The Ming Storm

by Yan LeiSheng

  “Mr Taki, this young man is your son, is he not? Lay down your weapons, surrender, and I’ll let you both live.”

  Taki Choji was furious. Surrendering his weapon was as good as surrendering his life. But if he didn’t surrender, it would be his son who would suffer. Gritting his teeth, he cast a final glance at his tachi. He was about to let go of it just as Katana jerked into the air, driven by rage at his father’s surrender. The young man had grown up among harsh, inflexible men who massacred entire crews even as they surrendered, and for whom capitulation was never an option whatever the circumstances. His lack of experience also prevented him from realizing the clear difference in skill between himself and Zhang.

  Seeing his captor distracted by his father, he had taken a deep breath, contracted his chest, and hoped that it would be enough to allow him to escape the pressure of the captain’s palm on his chest and make his move.

  Katana thought that escaping this embrace would be enough to turn the tables, but barely had his feet left the ground than a ten-pound club crushed his throat. Before he even realized what was happening a stream of blood gushed from his mouth and his body was thrown backwards.

  Taki Choji, who had been about to let go of his tachi, was heartbroken as he recognized a fatal blow. In normal circumstances his dispassionate nature was his main strength, helping to ensure the safety of his companions and thus their loyalty. The death of his son sent him into a blind rage. Without thinking, he gripped his weapon once more and twirled it to ready his attack.

  He planned to execute the Windmill, one of his most bloody strikes. Only, to his great surprise, Zhang disappeared in front of his eyes, reappearing as if by magic as a burning pain erupted in his chest. The two men were suddenly connected, a blade planted in the pirate’s heart.

  Twirling his sword had not been enough to protect Taki Choji from this incredible attack, and he had fallen for the trap. Frightened and despairing, he looked at the old man, at the face where affability had fallen away to reveal extreme coldness. His thin sword had pierced the bandit’s heart, but the blade lodged in the wound slowed the bleeding and kept him alive for a few more moments. Long enough for him to gasp out, “Who… are you?”

  Those three words exhausted his final breath.

  The captain frowned and shook his head. “What a waste.”

  He removed the blade from his victim’s body. A jet of blood gushed forth from the wound, mouth, and nostrils of Taki Choji as his body finally collapsed to the ground.

  “I am Zhang Yong, captain general of the twelve battalions of the imperial guard,” he said quietly. The dying man suddenly opened his eyes, as if shocked by an electrical charge. He knew this name: it was the name of the most powerful eunuch in the country, the head of the empire’s army. He would have liked to ask why a person of such importance was wasting his time with lowly pirates. What was the reason for all this?

  He would never get an answer to these questions, as his life was at an end. Zhang Yong looked at the body and muttered. “I’m sorry, Pyros, I damaged the goods.”

  The Westerner looked respectfully at the corpse of the pirate who had almost killed him before being swatted with a disconcerting lack of effort by the captain. He wanted to point out that the young man he had felled with the heavy blow had also been top-quality merchandise, but he was interrupted by a deafening crash.

  The main gate to the camp swung open to reveal a dozen men jostling and treading on one another to get out.

  The crowd of frightened, bloodthirsty pirates resembled a horde of wolves scattering like terrified cockroaches exposed to the light. The stragglers turned desperately to close the gate, and one of them, back pressed against the gate to prevent it from reopening, called out to Taki Choji, unaware of his captain’s death.

  “Boss! Boss! Inside, there’s a–”

  Bam! A huge, bloody fist shot out through broken ribs.

  Built from the deck of a ship attached to whole tree trunks, the camp gate was built more solidly than the roofs of the barracks and usually required considerable effort to open. Somehow a fist had just pierced through, killing the unarmored pirate standing in front of it and shattering his ribs like mere twigs. The horrific sight sent the pirates into a panic, scattering in all directions.

  Another great blow rang out, and the gate burst open as if before an unrelenting hurricane, to reveal a dark figure.

  The figure was a man, not large, and dressed in blood-soaked rags as though recently bathed in it. His livid hue, blue-gray as a bruise, and soulless eyes betrayed the inhuman power that animated him. Fast as the wind, his fist collided with a fleeing pirate. He struck less powerfully than when he had pierced through the gate, but the blow was enough to send the bandit flying before him, crashing, half-dead, into the ground.

  The pirates had dragged the box containing this half-monster, half-human creature to the center of the camp, and he had begun killing them as soon as he was free, uncaring of their sword strikes. Now he was out, he had claimed two further victims and seemed determined to take more as the pirates gave in to their primal fear. The island offered little hope of refuge beyond the dock and camp…

  Filled with terror, one of them shouted: “We are doomed anyway, attack together!”

  It was then that he saw Taki Choji lying on the ground and was torn between his duty to aid his chief and the urgent need to rid themselves of this monster. He chose the second option. Against all expectations, he discovered an ability to command, ordering the dozen men still alive to rally as they faced the enemy.

  Zhang Yong was surprised by the fatalistic determination of these Japanese, who still found the strength to fight with discipline even when faced with certain death. He sighed and turned to Pyros.

  “Do you think our yuxiao can win?”

  Fingers on his wrist, the foreigner watched the scene attentively as he measured his pulse.

  “I fear… not,” he responded. “I think there will be two survivors.”

  A blood-curdling cry rose from the band of attackers. One of the pirates had sunk his axe into the shoulder of the monstrous warrior, which caught him by the leg and tore it off with bare hands, separating it as if snatching a drumstick from a roast chicken. Rather than causing them to flee, the sheer horror of this act drove the bandits to hurl themselves at their opponent with renewed ferocity.

  Zhang Yong shook his head. “I think you’re too ambitious, Pyros. There will be five or six left.”

  Only eight pirates remained, sturdy fighters who showed their best, even with their backs against the wall. The entrance to the camp was a bloody arena at the center of which the monster, an axe planted in his shoulder, seemed to reign supreme. One of the last bandits still standing somehow managed to cut off the creature’s head with a daring leap – one which he could not have expected to survive. While the superhuman fighter may have been able to continue fighting despite the wound in its shoulder, this blow was its end.

  The six surviving pirates regained their breath and turned towards the boat. The old man had to be even more formidable than the opponent they had just overcome for him have beaten Taki Choji, but it was clear that nothing would deter them after that terrible battle.

  The captain and the foreigner were accompanied by a dozen fighters on the boat.

  “Kill them!” a pirate cried harshly.

  It was he who had led the remaining bandits to their victory. On his order, they moved towards the gangplank while Zhang Yong echoed, “Kill them!”

  The sailors drew their guns and fired as one as the attackers tried to board the vessel. Four pirates fell, leaving only two still standing, one struck in the shoulder. Rather than leaving themselves vulnerable by reloading, the sailors drew their swords and leapt to the ground to encircle the bandits, who attempted to ward off their powerful attacks.

  An impassive Zhang Yong contemplated the massacre from the prow of t
he boat. The blood running from Taki Choji’s mouth had formed a small pool at his feet, but to the old man the body seemed much like the ropes and anchors on the ship, just part of the scenery. He didn’t pay it the slightest attention. A glimmer of disappointment crossed his face.

  “Tell me, Pyros, our enhanced soldier wasn’t as powerful as last time, was it?”

  “If the pulse is to be believed, Beelzebub’s strength is much less than that of the Imperator.” He paused. “We must acknowledge that we have failed once more.”

  The monster the foreigner had named as Beelzebub had exterminated thirteen of the twenty-one pirates before being overcome. While it had been an act of spectacular savagery, it hadn’t been as invincible as the name would suggest.

  “Yes,” Zhang Yong replied. “Thirty valiant warriors fell to the Imperator in no time at all. We are at an impasse without the Precursor Box.”

  This failure was not their first. Pyros remained silent for a moment, then asked, “Venerable captain general, should we continue?”

  “We will certainly not be stopping.”

  The corners of his mouth turned up in a small smile. “If we avoid making mistakes, the box will soon be ours.”

  The amazed Pyros shivered.

  “Isn’t it still in the possession of Ezio Auditore?”

  The old man looked down at the last living pirate, whose martial prowess was certainly remarkable. While he forced two sailors to keep their distance as he parried their attacks with his long sword, another sliced his back with their blade. The pirate screamed and tried to retaliate, but the injury prevented him from moving. He staggered and fell to the floor.

  “According to my latest information, the box is no longer in Ezio’s hands,” Zhang Yong continued.

  “He no longer has it?”

  Pyros trembled. His group had been unsuccessfully trying to eliminate Ezio for a long time in hope of gaining this priceless treasure, a feat which had until now seemed almost impossible.

  Zhang Yong carried on. “The last person Ezio met was… the Imperial Favorite.”

  Pyros was even more surprised. While he came from Europe, he knew less about the events taking place there than this old Chinese man. He frowned.

  “I find it hard to believe that she returned after going to so much trouble to escape to Europe!”

  On land, the sailors separated the dead and those still breathing before setting fire to the pile of bodies. Soon, this pirate hideout, established over ten years before, would be nothing more than ash and no one would ever know of the massacre that had just taken place.

  “Those who have escaped hell will inevitably return,” Zhang Yong murmured.

  As the last survivor of the Central Plain Brotherhood, Shao Jun had vowed to return and take her revenge.

  Zhang Yong’s smile was more mysterious than ever. Knowing this day would come, he had supported the Haijin, the new maritime policy of isolation, organized this expedition against the pirates, and even broken the previously harmonious relationship with Japan. If Shao Jun returned, she would have to take a ship from a vassal state such as Annan, Malacca, or Ryukyu, and would be immediately spotted by one of the informants stationed at their ports.

  All the old man needed to do now was kill her and take the box, and the world would be his plaything.

  Zhang Yong caressed his pendant, a small piece of delicately carved jade. One side showed a design of interlacing veins reminiscent of aquatic plants, while the other featured the Chinese character Dao, the Way.

  “Accordance with this nature is called the Way.”

  Learned by heart as a child, he recited these words of Confucius in a low voice. A bright spark still burned in his eyes despite his twilight years. He held on to the ambitions of his youth, and his greatest dream had never been so close to becoming a reality.

  •••

  “Is that really A-Qiang’s childhood home?”

  Shao Jun thought she could hear her friend’s voice in the gloomy alley as an icy wind gusted through. While she knew it was only her imagination, she couldn’t help but squeeze the bundle she held tightly against her as she scanned the surroundings.

  At the top of the dilapidated walls, chipped tiles were covered with weeds and seemed to tremble with cold under the sea breeze despite the mild climate. The prefecture of Quanzhou had once been a famous port, and the maritime capital of the empire under the Songs and Yuans. It had fallen into rapid decline after the transfer of the administrative center to Fuzhou eight years earlier, and the harshness of the Haijin policies which limited the number of ships able to access the port. Within just a few years, not a single vessel would even approach its shores. The time when they had jostled hull to hull was gone, and nothing remained of the joyous bustle of the past. That Quanzhou now existed only in her memories.

  Heart heavy with unfathomable bitterness, she could see that her country was no longer the same.

  She recalled her years spent in the imperial harem. A-Qiang was a timid young girl when she first arrived. They had quickly become friends and confidantes in the solitude of their reclusive life in the Forbidden City, standing united among dozens of rival girls vying for the Emperor’s favor without knowing exactly what it meant.

  A-Qiang had often spoken of her childhood home: the sea breeze, the carp in the lake, the Indian coral trees, the Buddhist monastery. Locked away in the harem, the young Shao Jun was fascinated by these descriptions of Quanzhou, which explained why she had chosen this place for her return to the country. By visiting her friend’s childhood home, she also kept the promise she had made to her friend. Unfortunately, nothing and no one here seemed able to breathe new life into her memories.

  “A-Qiang, you must be an imperial consort by now, and you’re probably not eager to discover the outlaw I have become.”

  As she was lost in her thoughts, a dark shadow fell across her and asked in a low voice, “Little sister, can you do me a favor?”

  Armed with a long knife, the man stood arrogantly blocking her path. The voice of Zhu Jiuyuan reciting The Art of War rose in her memory: “Do not remain on dangerous ground.”

  The alley seemed to meet this definition, so any combat would be as inescapable as it was deadly. But in a situation with no way out, you had to be certain that your skills were far superior to your opponent’s if you wanted to start a fight.

  She wondered if the individual barring her way was a member of the Eight Tigers, the group which had followed her to Florence and killed Master Zhu. She had hardly set foot on land and already she’d been spotted. This didn’t bode well.

  “And how can I help you?” she asked with feigned indifference.

  The man burst into laughter.

  “Little sister, you just got off a boat, with a heavy-looking bag… the Tigers of the sea have been watching you for a while. Give me your things and I’ll let you live. If not… heh heh!”

  He began to spin his long knife, handling it artfully in the narrow space. He’d only made the offer to spare her because he was already planning to kill her.

  “You’d murder someone in broad daylight?” said Shao Jun. “You have no respect for the laws of this country!”

  “What law?” roared the man. “I am the law!”

  This vicious, cruel brigand who claimed to be a member of the Tigers thought he could attack the small Shao Jun alone. Trained in martial arts since childhood, he had taken to robbing foreign travelers in the streets of Quanzhou where none dared provoke him. He lived alone and had no family, his life meaning little to him as he had nothing to lose. Surprised to see this supposedly easy prey standing up to him, his irritation quickly turned to anger.

  With all its constraints, street fighting in alleys was his specialty. He slipped through these narrow spaces like a snake, his weapon always close to hand. His knife-fighting style had been developed by generations of fishe
rmen to compensate for the ineffectiveness of the classic styles on small boats in constant motion. The bandit had studied the techniques closely and practiced daily until he mastered them. This environment was his favored terrain, a place where he could be certain his victim had no chance of escape.

  Then the girl seemed to evaporate before his eyes just as he was about to strike.

  An incredible move! Was it magic? A sudden gust of air chilled his neck, followed by a sharp pain. He staggered forwards despite himself, dropping his knife, and fell to the ground. As he lay on the earth, he thought his time had finally come before realizing that the pain was gone. He felt his neck, reassured to feel no blood, and got to his feet.

  Deserted under normal circumstances, the alley seemed darker than ever. Where had the girl gone? She must have executed a dangerous jump to land behind him. He picked up his weapon and massaged his neck. It was a deadly place to be struck, and he had survived only because she’d hit him with the back of her ankle. He would have been a dead man if he had been kicked in the same place by the heel of her boot.

  With a combination of excitement and bafflement, the man, who had committed more than his share of cold-blooded murder, had goosebumps as he realized that any false move could be his last.

  He was lucky that the boss wasn’t in Quanzhou to hear of this affair. He moved to the other end of the alley to check and reassure himself that no one had witnessed his humiliation when he heard a voice murmur behind him.

  “Chen Qilang, wait there a moment.”

  He froze, recognizing the quiet yet clear and piercing voice. He stretched his neck, took several breaths, then slowly turned.

  “Boss?”

  “Did you face the person I told you about?”

  Despite being unsure, he responded in the affirmative.

  An independent criminal, Chen Qilang had previously only ever acted of his own volition, killing as he saw fit. Then he’d met the boss in the spring of the previous year, trying to corner him in an alley as he usually did, but his snake-like technique had been of no use. When the confrontation had rapidly turned against him, he had agreed to carry out a simple mission in exchange for his life: kill on sight a young woman whose description he had been given. Shao Jun had not been the vulnerable young child he’d expected. It was only thanks to the goddess Mazu that he still breathed – although for how much longer he didn’t know, as the boss’s voice was icy.