The Prisoners of Fate: Sequel to The Emperor's Prey

by Jeremy Han

  “Master, your bath is ready.”

  The man grunted in reply. His mind was far away. The servant left the room quietly after carefully hanging up the armour on a specially designed T-frame. He heard a splash, and knew that his boss had started to bathe. He started to polish the armour, hoping to finish as much as he could before his master summoned.

  “Chen!”

  “Yes, Lord?”

  “Dress me.” He snapped at the old servant, “Hurry!”

  The general stood naked as water dripped off his scarred, muscled body. A bright whitish line of healed tissue stretched across his back, stark across his tanned skin. It was a wound delivered by a downward slashing Mongol sabre, delivered from horseback many years ago. The servant dressed him in a fine sky blue silk tunic, and then combed his long hair. He noticed there were streaks of white amidst the black. He remembered it used to be all black, and it mirrored the years he had followed the man. The general had fought several wars before being promoted by the War Ministry to head the command at the prosperous city famed for its scenery, Longjingtea and beautiful women. The city was built around a lake, known as Xihu ‘West Lake’, the imperial retreat for countless emperors, including the Ming ones. Islets dot the tranquil lake with picturesque pagodas and pavilions. The emperor had finally rewarded the general for his efforts after a major battle. The servant could still remember the joy the posting had brought to his master. However, the hardened officer had not rested on his laurels. He toured the military districts regularly, trained soldiers, and punished the errant. He did not take the peace for granted.

  But tonight he seemed happy. The master had an appointment, so he would not be having dinner at home, to the disappointment of his middle-aged wife. After Old Chen had dressed the general, combed his hair and dabbed fragrance of musk, he went out to prepare the carriage that would take his master to town. The servant did not know where the final destination was because his master was secretive about it. His master boarded the vehicle and then tapped the partition impatiently to signal the driver to go. The servant waited until the carriage had gone before he went back into the house, carefully shutting the gate for the night.

  The carriage arrived at a house of pleasure situated by the lake. Even from a distance, he could hear the sounds of merry-making. Faint laughter and music floated across the quiet lake, growing louder as he approached. Tea houses, restaurants and high-end brothels lined the shore, their bright lanterns casting a rainbow on the still, black water. The general entered his favourite establishment through a discreet entrance, where the proprietor waited for her esteemed guest. Instead of a grand entrance flanked by a bevy of women, he passed under two ordinary looking red lanterns. He could hear the revelry going on in the dance hall – singing, dancing, drunken laughter and feminine voices, but he was a man of status, and did not want to be recognised. They followed a long corridor that was dimly lit. The floor was covered by dark wood planks and the long wall had niches carved into it in which scented candles burned, casting the path in a soft, orange glow. The whole place was designed to facilitate seduction and lead wealthy, powerful men to sin against their wives.

  He followed the proprietor, a former courtesan herself, to the third floor via another private stairway to a private suite specially arranged for men like him. Some men whored openly, where some liked to keep their reputations intact.

  “Here we are, Sir.” The madame opened the door, pushed a thick, red curtain aside and led him into a richly decorated room. A marble table sat in the middle, on which an exquisite, handmade silk lantern sat, artfully illuminating the room. A flask of wine and two cups made of the best porcelain were set beside the lantern. To the side, an elaborately carved rosewood bed with silk curtains and soft cushions waited.

  “Please wait. Your companion will come soon. Have a cup of wine.” She poured and gestured for him to drink. He lifted the cup to his lips and downed it in one manly gulp.

  “Excellent wine,” he said, smiling lustfully at her. She nodded gracefully at the comment. She was still beautiful despite being in her forties. She must have been a star when she was younger and in the game. He wanted to touch her, but restrained himself because he was a man of dignity. As he waited, he drank another cup, and immediately he could feel the effect of the alcohol. He laughed softly as he went into the high. He felt light, almost as though he was floating. He loved the wine they served because it would enhance his sexual experiences later beyond human imagination. Besides the taste of plum, he thought there was something else, something richer. He knew there was something added to it to make him feel ecstatic, but he did not mind. The madame smiled as her client leaned back into his chair. It was time for her to go. She got up, and bowed. Before she left the room, she blew out the candle and let the room fall into darkness except for a red lamp in the corner of the room. The general could hear the gentle, receding footsteps of the madame as she exited the chamber. He took a deep breath as his arousal stirred. As he waited, he downed two more cups of the exquisite wine. He leaned back into the chair again, and his mind wallowed in anticipation of carnal pleasures.

  A soft knock. Once. Then the door opened. He breathed deeply as he turned. Straight, black hair framed her angular face, and in the dark he found her even more attractive. Her perfume reached out and drew him in like a spell. She was his type – slim, fair-skinned with long, flowing hair that covered the face partially, adding to the mystery. She entered the room and bowed at the general. She wore a pink satin dress with flowers painted on it and walked with grace, her etiquette reflecting her training. She befitted his status, and he beamed.

  “What is your name?” he slurred slightly, breath heavy with alcohol.

  “My name is Yin. Master, can I pour you a cup of wine?” She offered him the cup even before he could refuse. He drank it in one gulp, his head beginning to spin a little. He was a good drinker, but tonight the wine seemed a little too strong. They made small talk as she plied him with more alcohol, for it was un-gentlemanly to proceed straight to sex. She was not a mere whore to be used for crass pleasure; she was a delicacy to be savoured slowly.

  I am a cultured man.

  Then as the wine took effect, he moved closer. His inhibitions were gone, helped by her hand that snaked across his thigh and slipped between his legs. It was an invitation. She stroked him skilfully and he moaned. His own hand now moved over toward her crotch, anticipating the soft flatness but…it was stopped by a grip so strong it hurt!

  He was a hardened warrior, but the sudden, clamping movement caught him by surprise and he yelped like a man whose hand was trapped in a vice. An unmistakable cold, male laughter broke the steamy atmosphere in the room. Low and animal-like in its intensity, it froze his blood. Before he could react palms as hard as iron plates struck his chest in a lightning fast left-right movement. He slammed against the wall and fell. He got up fast but lost his balance, toppling the marble table and smashing the delicate porcelain. The world spun. His vision started to blur, as he tried to keep his balance. His heart pounded and the sound thundered in his ears. The wine! She moved her hands; they seemed to dance like snakes, and it revealed her true nature.

  So many hands….!

  “YAO NṺ! ‘DEMONESS’!” he screamed! He tried to reach for his sword, his constant companion all these years, but could not find it – he did not bring it with him to the brothel.

  I must be going mad! She had more than one pair of hands. He had seen cave murals before of a female demon with many hands. Now, one had come for him. Before he could react, the demoness was in front of him. She clamped his throat with surprising strength and struck him many times with blurred hands. A masculine roar emanated from the demoness’ throat as she smashed the dazed general’s head against the wall, resulting in a loud crack. Blood splattered. The general tried to fight back, but all he saw was a red haze. He had fought numerous wars and survived them; even in his drunken state, he would not die helpless. He shouted and struck with his powerful fis
ts, but she was no longer there. He lashed out again and she intercepted it easily, shocked at the amount of strength that could come out of such a petite frame as she twisted his wrist with unbelievable speed.

  Snaaaap.

  He howled. Her eyes opened wide in fury as another manly scream raged from the mouth that had seemed so inviting earlier. Another hand struck the general’s eyes with blinding speed. He screamed in high-pitched fear as the world suddenly went black. His bladder gave as fear seized him, and he tried to run blind.

  Craaaaaak!

  He felt a sharp, lightning streak of pain burst from his knee when her kick connected and he collapsed. He yelled in blind fear as he felt his head pulled backward to expose his throat. Death was inevitable.

  It ended with a wet, slashing sound. He gurgled and choked on his own blood, not able to see the dishevelled creature that stood over his body, waiting for him to die. He twitched violently, as though the nervous system could not accept the brutal fact. Dark blood pumped out of his severed throat and sullied the immaculate room as the smell of iron overwhelmed the perfume and incense. Finally, he stopped moving. Yin admired ‘her’ work.

  The victim’s eyes were gouged out cleanly, and were somewhere on the floor. His knee rested at an impossible angle. His wrist bone jutted out, and his throat had been slashed from ear to ear. ‘She’ opened the window of the third floor room and leapt off the ledge into the darkness, rocking the night with manic laughter.

  2

  “Sir, you have had enough to drink.” Mei tried to stop a customer from grabbing the wine flask. The man had not stopped drinking since he came in, and had been going on and on about his marital problems; she almost felt sorry for him. He collapsed onto the floor and started snoring almost immediately as the courtesan tried to help him up, but he was just too heavy. Mei was new. She was only eighteen and had joined the brothel just one week ago. She looked at the drunk and sighed with relief now that she would not need to sleep with him. This trick was taught by the older sisters: if you did not want to sleep with the client, drown him in alcohol. But now, she needed to do something about the unconscious man in her bedchamber. She would talk to the madame. Quietly, she left the room, closing the doors behind her. She walked quickly. If they could throw him out before he regained consciousness and got horny, she would be free for the night and did not have to betray herself. She shuffled passed corridors until she reached the private quarters, knocking on her boss’ door.

  “Fu-ren ‘Madam’, Mei would like to see you.”

  Once, twice, no response. She had asked another girl and she said Madame had returned to her room. The light was on, so she pushed opened the door, her scream peircing the air before fainting.

  An hour later, the brothel was filled with activity as constables flooded the place. One of the courtesans had looked for the madame and found her dead. Her neck was broken so savagely that when the girl entered the room, the lady’s head was looking almost backward toward the door. The murderer had snapped her neck before seating her body facing the dressing table so that the deceased looked like she was trying to put on make-up, only her head was facing the wrong way. Her eyes were half-opened, lower lip dropping in a macabre smile to welcome the girl. The young courtesan Mei was blabbering uncontrollably to the constable, who was trying to make sense of what she was saying. A search for the murderer uncovered another two grisly murders – a young courtesan and a client had also been brutally murdered. The girl had died from a broken neck similar to her boss, but the client was murdered in a sensational way. Multiple injuries that were not linked to death were noted. Blood was everywhere. The chief constable noted astutely that the first two kills were committed silently, but the third, the man’s, was probably not. Hence, they should interrogate and see if anyone heard anything.

  That night, the chief constable retired to his quarters with a cold dread in his heart. Several things troubled him. The man was probably the target, where the first two deaths were necessary steps to commit the third. He noted the violence of the man’s death - it was very much a statement. The window was wide opened so that was most likely the assassin’s escape route. Whoever fled that way must be highly skilled because it was a straight drop to the ground from three stories. But two things continued to perplexed him. One was the identity of the man - he was the regional military commander. If the country was at peace, who would want to assassinate the general in such a brutal fashion? Who was the killer trying to demoralise? Did he have enemies powerful enough to do this? The second fact was both confusing and frightening. Amidst the sounds of rutting in a house of carnal pleasure, a few people heard the victim cry out one word before he died.

  Demoness!

  The next morning, after conferring with his superiors he was instructed to send a report to the Forbidden City. A general had been murdered by a demoness, and the lowly constabulary needed advice.

  3

  The creak of massive doors turning on hinges larger than a man’s fist echoed throughout the Forbidden City. A flock of pigeons, disturbed by the sound, flew west into the pink dusk, the walls echoing with the flapping of wings. To any observer, it would seem a black, noisy cloud had zipped across the vast, empty yard of the palace. To the west, the horizon was a dull, blurry pink-orange layer, the sun bleeding out its last to impending darkness. The moon, bright and cheery, could be seen over the home of the emperor.

  As the gates to the Forbidden City were locked down by eunuchs as a lone, cloaked figure discreetly approached the sentry at an obscure service gate. He panted as he ran along the long corridors by the high red walls. Anxious, he frequently looked behind to see if he was followed because leaving the palace without permission would bring dire consequences. It was dark, but because he was familiar with the place he did not carry a lantern, allowing him to be as inconspicuous as possible. The eunuch guarding the gate had instructions to let the man out, and later, to return. Although Wang Zhen was not a high ranking person, his absence would be felt by no less than the emperor and the empress dowager.

  He was the emperor’s personal attendant.

  He had feigned illness to make this rendezvous. It had rained heavily earlier, and a soft mist covered the entire palace. He was thankful for it, because even though he knew that this area was unguarded he could not afford any chances. As he approached the gate he heard the drum echo from the Warrior’s Gate, the Xuanwu Men, signifying the first hour of night. The sound reverberated across the walls of the palace, and soon the whole city would hear it too. The Xuanwu Men had a large drum, and every turn of the clock eunuchs, rain or shine, snow or not, must beat the drum. No mistakes were allowed, and if any were made, those held responsible could be beaten or executed. He quickened his pace and reached the exit. The heavily-armed eunuch guard, face bathed in reddish glow as he stood beneath a red lantern turned and looked at him with no expression on his face. Anxiety filled Wang’s gut with lead.

  What must I say to the guard? he wondered in between puffs of air. How do I explain to the guard I am making an unauthorised exit from the most heavily guarded complex in the empire? What if this was a mistake and he raises the alarm?

  But as he approached the sentry, the man automatically turned and unlatched the heavy wooden door. The red doors opened with a soft creak, creating a gap just big enough for him to squeeze through; there was no need to announce to the whole world his clandestine appointment, and no words were exchanged between them. The young man leaving the palace wanted to mouth a thank you, but the other had already turned away, his face impassive. It was as though he was a ghost, and the sentry did not see him. The young eunuch, his face bathed in cold perspiration, headed for the steps that led up a wooded hill. It was dark already.

  The grand eunuch Kong Wei pondered through what he was about to do as he waited for the younger man to arrive. He contemplated what would happen next like a chess player. From the pagoda, he could see the entire complex of the Forbidden City laid out before him like a huge rectangle.
The notion of what he was planning shook him to the core as he stared at the seat of the empire’s power. Even in the dark the blood red complex, lit by huge lanterns and braziers of fire, seemed to beat like a humungous heart. He could make out the majestic buildings that took fifteen years and almost a million men to build. Thousands lived there to serve only one person – the eight year old emperor who slept in peace, nestled safely in his mother’s arms, surrounded by the Jinyi Wei, the Imperial Bodyguard who protected him from enemies who were clear as day while the dreaded secret service, the Eastern Depot, hunted those who threatened him from the dark.

  Against people like me.

  His reverie was broken by a nervous voice, “Lord Kong, you wish to see me?” Wang’s throat was dry.

  Kong turned and smile at the young man. “Have a seat.” The man sat and waited silently as Kong drank some tea. It was dutiful for a junior to remain quiet until spoken to, though in his silence he fidgeted uncomfortably, tugging at his uniform. In truth, Kong was also wondering how to address the issue he had in mind. Committing treason was never easy.

  “Is everything fine with your new job?” The old eunuch asked. The young man could hear the elder’s heavy breathing.

  “Yes, Lord Kong. Thank you for your help.” He hesitated, “Yes, it is good. It is better…than what I used to do.” He lowered his head, and waited for the old man’s reply.