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

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The Prisoners of Fate: Sequel to The Emperor's Prey Page 11

by Jeremy Han


  They remained silent for a while as Meng took in the sights, allowing his subconscious mind to filter the information. He learnt this from Ji Gang who revealed that he got his biggest break while hunting the fugitive emperor Jian Wen when he had completely relaxed his mind during a hot bath. His subconscious mind literally ‘saw’ what had happened as he closed his eyes and slept. The boat yawed as another vessel passed it. It caused the boatman to lose his balance but the agent’s hand shot out, catching the man before he fell into the water.

  “Whoah!” The agent’s grip was like iron, and his body did not move despite the boat’s swaying. The tanned, skinny man regained his balance and bowed. “Thank you, Sir!”

  “Some boatman you are,” Meng teased.

  “Those are rich people, and they have absolutely no regard for us,” the man complained. Meng saw that he had bad teeth.

  “Rich people?”

  “Yes. Lots of them come to the lake.”

  “To the brothel?”

  “That’s one of the places yes, but these guys”, he yanked a finger with obvious disgust, “are going somewhere else.”

  “Ohh?” Meng’s eyebrows went up.

  The man leaned forward conspiratorially, “There is a place that is off limits to ordinary people. Even if you have money you can’t go unless you know the right people.”

  “What’s with this place?”

  “It is said people go there to enter the heavens and commune with the deities,” the man whispered as though he could be heard despite being almost in the middle of the lake.

  “A temple?” Meng quizzed.

  “Nooo,” he said as he shook his head like an impatient teacher. “What they do bring them closer to the fairies other than dry, boring meditation?”

  “What is it then?” Meng asked impatiently.

  “The rich and connected, they gather to partake of the juice of the Yinsu hua ‘Yinsu flower’.

  “What does the juice do? What’s so special about it?”

  The man shrugged. “I have never taken it before. I only heard of it. But I heard rumours that it takes you into another world, where fairies meet your every manly need.” He chuckled as he thrust his hips in a crude, unmistakable manner. Meng laughed along although he didn’t relish the sight of the skinny, dark man with his pants rolled up to the knees moving in the mock provocative manner. Something else clicked in Meng’s mind.

  If one can see fairies, one can also possibly see demons…or demoness.

  19

  The setting sun dropped slowly behind the hills as its warm rays painted the city yellow, and the lake tour ended when the sun had turned the water’s surface into a golden, shimmering mirror. The boatman rowed effortlessly towards the shore and Meng paid him an extra coin for his effort before he hopped off the boat. He turned and looked, but the boatman had already started to row away. As the boatman faded into the distance the agent re-traced his way by crossing Su ti to the mysterious house of the yinsu hua. He had not said anything more after the conversation with the boatman because he did not want the man to ask too many questions, making him seem suspicious.

  He followed the prominent landmarks he had identified and was soon heading toward the building. He crossed a long moon bridge, named for its bowing, crescent shape over the water. It was another historical masterpiece made of stone over the green waters that allowed people access to a small islet. Lazy willows laced the beach, leaves dancing in the gentle breeze. Meng passed the trees and then crossed a smaller bridge that led him to a long, pathway, heading deeper into the islet. He continued on a flagstone path where bamboo flanked one side and the other side a white wall with grey tiles. The path snaked until it came to a large secluded two-storey house. The winding road hid the house from unwanted attention, but if one knew how to find it it was not a difficult voyage. The white-washed building had green glazed tiles on its roof that angled into mythical creatures that guarded the building against evil spirits. A bell hung at each of the four corners of the roof, and there were two white stone lions guarding the entrance. One of them had a ball under its feet. They were supposed to bring good luck, and as Meng took a look at the lions he wondered what kind of luck would bring the Eastern Depot to your doorstep?

  The worst kind of luck.

  He rapped on the solid wooden doors.

  “Open up!”

  He heard footsteps, then the sound of wood scraping against wood as the horizontal bar that served as a lock was removed. A man with bad skin peered out saying, “What do you want? We are closed already.”

  Meng smiled charmingly as he waved a piece of silver.

  “What else?” he asked.

  The man moved back, allowing the door to open and Meng entered. He followed the man across a wooden red bridge that spanned a miniature pond with koi. The fish were swimming lazily in the quiet water, their bright orange forms clear even in the fading light. The man led him into a hall where a fat man sat by a table, counting the day’s earnings with an abacus. A flight of stairs leading into a dark corridor on the second floor was behind the man, and the door to the stairs was covered with a bright red silk curtain. It was obvious why the table was placed like that. Pay first, and then go up.

  Meng noticed there were three other thugs, lounging on long chairs as they stared back at him. Enforcers. The agent noticed the place had a strange, sweet smell that made his head a little light, and he had to force himself to concentrate.

  “Zhuzi ‘Master’, a late thrill seeker,” the thug said as he jerked a finger at Meng. The fat man looked. He had a flat nose and small, piggish eyes that seemed a little too far apart. His chin sagged like a toad’s. Meng immediately found him repulsive, and had to suppress an urge to kill him where he stood.

  “Don’t you know the rules?” the man asked in a voice that was surprisingly high-pitched.

  Meng smiled again. He had good, angular, aristocratic bones. He easily passed off as a rich good-for-nothing.

  He took out another piece of silver and said good-naturedly, “What rules? I thought the only rule is to pay and have a good time?” He turned on the charm, acting like a rich spoiled brat who only knew how to have fun. The man squinted at him.

  “I…don’t think I have ever seen you before,” he said as he slowly got up, his massive frame rising with menace as his hands supported his weight against the table. Meng saw from the corner of his eyes the three lounging thugs rose too.

  “Who recommended you this place?” the man asked suspiciously.

  “My friends. You know, the same type as me. Rich, useless….” He laughed, spreading his palms wide like a fool.

  “This is not a place you come without recommendation. Who?” the man demanded. He was glaring at Meng now as the thugs took a step closer.

  Meng shrugged his shoulders, as though he did not care, and slipped his hand into his tunic. “Wait, wait…see this and you will know who sent me.”

  Meng threw the seal on the table and the sound of the clattering metal seemed amplified by the authority it carried. Immediately the man’s eyes widened as though a ghost was standing before him. He exclaimed, “DONG CHANG!” as he took a hasty step backward and almost fell. His mind could not process why the dreaded imperial secret service would come and knock on his door today, losing his composure in his panic.

  “Stay calm. I only want to know about the Yingsu hua and I will go. I am not interested in your business,” Meng said, but the man was not listening. He was a criminal, and any kind of government officer was a threat.

  “Get rid of him!” he screeched.

  The first man swung a massive fist at Meng. Meng was too close to see it, but his battle-honed instincts alerted him just in time. He ducked, striking out at the same time. Meng practiced Bao Quan, the Leopard Fist. The philosophy of the art taught how to strike when defending or dodging so as not to waste a movement.

  Ducking under the man’s swinging fist, he ended up within the inner arc of the man’s arm. It was too close for th
e man to strike him now. His hand, shaped like a paw, palm open with fingers curved at the first and second knuckle, shot out with great snapping force. It connected with the attacker’s jaw, forcing it backward until a loud crack announced the broken vertebrae. He pushed the dying man into the path of another attacker just as the man was lunging with a dagger. The blade dove into the man’s back, buying Meng time to face the next attacker.

  The thug stabbed downward with his blade, and instead of blocking or dodging Meng moved in. He punched at the incoming arm so that it was thrown off angle and at the same time kicked hard at the man’s abdomen. As the man doubled over Meng’s knee jerked, smashing his face. He then grabbed the man’s neck and slammed him into the ground, his own body going low with the momentum to dodge another slash of a knife. He rolled and sprang to his feet just behind the slasher, his fists pounding hard into the man’s kidneys. The man fell forward in pain and Meng ended his agony by executing a phoenix punch to his temple.

  The last thug faced the imperial agent with fear and Meng could see he was calculating his chances of dashing out alive. He was just a thug, a hired hand, and there was no need to die for his boss. He was not the reason why Meng had come, but Meng did not care. If they wanted to take him on, they had to bear the consequences. He took a step toward the shaking man.

  “Why are you standing there you fool!?” the boss demanded. “Get him!”

  He pushed the man and the thug attacked out of pressure. He lunged but Meng caught his hand and twisted hard. The pressure was so great the man started to kneel and without any mercy, the agent struck with his fingers so quickly that the man did not register the attack. All he felt was a great excruciating pain from his eyes where Meng had dug them out.

  “Sorry about that, but you cannot tell others who I am.” he said as he dropped the screaming man, walking towards the boss with the eyeballs in his hand. He threw the damaged organs at the man in charge of the den and grabbed him by the chin. Meng’s bloody fingers rubbed the man’s face crimson. He twisted the chin so that the man was forced to look into his cold, heartless eyes. The carefree, easy-going thrill seeker was gone. An imperial assassin, a man who did the dirty work of the court was there instead.

  “Tell me about the Yingsu hua. What is it? Where did it come from?” he rasped.

  The man told him everything about the plant, its effects and most importantly, and extremely shockingly, where it came from.

  “You are sure?”

  It was an order, and Meng frowned as the man’s answer reverberated in his mind. When he had come here he had only wanted information. Their secrecy and violence indicated something to hide, but then most criminals did. He might have been contented to just leave after defeating them and finding out what he needed to know, but that sliver of information revealed by the fat man had sealed their fates.

  “Yes….Yes…..please….let me live,” the man whimpered, and Meng could smell the sour stench of urine running down the man’s legs. He wrinkled his nose in disgust as the man pleaded, “I’m so sorry…I’m incontinent. Don’t kill me…I beg you. I only take orders.”

  “Do not lie to me you piece of dog shit,” Meng threatened, his face almost touching the other man’s. He needed to be sure. Until now, he could not believe his own ears.

  “No….Lord…no…please.”

  What he had revealed was earth-shattering. In the face of death, the man had told him much, perhaps too much. Meng calculated the information in his mind. If what he says is true, then he cannot live. He cannot report back and reveal that the Eastern Depot was here.

  Suddenly it dawned upon him why the man had reacted the way he did when Meng revealed his identity. Ji Gang had drilled into their heads that in the secret world of intelligence and assassinations there were no coincidences. Meng instinctively knew that what he had found out today was a piece of the devastating puzzle the imperial court wanted the Eastern Depot to unravel. Meng’s eyes froze over, cold like a leopard’s and if the eyes were indeed the windows to his soul, then his victim saw only darkness. The man started to shout. He could see what was coming.

  “Please…please! I am only a lowly eunuch!”

  Meng delivered a sharp blow to his throat. Po...op!

  He dispassionately watched the fat, helpless castrate suffocate. The man writhed for awhile as his windpipe collapsed, and then he was still. There was a hiss as air escaped his stomach cavity, and the foul smell of his stomach contents mixed with the sweet aroma of the mysterious yinsu hua. Meng looked around. There were things to do to conceal his visit. No one must know that the Dong Chang’s investigation had reached this far.

  He torched the place.

  20

  Grand Eunuch Kong Wei stood on the balcony with his hands behind his back as he observed the scribes working in the grand hall below. The portly man in the uniform of a high-ranking eunuch cut a stern figure. The soft sounds of brushes rubbing against the silk used for imperial correspondences flitted through the vast chamber – the sound of an industrious empire and Kong smiled, pleased. Messengers came and went, bringing information from the different ministries and provinces to be decoded and sieved before it was brought before the court. The court would rule and then the imperial edicts were sent out to the empire. Eunuchs sat in rows behind tables as they read the incoming reports before compiling them, and another group handled outgoing messages. All edicts were issued under the seal of the Zheng Tong Emperor, but the grand eunuch knew they were decreed by the empress dowager. She was proving herself to be an able and diligent ruler, which made it hard for Kong to fulfil his secret plans.

  Kong Wei was an important man, and in a certain sense he was grateful for his elevated status. However, he also knew deep in his heart why he was here.

  I am a slave, a highly prized animal in a gilded cage.

  His face crumpled in a frown, and his body tensed at the thought. He had seen how eunuchs rose and fell, good, dependable men who served with distinction discarded as political scapegoats. Often emperors put blame on their most loyal of servants, the eunuchs, to appease the military or the civil service. If they were lucky, they were demoted to become the guardian of tombs and if not, they were imprisoned and executed after years of dedication. In his mind eunuchs were the most dedicated simply because they had nowhere else to go. Their fate rose and fell with an emperor’s favour, hence they always worked hard to gain it. But emperors were political creatures who had to balance the military and the bureaucracy and sometimes the Son of Heaven had to throw his hunting dogs a bone to appease them. Few grand eunuchs had died holding their post. The grand admiral Zheng He who died at sea was a rare example.

  Even Zheng He might have lost his post had he returned alive, he mused, given the poison the civil service was feeding the emperor about how the expeditions were draining the coffers without any tangible gain. Better to die at sea with full honours than come back and watch your precious achievements and contribution discredited by jealous lesser men.

  True enough, the proud fleet that had once spread the glory of the Ming to unreachable lands was languishing in the port. The record of Zheng He’s exploits were deliberately glossed over by small-minded bureaucrats who would never amount to even half of what the eunuch admiral had done. To think they call us half-man! he fumed silently.

  He tasted the rise of bile in his throat as he contemplated what his fate might be. He was embarking on some something dangerous, even more hazardous than the grand admiral’s epic voyages across the western seas and naval battles.

  He walked among the clerks, checking their work. Only the most scholarly of eunuchs were selected to work in the Silijian. Can’t be having the emperor’s missives wrongly interpreted, can we?

  “Lord Kong.” A messenger approached and bowed. He held a piece of paper over his lowered head with both hands above, not looking at the esteemed eunuch straight in the eye. It was part of the protocol, just as one does not look straight into the eye of the emperor when speaking to him.
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  Kong took the paper, saying, “Leave.”

  As the man scurried away the eunuch retreated to his quarters and digested the news. With mixed feelings he put the paper over an incense burner and watched as the rice paper curled into ash. He clapped, and his assistant appeared.

  “Prepare the carriage.”

  The man bowed. “Yes, Lord.”

  When his servant had gone Kong took a deep breath, sighing audibly. He felt the weight of the years settle over him as his features sagged, the eye bags around his eyes seemed more pronounced. He sat down heavily, a little unbalanced before reaching for the cup of tea, and his hands trembled as he lifted the cup to his mouth. An observer might have thought the message contained bad news, where on the contrary it brought news of a success that propelled his plans forward. It was a pyrrhic victory though. He had gone through this scenario many times in his head but when it actually happened there was no joy, no sense of achievement, just grief and weariness. A voice broke his reverie.

  “Lord, your carriage is here.”

  He rose and walked to the carriage where a page held his hand and helped him up into the vehicle. The driver took him to a secluded house that was out of the city. Few knew of this place, and if it was discovered by the wrong people Kong’s head would roll. The horses clattered through streets filled with people. The carriage, like any owned by the rich, drew no attention.

  Usually Kong would be fascinated by the street scenes: hawkers going about their business, families buying things, animals led by farmers or even the occasional acrobat or street performer trying to con the gullible audience into buying magic talismans or medicine from the gods. He would laugh to himself and mutter some playful swear words at the snake oil sellers as he watched life go on around him. Kong, like most eunuchs had come from a poor background. Such performances helped him forget the constant hunger and hopelessness that had surrounded his childhood. Often he wondered what it was like to live a normal life, how it felt to be holding the hand of your wife and children, buying titbits and toys for your loved ones on a family outing. But by the flick of a knife he would never know the joy of having a family. His rise to such an elevated position was not without its sorrows and today, the painful past came back like the floods that broke the banks of the Yellow River.

 

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