The Emperor's Prey

by Jeremy Han

  They passed the village square and ran up the little knoll that stood between the bridge and the village entrance. From the high ground, they could see a large number of men assembling. Some of them were on horses. Long squinted against the morning sun and tried to focus his still-sleepy eyes on the assembling group of men. Something familiar about them; the way they moved and the way they dressed. Then he realised these were Ming troops massing for an attack. His mind raced to find a reason for this and came to a single dreadful conclusion. But to the Miao, they did not care if they were the bandits or soldiers. As long as they were Han, armed and heading to their lands, they were enemy. And this time, they were not taking it lying down. They did not know that this would be out of their league. Long did not have the heart to tell them either. Even if he did, he knew that they had fire in their blood; oppressed people were like that, when they could fight back, they would, regardless of the odds. It was not so much the hope of victory but the release, the catharsis from being victimised. For people who survived oppression, they would say to themselves no matter what, never again! They would rather die than be trampled again. He gripped his dao and saw Yula nock an arrow to the bow. The Miao villagers next to them took heart at their presence and mimicked their actions.

  Hong He had received his orders. Assemble the men and march them into the village. His men were slow to follow orders and he had to whip them. He was embarrassed by their ineptitude and tried to cover up his lack of leadership by hitting them hard. Soon, there was some semblance of order and military skill among the third-rate troops. They formed up before the lanky commander as he rode up and down the length of troops exhorting and threatening them. Three men in civilian clothing followed the troops as they advance toward the entrance of the bridge. They were on horses so immediately the Miao identified them as people of rank. At the moment they were too far to shoot. Only one person could shoot that far.

  Yula drew the bow and aimed. To kill a snake, chop off its head, so she aimed at the tall officer on horseback. She knew that the Miao archers with her – women and children, could not shoot that far so she had to strike the first blow. The first blow, if well-placed, would demoralise the enemy and sent out the signal that they were marching into hell. She aimed. Through a single eye, she sized him and found a spot on his chest. She decided against it; it was not spectacular enough to strike fear. Some drama would increase the psychological effect. She moved the arrow up a bit and then calmed her mind. In between a heartbeat and a breath, her body still and operating as one, she loosed the shaft.

  When Hong He saw that his men were ready, he raised his arm to signal the move forward. As he turned his head forward, he registered a movement, but before his mind could tell him it was an arrow aimed straight at him, he died. The arrow pierced through his eye, out from his skull, and shut the mind down violently before it could process the information. Hong He pitched backward and fell off the horse. He was dead even before he hit the ground. Ji Gang saw this and an image flashed in his mind. He encountered such a dead shot before outside the home of the Marquis when he pursued Zhao Qi’s men. His mind made the connection and confirmed his suspicions. There was no more ambiguity for him. This was no longer a search mission but a scorched-earth operation. He paid no attention to the dead officer. He had died in action, and that was what soldiers were for. He shouted at Hong’s second-in-command,

  “Attack the village at once. Kill all the Miao. Capture any Han and bring them to me.”

  “Yes Lord Ji!” He shouted out of fear.

  When the entire company saw Hong die, something told them that this was for real. They started to march with purpose. Soon they entered the bridge and their footsteps thumped. Behind them, the three agents rode, pushing the men forward like geese being marched to the slaughter. The first rank emerged from the shelter of the bridge on the side of the Miao village and died from the first volley of arrows and stones. Men screamed as they were hit by a variety of projectiles. A soldier covered his eye with his hand after a stone had hit it; he tried to hold the eye from dropping out of the socket. The second and third ranks pushed through and took more casualties. Dead and wounded men fell. However, the pressure from the three agents was relentless and soon the men broke into a desperate run forward to attack. Their only chance was to close the gap as much as they could. They waved their spears as they came through, hoping that the wild action would deflect the onrushing arrows. Some of them managed to clear the bridgehead and charged.

  Soon, the first few reached the defenders on the knoll. Long saw Yula continue to shoot, taking one man through the chest. The womenfolk retreated because the fighting had gotten too close. Some of the children continued to use their slings to good effect; at close range it broke a lot of bones. But there were too many Ming soldiers spilling out of the bridge now. The first of the soldiers reached the Miao men and the two groups were engaged. Long saw the Butcher shoulder-butt one Ming soldier and the man rolled down the slope. The fat man shouted triumphantly. Then he parried a blow with a defensive move Long taught him before driving his crude sword into the enemy with a roar. Long was proud to see him fight. He drew his own dao and he charged. Yula realised it was too close to shoot so she threw her bow and drew her scimitar. She saw a Miao villager fall to an infantry man’s spear thrust. The screaming man fell and the soldiers pounced on him. She screamed a Mongol battle cry and dashed into the group. She parried a blow and then stabbed the man in the chest. A soldier with a sword slashed downward at her. She blocked it just in time and then kicked him in the groin. Then she heard a Miao battle cry “Chiyou”! And a familiar blur passed her. The young man who served as their guide came to her aid with a pitch fork. Together they fought off the soldiers. Chiyou was the mythical ancestor of the Miao and was regarded as the progenitor of their race. His name was rallying call.

  Soon all the troops were off the bridge and the three imperial agents rode into the battlefield. It became clear where the pockets of strength were; Yula and Long were clusters of resistance where the Ming troops could not break. As long as they were holding the line, the villagers had something to gather around. Ji Gang recognised them and nodded to Li and Lu. The two men jumped off their horses and entered the fray. Ji had found what he wanted. There was no need to waste time. The soldiers could take all day to eliminate the troublesome Miao but he must have his prey without delay before some lucky soldier managed to kill the imperial guard and his lady archer.

  Yula kicked off a dying soldier and the man slid off her blade. Just when she wanted to take a breather, she noticed a man coming at her. Gosh, I’m so tired! The pregnant lady thought as she braced herself for the attack. He was not in uniform but there was no mistaking who he was. Dong Chang! At that moment, she stood frozen; how did they know? Li took that split-second of surprise to attack. His sickle flew forward like a hawk and cut her face. Blood flowed from the wound and she recoiled. Li charged again, throwing the weapon a second time but she ducked. She was nimbler than he realised and then she blocked a blow with her weapon, the sickle thrown off with a loud clang. This time, Yula did not wait. She slashed and Li had to defend with the tightened chain acting as a barrier against the blow. He counter-attacked with the dagger on the other end now that the distance had closed but she was adept at close quarter fighting. She kicked his knee and he lost balance, the slash missing her. She drew up her weapon in a two-handed grip held over her head and attacked with a downward cut but Li ducked sideways. As he rowed, he launched his sickle again. This spoiled Yula’s follow-up attack. They circled one another. She held her blade high while he swung his sickle in circles, hoping for an opening.

  Suddenly, Li lurched to one side and launched the sickle. It caught her sword arm. He pulled hard expecting her to resist. But instead, she ran toward the force. She did not lose balance as he thought she would. It caught him by surprise as she suddenly came in too close. He tried to withdraw but she was linked to his movements with the chain around her wrist. He could not use t
he chain to block because it was tied to her. At that moment, he saw the inevitable. She had used his strength against him. With one hand holding on to the chain so that Li could not retrieve it and the other raising her curved blade to chest height, she shouted an unintelligible Mongol war cry as she drove the scimitar into Li’s chest. She continued screaming until the blade was up to its hilt. Li looked at her with wide eyes and saw a deep, insatiable hatred for his kind. Even before he died, his reflexes took over. There was no way Yula could escape. With his other hand, he stabbed her with the dagger found on the other end of the chain. He drove the blade into her heart and she stopped screaming; her mouth opened wide but no sound came out. Before she lost consciousness, she saw her husband coming over. He had witnessed her dying. She hoped he would avenge her. Her husband…she called him that! A single tear drop rolled down her cheeks as she struggled to call him. She coughed blood, and then the world went black. She had died in the embrace of another man, a hug of enmity and death.

  “YULA!”

  Long Wu came over screaming. His double handed blow brought the sabre crashing against Lu Ximing’s fine blade. Long’s heart thumped with pain and suddenly he could not hear anything. He could not see anything except images of her and a baby – they were laughing happily like a family. He almost died from a sword thrust but he ducked it in time. The handsome ex-bodyguard tried to attack but his eyes were misted over. He missed, but he had enough presence of mind to parry another attack. Suddenly killing his foe no longer seemed important. He just wanted to run over and free Yula from the dead man’s grasp and hold her in his arms. He wanted her back. She was his. He ran. He blocked another blow by Lu and then he hit the man with the pommel of his sword. Lu fell away with blood spouting from the nose.

  “Yula! Yula! No! Don’t go!”

  He cradled her and put her to his chest. He wept and his tears fell on her cold face. He looked around and saw the Miao dying. They had seen their war goddess die and their fighting spirit left them. The Ming troops were mopping up. He picked up his sword to re-join the fight. He charged at Lu and they exchanged heated blows. Long fought with the abandon of someone who had nothing more to lose. But his mind was not on the fight and soon he made a careless move. He fell for a feint and attacked air. Lu kicked him and he fell. Lu tried to stop him by putting the threatening blade on his throat but he pushed it away and attacked again. He was not going to be taken prisoner. He charged blindly, not caring about the distance between him and his foe. Lu kicked his knee; there was an audible crack and he fell. He looked up and saw Ji walking over calmly. It was over. They would take him prisoner. He looked around him. A Miao woman lay dead next to him. She was still clutching a bow. A child with a sling in his hand stared at him accusingly with sightless, glassy eyes. He looked like a sad broken doll. He looked the other way and saw the young guide fighting hopelessly against three Ming soldiers. His basic skills was not a match even against the third rate soldiers. They attacked him simultaneously, stabbing him repeatedly as he refused to go down. Closer to him, Yula was dead with their unborn child. His flesh and blood. His adopted people were dying around him. Suddenly he found a peaceful silence in his heart amidst the turmoil. The cacophony of the carnage around him dulled and a flash of clarity enlightened him. He might have failed to protect all those around him, but there was still one person he could save. There was only one more purpose left: To protect the emperor.

  He could not allow the Eastern Depot to take him alive.

  Before Ji reached him, he rolled over to Yula, his broken knee burning. He picked up her blade, sat up, looked at Ji Gang defiantly and plunged it hard, without hesitation, into his chest. He did not utter a sound as he toppled over like a puppet whose strings were cut. His warm blood spilled over her in gushes as he died. Finally, his head rested on her chest. One was born a Han, the other a Mongol. Though they were not born on the same day but husband, wife and unborn child died together. They were a family that never was.

  As the village burnt, Ji walked over to Lu.

  “Well?”

  “Lord. Our prisoner does not know where they are going but they heard something about heading south for a long journey, after which, they will leave the country and cross a great sea to a place where no one will find them again.” The butcher was captured toward the end. He fought valiantly, taking down several Ming troops before he was subdued. The Ming soldiers had identified him as a leader and did not kill him. Instead, they handed him over to the agents, who tortured him. It was a fate worse than death. At first he did not say anything, cursing Ji Gang in Miao until finally he was broken. He was no longer recognisable when Lu finished his job. He had delighted in the torture as a payback for losing his partner Li Wei. The fat man was still breathing, even though his eyes were gorged out and his face beaten so badly that blood from open wounds dripped onto the floor like rain.

  “That at least confirms our suspicions.”

  “What now Lord?”

  Ji Gang walked, “We leave. Let them clean up the place. But before we do, send a pigeon to alert An. The trap at Quanzhou must be set. Let them know the prey is on the way. Oh yes...” he turned around like a man who forgot something and walked over to the unseeing captive. The butcher was tied on a makeshift torture pole. He head was downcast, but he could sense someone coming. He tried to raise his head instinctively, which suited Ji. The prisoner was useless so Ji cut his throat and let him bleed out. Ji turned and started walking away from the smell of the dead and dying. Lu asked again, “Lord shall we pursue?”

  “No. They would not be taking the roads. We shall never find them until they reappear at Quanzhou.”

  SIXTY FIVE

  The air was thick with smoke and the smell of burnt gunpowder tickled his nose. Row after row of fire crackers exploded sharply throughout the ceremony. Fortunately, they were near the sea and fresh air cleared the heavy smoke. The grand admiral Zheng He watched impassively the variously rites performed to gain the favour of the ‘Celestial Spouse’, the deity who owned the seas where his men and he will sail. He could not help but look away from the spectacle into the blue horizon; so much would be happening there. The sky looked clear enough, but this was just the first day. Out there, anything could happen. He recalled the day when the fickle temper of the Celestial Spouse changed from favour to anger: it was as though the deity was spurned. That day, somewhere in the ocean, the skies turned dark without warning and rain slammed on them in sheets as solid as the canvas sails. The winds howled, and then came the waves that stood as tall as mountains. Crashing into any of those would be the end for any ship. His eyes turned to the row of ships lined along the piers. His flagship, all six hundred feet of it, was restored, re-crewed and refitted; it was ready for another seafaring journey. His officers and sailors were ready after training and re-training. It would sail empty, like so many others except for its military crew to the southern port of Quanzhou, where it will load up with supplies, religious people who will act as diplomats and translators, opera singers and performers would also join the great voyage as entertainers on board as well as to showcase the high culture of the empire. Of course, there would also be a little something else this time. A couple of fugitives would hardly be noticed among the crowd.

  The master of ceremony called his name and he went forward. Dressed in full naval regalia, the grand admiral stepped forward with his head bowed. He followed the man, and his key staff officers followed him, all with their heads bowed as they walked in a procession down the pier in a well-rehearsed manner. The master of ceremony brought the entire procession to the end of the pier where a huge urn sat with fat incense sticks burning. All these seemed ridiculous to the Muslim admiral, but he was used to it. Before the urn was a massive table draped with a red silk cloth, and on it were a variety of exquisite and expensive dishes: the centrepiece was a roasted suckling pig. Zheng turned his head slightly to avert his gaze on the sightless stare of the unholy animal.

  The priest intoned the goddess
for good weather, to bring these men back safely, to be on the side of the son of heaven. Zheng thought it was pointless beseeching a fickle-minded and temperamental deity; today she would be nice but tomorrow she could drown them all. He briefly wondered if that was what power did to people and gods – turn them unpredictable. He played his part as protocol required by going forward to offer the incense first as the commander of the fleet, then his officers, then his junior commanders. When they were all done, they were marched back by the master of ceremony to the temple for another round of offerings. Zheng looked around him; no expense was spared by the emperor every time he went to sea. That was how much the emperor valued him, he sighed inwardly, as a useful, jewelled tool. After the ceremony was over, an officious looking man came forward. He was dressed in the uniform of a palace eunuch who came all the way from the Forbidden City to deliver his master’s words. He looked pinched and feminine, a little like an unfulfilled spinster. Zheng He may be a eunuch too but they looked worlds apart. Still, the grand admiral felt a tinge of sadness when he saw his palace counterpart, for he understood the journey of life the man had taken to be where he was today.