in cahoots. They circled the town and when they reached the edge of it, they stepped onto a path that took them down a path lined with plum trees that had started to bud, the sprinkling of pink patches brightening the scene.
“You are right, Majesty. There is no permanent solution to this. There will be another official who will avert his eyes for the right amount of money.”
Jian Wen nodded his head. “There is only one solution.”
“Which is?”
They paused. Jian Wen turned back and looked at the town. It was at a distance now. “I fear the only chance they could have would be to learn how to defend themselves.”
“Wouldn’t that foster rebellion in the future?” Zhao asked, his voice rising slightly, shocked at the suggestion.
“Rebellions are not the fault of the people but of the court. If Hong He had done his duty, the Miao would not suffer today. If the Ming had not wished to protect the tribes, they should not have subjugated them. No one rebels against the father and mother who provide and protect them, do they? Moreover, the people are defending themselves against bandits, not the court.”
“But what if one day, they rise against the court?”
“Then that will be the day the court had failed and deserved to be thrown out. The Mandate of Heaven is given to defend the min ‘people’ not to exploit them.” Then Jian Wen turned and looked at Zhao, explaining to him like a child,
“Empires are not meant to be forever. Nothing in this world is. Do not look at the institution of the court as the bed rock of the universe, or as the foundation of this country. Righteousness, goodness and morality are the key. The court should embody all these but often it does not. We may not change things on the level of the state but we can save a life here. Where ever we go, we do good to the people. And at this stage, what they need to survive is to learn how to fight.”
“I thought as a monk, you would not advocate violence.” Zhao remarked. Vapour rose from his mouth in the cold air.
Jian Wen gazed toward the sky as he replied, “The Shaolin monks have upheld this principle for hundreds of years. They use their martial prowess to fight against bandits. They use violence as a means to protect, not to destroy. Everything in the universe has its purpose and must be used correctly, violent force included. To deny this reality is to delude ourselves, and one cannot be at peace if one cannot understand the true nature of the universe and accept it.”
Zhao nodded his head. “We will train them then. We have until spring.” Then they turned back to the village.
As Li Po slept, her father the Acrobat and Fu Zhen talked by a stream. The adrenaline from the fight last night had evaporated and the grateful wonder of being alive brought the two old friends into conversation. The stream was special; its water flowed from a hot spring and the two men soaked their feet in the warm water, a nice respite from the cold. The heat soothed their tired legs. They could feel their age. A gentle steam rose as the warm water mixed with the frigid air.
“What do you think? We will stay here for long?”
“Not too long, I hope.”
“But we have nowhere else to go until spring. We need the shelter.”
“It will be bad for Li Po. I can go anywhere, sleep anywhere, but my girl is young. Li Po will like it here among the cherry tree blossoms.”
A good father. Thought Fu Zhen. His friend never thought about himself, only what is best for his daughter. Still he voiced his concern,
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea to stay here. We do not know when the struggle between the bandits and them will end. We do not want to be caught, not with our mission so close to its end. It is still a long and unpredictable journey, my friend.”
“Yes it is.” Li Jing replied. The dilemma was etched on Li’s face. Life was a constant tug of war between the devil and the deep blue sea for a fugitive.
“Brothers.” Li and Fu turned at the familiar voice. Zhao came and tapped both of them on their shoulders. He undid his boots and put his foot into the spring with a soft sigh. The warm water revitalised his weary legs and soon the soft flesh started to turn pinkish. The feet of old soldiers like Zhao’s had stepped onto too many battlefields.
“Where is his majesty?” Li asked Zhao.
“He has gone to pray.”
“Pray?”
“Yes. Pray. What else do you expect monks to do? Have a drink at the tavern? Flirt with one of the Miao girls?”
“For?”
“Wisdom how to train the Miao so that they can protect themselves.”
“And how are they going to do that?” Fu asked. “They are peasants, not soldiers.”
“That, my brothers, is our job for the next two months until it is time for us to move again. The emperor has gone to pray for us so we can teach these people how to fight.” He clapped both of them on the shoulders.
“Meet me at the barn in an hour’s time and we will start to plan. I can’t wait to tell the love birds the good news when they wake.” Zhao grinned. “We got lots to plan; from stirring shit for the One-eyed Dragon to forging peasants into warriors.”
That evening, before the sunset, the villagers gathered their guests at the Wind and Rain bridge and laid down twelve cups of rice wine. Somehow in the midst of hiding from enemies, they could produce twelve cups of fragrant rice wine. The elder of the people explained,
“In Miao culture, we welcome our esteemed guests with twelve cups of wine. Twelve represents our complete hospitality. As you enter our lands, you must drink each cup. By the end of the twelve cups, you will be like family to us.”
He smiled and indicated to Zhao’s group, “Now, if you please, partake of the first cup.” He raised a hand and Zhao Qi took a step forward. A little embarrassed, he sipped the first cup. Immediately his cheeks turned red from the alcoholic punch. The elder took a step back to show that Zhao could proceed and he repeated the same: he drank the next cup of wine. Each step of the way was accompanied by singing and clapping as the Miao welcomed their saviours gratefully with song. After all cups were drained, the Miao brought them back to the clearing behind the warehouse that served as their refuge and before them a makeshift kitchen was set up. A fire was burning, bringing a cauldron to boil. Miao children were feeding the flames with twigs and fanning the fire in anticipation of some great cooking. The fear and gloom of yesterday was gone. The threat of slavery was lifted and the spirits of the people were light. Some of them were dressed in finery -- black cloth covered with silver pieces of intricate design. They clapped as Zhao and his team came.
The butcher came forward. All hostility and suspicion from the night before was gone. He seemed lighter and his smile was genuine. The victory and temporary freedom from the bandits had erased all his antagonism towards Yula. After all, she had proven her worth with the bow. He said in a loud voice to welcome them,
“Tonight we welcome and thank you for what you have done for us. You have saved our children, for which we have no other way to repay you. You are our guest and we are honoured to serve you. In winter, we have a delicacy to curb the chills. Alas, our livestock is gone, so we have no choice but to serve you this dish as nature provided.”
&nb
sp; Zhao looked around, there was no animal for cooking. No chickens, cows or goats. There was only a wooden frame: two vertical poles and a horizontal one across. He wondered what they would eat that night. Then a shout and a cheer broke out. Some Miao folk ran excitedly out from the bush and behind them was a team of men who manhandled a fat python. The beast was strong and resisted but the people were skilful; they had done this before. They tied the struggling snake to the frame; its head to the horizontal pole so that its body was straight. Its gaping, pink mouth opened and closed as it tried to bite its way through. Fully stretched, the beautiful patterns on the snake’s muscular body shined like a piece of art.
The butcher explained, “Snake is good for the blood, especially in winter.” Then he took his cleaver and sliced the skin of the hapless python down its length. Then he expertly peeled the skin like a banana. Blood dripped as the white-pink flesh became exposed. Yula looked impassively while Li Po covered her eyes. Zhao turned away disgusted while Jian Wen put his hands together and said a prayer for the snake. The butcher opened the stomach and cleared the innards then he put the dying creature onto a chopping board and cut it into pieces. The pieces were thrown into the cauldron.
