The Ming Storm

by Yan LeiSheng

  “Don’t speak such nonsense. I need to get you to a doctor.”

  “No, young girl. It’s no use…”

  The response was soft but firm. Final.

  Further up the river, the yuxiao carrying Zhang Yong stopped swimming five or six feet from the bank and sank down into the water. The leader of the Tigers jumped for the bank, but the warrior, who was at the end of its strength and would soon be stiff as a corpse, made for an unstable platform. He landed several feet from the bank and had to walk to reach it, the bottom of his robe wet and both boots soaked. Standing in the grass, he could still see the small boat one li away. It seemed even more dilapidated from this distance.

  Brother Yangming had been caught in his own trap.

  Zhang Yong had finally acquired the Precursor Box and vanquished his enemy. Instead of rejoicing at what seemed to be a crushing victory, he felt as empty as if he had failed. All his yuxiao were dead, he had failed to kill the imperial favorite, and he had fled as soon as he grabbed the box to avoiding losing a fight against her. He was also painfully away that he would never have been able to beat his old friend without resorting to trickery. He had lost the game of Go, but the shadow of the Brotherhood continued to loom large over the leader of the Tiger’s plans. Full of bitterness, he turned. He heard Shao Jun calling her horse as he moved further away.

  Horse and rider had bonded over their long journey together. When she leapt into the water from its saddle, the destrier had returned to the riverbank and patiently waited. She called it, and her mount leapt into the river to meet her as she swam, returning to the bank together. There, the young woman set her heels to its sides to set off at a gallop. She had to force herself not to turn around, because she knew that the agonizing sight of her master alone on the boat would snap the narrow thread of determination she was clinging onto.

  As for Wang Yangming, he bid her one last farewell.

  He began to cough up blood, staining the front of his clothing red. That final blow had damaged his heart, and he knew his time had come. He had tried to remain as calm and dignified as possible in front of his beloved pupil, but now she was gone, he could finally let go. As the life drained out of him, he remembered the Lingyan temple nestled in the mountains. In the poem he composed at the time, he had written “I open a door that another self closed”. Now it was his turn to retire. With a final effort, he picked up a white counter lying near him. It was the last one remaining on the boat, all the others having been knocked into the water along with the board. It was strange to think that only a short while before this small vessel held nothing but two friends playing an innocent game of Go, like the good old days. He finally took the time to read the poem Zhang Yong had carved into the table:

  Youth is driven by the winds of ambition;

  with age all that remains is a violent breeze.

  Metal horses scattered across the border passes,

  flags waving under the oceans. My path is obstructed

  by a parade of profiteers;

  supremacy by the sword,

  all nations at my feet.

  A poem just as aggressive and proud as its author. Wang Yangming’s mind returned once more to their night of discussion in the company of Yang Yiqing. Zhang Yong argued that world conquest went hand in hand with pacifying the country, while the master of the School of Mind saw the intelligence of the people as the solution to all ills. How could the path to nirvana be through a sea of blood? It was chilling to think that a man who held such beliefs was now close to realizing his vision.

  “My dear Zhang,” he said aloud, “the darkness gives way to light. You may have won this time, but the game is not over yet. Someone else has already taken my place, and I know she will get the better of you.”

  The thought made him smile. The white counter dropped from his hand into the river, breaking the surface for a moment before the water stilled once more.

  Chapter 16

  Yu Dayong didn’t like women, but he did like to eat. His position as governor of Nanjing was a walk in the park, allowing him all the comforts he could expect from one of the empire’s two capitals. He had been worried about travelling to Macau which he imagined as a vast mosquito and snake-infested swamp, but had been pleasantly surprised by the culinary specialties of this fishing village.

  He lifted a small piece of still-sizzling roast goose to his lips and savored its flavor. His entire body relaxed as he sighed with pleasure. It was impossible to find this kind of food in southern China. The geese of Macau spent their days pecking at crustaceans and small fish on the beach, which gave their flesh a unique taste that was all its own. Once killed and plucked, the animal was covered in honey and roasted over a fire fed with kiwi wood, then left to marinate in plum puree. It was his faithful Mai Bing who always took charge of preparing this meal for him. Unfortunately, the supplier who normally provided it had encountered a problem, and he had been forced to hastily resort to less qualified, but less busy providers. There was a clear difference in the quality of the meal.

  He was interrupted by a sudden gust of wind as the door swung open. Yu Dayong allowed no one to disturb him as he ate; his subordinates were required to knock three times and wait for permission to enter even if they brought urgent news. He leapt to his feet in a fury, ready to launch a stream of invectives, but stopped himself when he saw his visitor.

  “Venerable captain general!” he greeted him, bowing.

  While he hadn’t expected Zhang Yong until the next day, he was particularly surprised by his disheveled appearance, sweating face, and pale complexion. He had never seen the leader of the Tigers, a man normally so collected and impeccably attired, look so defeated.

  “Venerable Uncle Zhang, what brings you here so soon?”

  “Yu the Cruel, prepare to set sail.”

  Zhang Yong spoke in a rasping voice that betrayed the magnitude of the internal wounds he had suffered. Nervous and agitated, he looked all around him, checking each corner of the room as if he expected to find a threat hiding there.

  “Venerable captain general, the meal has barely begun…”

  “It doesn’t matter. We must reach the Dai Yu island without delay.”

  “Very well, venerable captain. Follow me.”

  Macao was a small peninsula, but the Portuguese man Pyros had fallen in love with its estuary the moment he laid eyes on it. Yu Dayong had driven out the dozen fishing families who lived there, and the port was now reserved for exclusive use by the Tigers and their allies. Since they didn’t expect to leave until the next morning, the sailors were relaxing alongside their large junk, bragging about their exploits at sea. Their leader, Feng Renxiao, sharply interrupted their chatter as soon as he saw their employers arrive.

  “Uncle Zhang, Uncle Yu,” he said, hastening to greet them, “please accept my humble greetings.”

  “Prepare your men, Renxiao,” Yu Dayong ordered. “We leave as soon as you are ready.”

  The sailor didn’t like the authoritarian tone and the airs and graces of these soft-faced dignitaries, but he knew his place and simply bowed deeply.

  “Understood.” He turned to his men, “Hurry up, prepare to weigh anchor!”

  The crew quickly got to work on the boat, a Fujian merchant junk around twenty meters in length, which could also be used a warship thanks to its pointed prow and wide poop. In the time of Emperor Yongle, the ships used by Admiral Zhenghe and his fleet to navigate the western seas measured over a hundred meters and held just as many men. Far from being a noble commanding a fleet, Feng Renxiao had as good as grown up on a junk in Fujian and had under his command a group of lively and agile sailors who had served him for years. They unfurled the sails and raised the anchor with confident and precise movements, difficult maneuvers which had become second nature to them. As soon as the Tigers were seated in the cabin, the junk set out to sea.

  Zhang Yong looked ar
ound, massaged his chest, and let out a long sigh. Yu Dayong had never seen him in such a state. He knew his superior wielded a sword better than he and even better than Wei Bin. His inner strength was also known to be almost inexhaustible. Who could have injured him so?

  “Yu,” the captain said quietly, “please inspect the junk. Ensure no stowaways have slipped aboard. And be meticulous, I want everywhere searched with a fine-toothed comb.”

  While he found the order completely stupid and senseless – it was impossible for anyone to have sneaked on board –, the governor acquiesced and bowed deeply before leaving the cabin.

  At the ship’s wheel he asked Reng Renxiao to give him two men to accompany him belowdecks, which he found to be completely empty; in the absence of trade goods, it contained only a few provisions for the journey. The top deck housed the luxurious main cabin, those of the sailors, and a small storage area for miscellaneous equipment. None of these rooms contained anything suspect. And the entire top deck could be easily examined with a single glance. His inspection completed, he returned to knock on Zhang Yong’s cabin door.

  “Venerable captain,” he called, “I’ve inspected the ship from top to bottom, and there is nothing to report.”

  “Enter!”

  Yu Dayong entered and found his master sat at the table, staring ecstatically at a small parcel he had placed there.

  “Venerable captain?”

  “Open the package, Yu.”

  The Tiger quivered, then untied the string and parted the fabric to reveal an ancient box that looked nothing like a traditional Chinese box.

  “Venerable captain, what is it?” he asked uncertainly.

  “It’s the object Pyros spoke of.”

  The Precursor Box! He had heard much about it, but he had never expected it to look like this. The Templars, of whom Pyros was one, and the Brotherhood had been fighting over this box for almost a thousand years.

  “V- Venerable captain, you found the imperial favorite?”

  They knew from a reliable source that the box had passed through Ezio Auditore’s hands, and had guessed that he passed it on to the last person he saw before his death: Shao Jun. Their suspicions were confirmed when she requested a copy of the Record of Blood Spilt, which mentioned the box, at the Imperial Academy. So, had Zhang Yong faced her?

  “The whore escaped me,” growled the latter. “But if I can deal with her mentor, I can easily deal with her as well.”

  Yu Dayong was stunned. So, his superior had finally discovered the identity of their mysterious adversary, the distinguished figure of the Brotherhood who had moved in the shadows since the Great Rites controversy.

  “Venerable captain, who was the mentor?” he asked.

  “It was Wang Yangming. But don’t worry, he’s history now.”

  Wang Yangming! Who would have believed it? And Zhang Yong had killed him? What terrible news. The man had been the greatest scholar of their time, so his death would have repercussions on many levels. To start with, the reputation of the leader of the Tigers would be greatly affected, with civilians and the military alike, as well as with imperial dignitaries, many of whom liked the character, scholarship, and fine mind of Jishan university’s director. They would never forgive his murderer, whether or not they had the power to act against him. As for himself, Yu Dayong knew that his position depended on his master’s influence; if it waned, he would suffer too.

  “I probably killed Wang Yangming, but Shao Jun was the only witness. The whore only survived because of my injuries and the inadequacy of my four yuxiao.” He laughed cruelly. “Don’t worry, I’ll get rid of her in the end.”

  “I didn’t doubt it for a moment, venerable captain general.”

  Even if Shao Jun had followed the trail of the leader of the Tigers, she would hit a dead end at the port, Yu Dayong reassured himself. Thinking of Macau reminded him of his loyal Mai Bing and all the food that would have to be thrown away, filling him with bitterness.

  “Venerable captain,” he said, repackaging the box, “you should get some rest. I’ll return to inspecting the ship.”

  After taking his leave and exiting the cabin with Zhang Yong’s permission, he let out a long, silent sigh. He was too worried to rejoice in the death of their greatest enemy. In his eyes, it would have been easy for them to capture Shao Jun on her return to China if they had thrown all their forces at her. Instead, their leader launched a secret personal campaign to discover the Brotherhood’s surviving mentor. He had used Gao Feng and Wei Bin as bait to achieve his goal, not even warning that it could mean their death. It appeared to be a logical continuation of the implacable coldness with which he had previously betrayed Liu Jin and taken his place. Yu Dayong feared for his future. Would it soon be his turn to be sacrificed in the name of some unknown machination? After all, they did say that the greyhound loses its value when the hare is dead. He would have to find some way to continue being useful in order to stay alive.

  Feng Renxiao hurried towards him, visibly upset.

  “Uncle Yu,” he said, “I must tell you something.”

  “What?”

  “We’re facing a bad headwind… and looking at the sky, it will only get worse…”

  “Do we risk the ship sinking?”

  “If we continue towards Dai Yu island, it will end badly. I highly recommend that we anchor off Guimen reef and wait until the winds are more favorable.”

  The sailor hadn’t been able to plan for this situation in advance because, out of caution, Zhang Yong had led him to believe that they were travelling towards the Philippines, only informing him of their real destination once they were at sea. Nonetheless, Yu Dayong gave great credit to his skill, thanking him for the warning with the intention of sincerely considering his recommendation. Guimen reef, a miniscule islet of around three hundred meters around on which not even a single blade of grass grew, was halfway between Macau and Dai Yu. During his twelve previous journeys along this sea route, the Tiger been forced to shelter there against the wind and rain on two occasions. Last time he’d been forced to wait there for three days. On the quarterdeck he looked up at the sky, seeing for himself that the weather was indeed particularly bad.

  “How much will we be delayed if we stop?” he asked.

  “The wind will probably blow until tomorrow; it will take some time to calm. Under those conditions, we could set off again on the day after tomorrow and make landfall two days later.”

  Yu Dayong thought for a moment.

  “The plans of man are nothing before that of the Heavens. I will inform Uncle Zhang of the situation. Set course for Guimen while we await his decision!”

  Feng Renxiao’s seafaring skills were such that when Zhang Yong was informed of the need to stop, the junk had already arrived at the reef. Guimen meant “demon gate”, but really it was a very ordinary small and rocky isle which would have made a good port if its dimensions had been less modest and it had a fresh water source. Feng Renxiao had barely lowered the anchor and moored the ship when the wind roared its fury and unleashed itself upon the sea. The ship’s beam allowed it to ride the surf better than narrower ships, but it was still tossed about by the increasingly large waves. Even though it was not his first sea voyage, Yu Dayong had rarely experienced pitching on this scale.

  Concerned for Zhang Yong’s ability to endure this discomfort in his condition, he rushed towards his cabin only to find him sitting quietly on his bench looking completely relaxed. Had he recovered? He didn’t dare ask, and quietly retreated to allow him to rest. The sailors had also stopped work and retired to their quarters. Only Feng Renxiao remained in the wheelhouse to maintain a presence at the wheel throughout the night. Neither the wind nor the swell bothered the man, who had spent his life at sea and dozed peacefully on his seat in the darkness of the starless night.

  •••

  Two hours after the junk left, three me
n escorting a dozen young girls arrived at the port. It was Mai Bing, Yu Dayong’s subordinate, and two other eunuchs bringing new slaves aged from fifteen to thirty years old back to their camp. With their wrists tied together and roped into a single column, their faces were all covered in tears.

  Yu Dayong had become involved in human trafficking to meet the demands of the Flemish on Lusong island who needed qualified craftspeople and women. Always keen to make new allies, the Tiger had acceded to their request and had regularly brought slaves for them from Nanyang ever since. While he initially communicated with them directly, he soon began to communicate exclusively through Pyros, who served as their intermediary. Two years earlier, when the famine ended and nearby villages no longer had any need to sell their children, he had been forced to resort to the Iron Sharks gang to kidnap girls and ensure a regular flow of merchandise. The ones who just arrived in Macau had been kidnapped during a celebration at the temple of Mazu. Yu Dayong wouldn’t call himself a slaver as such because he had only one customer, but his trafficking had eventually become public, earning him the nickname “the Cruel”.

  Mai Bing walked along cheerfully. This type of trade became more difficult to sustain as time went on, as the local population didn’t replenish quickly enough, so he congratulated himself for being lucky enough to score twelve beauties at once. Uncle Yu would certainly be pleased, as would the Flemish who would soon arrive by sea.

  “Uncle Mai,” cried A-Cai, one of the eunuchs in his escort, “the junk is no longer in the port!”

  Mai Bing’s jovial mood evaporated. He knew his master well enough that only an extremely serious situation could have distracted him from his lucrative trade with the Flemish, and the girls he had been about to deliver to them would have been worth their weight in coin. The small building used by the sailors also seemed exceptionally quiet. There was no doubt: the ship and its crew had weighed anchor.

  “A-Cai, go check if Uncle Yu is home,” he ordered.