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

by Jeremy Han

  “Majesty, wait!” Zhao cried. “On account of saving your Majesties, please let me speak.”

  The empress dowager was reluctant and she showed it in her countenance, but protocol dictated she hear him out. “What is it?”

  “Spare Zhu Wenkui. He was misled after all.”

  “Why should I spare the man who poses a threat to my son’s position?”

  “He is crippled already. I ensured that, so that he would not be a threat anymore.” He looked at Yang with a broken heart and saw the two-year old Zhu Wenkui, the toddler running around the palace with two strong legs as guilt washed over him. “Moreover, I promise I will take him with me, and never return to the Ming again.”

  “Where will you take him to?”

  “South. To tend to his father’s tomb for the rest of his days,” Zhao said. “It will be so far away that he would never find his way back.”

  Ji Gang interceded. “Majesty, please accept Zhao’s request. You sought Jian Wen’s help after all. Had it not been for the eunuchs the former emperor would be here by your side as his Majesty’s regent. In fact, he died because you approached him. Spare his son, if only on account that he has the dragon’s blood in him, and Jian Wen’s men have saved the throne at a heavy cost on his instructions.”

  She took a deep breath. It was the truth that she owed her life and her son’s to Jian Wen’s bodyguards. It was not their fight, but they had fought valiantly and she did not like to be seen as an ungrateful monarch. Even Wang Zhen, now Imperial Tutor, chipped in.

  “Majesty,” he addressed her, “the Son of Heaven must not grow up thinking it is alright to repay good with evil. The man who saved his life has made a request, and to deny it is to teach him that the emperor need not be honourable. Commander Zhao has served the throne all his life and by showing grace it will reinforce the importance of the emperor being virtuous to his loyal servants. Moreover, the Commander is taking the Crown Prince to tend to his Majesty Jian Wen’s tomb for the rest of his life. That is an act of filial piety that the sage Confucius would want all children to practice.”

  So they have all agreed.

  She took some time to digest this, her quick mind seeing how this would play out. The Eastern Depot and the eunuchs have reached an agreement, she thought, but she decided not to give them an easy victory. In truth she did not care about Yang’s fate and whether he lived or died was no longer important to her, but she must show them she was still in control. She would not be swayed by those who pulled power strings, who thought they could manipulate her merely because she was a woman.

  Asserting her power would be the only way to protect her son. The recent assassination attempt proved that she could trust no one. She slapped her hand against the armrest of her throne.

  “I AM THE EMPRESS DOWAGER!” she screamed and her voice echoed across the hall. “Do not tell me what to do,” she hissed, her voice filled with menace. “He,” she pointed a bright red nail at Yang, “will die for plotting against the throne. Crown prince or not, he is a rebel.”

  The silence was deafening and Ji Gang noticed that Zhao’s fists were clenched. None of them spoke, except for the man with nothing to lose.

  “Spare his life, Majesty,” Kong said. “I plead not for mine, but for his. I misguided him from birth and led him to this day. He did not know what my plans were.” Gone was his haughtiness. Now Kong’s voice was filled with anguish. It was clear he loved the young man.

  She laughed in his face. “If I can imagine a fate worse than death, I will bestow it upon you two.”

  The crippled assassin listened to the discussion on his fate in a dreamy state. For the last month he had wondered why he had not died, but as he slowly came to terms with his past, he wished that he had died thirty years ago. Who would imagine he was once a prince? From youth he had lived in poverty, then been castrated, and then finally crippled in a game far larger with the stakes higher than he could imagine. He could no longer control himself and he felt something surging in him.

  Pride rose like a wave. It was the same feeling he had when he led men into battle. He had since realised that the only thing that made him feel alive was to lead men into war, and now that would never happen again. He would not allow others to bargain over his fate. He raised his voice.

  “KILL ME IF YOU WISH AND BE DONE WITH IT!”

  Everyone turned to look at the man who has been silent until a second ago. Even the empress dowager was stunned and the young emperor burst out in tears and hugged his tutor.

  “When I led men into battle, I felt something different in me, like I am destined to command,” Yang continued bitterly. “Crown prince or not, I do not care. I am crippled now and I will never lead again. The only thing that means anything to me has been taken away. It makes no difference whether I live or die. Execute me!” he demanded as his eyes blazed at the lady on the throne.

  “Highness, no! You are your mother’s only surviving child,” Kong pleaded. He tried to move to where Yang knelt to plead with him, but guards held him back.

  “Take me out of this misery!” Yang screamed.

  The empress dowager smiled as she enjoyed the drama, and a wicked grin filled her face. She wanted the rest to see that power over life and death still remained in her hands. She gave Ji Gang and Wang a triumphant look.

  Plot all you like. I am the empress dowager!

  “Very well,” she said as she turned to Zhao. “I will grant you his life Commander Zhao, if only to prolong his agony. Let him tend to the grave of the father he never knew and reflect on his miserable existence. Let him brood over a lifetime of failure. Let him remember he was just a pawn, but make sure he never steps foot on the Ming again.”

  Zhao bowed and replied coldly, “Thank you, your Majesty.”

  You cold-blooded witch.

  Turning to Kong she demanded, “I want his birth records, as part of the deal.”

  “Why?” Kong asked. “You already have what you want. He will disappear and never return.”

  “It is the papers that makes the prince, is it not? As long as the documents survive, another pretender could arise. I don’t care about him, but he is nothing without the papers. Where is it?”

  “Under my table, there is a loose tile. It is there.”

  She snapped her fingers and a Jinyi Wei went to fetch it. The man returned swiftly, bowing to the empress dowager as he handed the papers over. She put the documents into the brazier set up to keep her warm, and Zhu Wenkui’s identity disappeared forever.

  She faced the condemned eunuch and said with satisfaction, “Take him out and execute him at the hour of Wu.”

  89

  Despite the large number of people assembled it was strangely quiet. Nobody spoke as the lone condemned man walked past them towards the execution ground. All eunuchs and officials were relieved from duty that afternoon so that they could witness the fate of the man who had dared to plot the death of the son of heaven and his mother. The spectators lined the streets in silence, held back by red-robed Jinyi Wei.

  Kong Wei was the last of the conspirators to be executed, and he was also the highest ranking. The Eastern Depot had gone through the capital like a comb and all elements that were connected to Kong had been tortured and executed brutally. Several innocents had died alongside the guilty, but under torture all fingers pointed towards the Grand Eunuch Kong Wei. Even his best friend Lei Xiang had raised a broken finger at Kong and Ji Gang had his evidence, although he did not need it. The grand eunuch had not even defended himself. He readily admitted to his crimes and they knew he had only done it to save Yang by taking all the sins.

  Now Kong walked alone to the execution ground. He shuffled slowly with the heavy shackles, dressed in the thin white gown of death row prisoners and shivering in the piercing cold northern wind. For a while he had been worried that he might catch a chill, then he chuckled at himself for being silly. What does it matter? I will be dead soon.

  He smiled ruefully as he recognised several face
s. Some looked at him with silent triumphant, some with sadness, others who did not know him were grim too because his fate was a reminder to all.

  A life time of imperial servitude...reduced to this, he reflected, yet he did not feel any regret. Instead, as he took that lonely path to die, his mind wandered. He thought he was a young eunuch again, going along the long and lonely halls of the palace, thinking he would live the rest of his life wandering within the four walls of the imperial complex with no purpose other than to get by. Since the day he had been sold as a eunuch he had stopped feeling, until the day he had heard that voice. The voice of a concubine singing.

  She became empress, and one day he had saved her life and swore on her death bed to help her son. He never forgot her. The song played in his head, and to the astonishment of those around him he started to sing.

  A cold and lonely winter

  A home far away

  Trapped like a sparrow in a rich man’s cage

  I long for home

  For freedom

  For family

  But winter will not past,

  And summer will never come,

  And I will never be free again

  The song of a woman forced to become a concubine.

  The song of a man forced to become a eunuch.

  He walked calmly to the execution square where five horses waited. It would be a bloody spectacle. He turned and looked at the balcony where he had stood many times beside emperors and ministers, watching executions and other punishments meted out by the throne.

  Now I know how it feels like to look up at your executioner.

  He turned and saw the empress dowager already seated on the dais. The young emperor was squirming but his mother forced him to watch and he knew why. She wanted her son to be strong, but the child was trying to hide behind Wang Zhen.

  Kong wondered why the young man was still there. Hadn’t the secret service found out his role in all of this? They would not have cared if he was a willing party or not, they would have broken every single one of his bones before beheading him. As he pondered this the executioner came forward and tied crude leather harnesses to his limbs. They looped over his neck, and then secured his arms and legs and the leather smelled of use. The stink of fear and death were forever locked into these instruments of agony.

  The man tested the tightness of the bonds to make sure the victim would not slip when the horses pulled and when he was satisfied he walked out of the execution square. He looked up at the monarch for the order to rip the victim apart and subconsciously Kong followed the man’s gaze. The empress dowager smiled coldly at him, taking her time to give the order.

  She wanted him to feel the horror, but he felt none. His gaze moved to the young eunuch Wang Zhen. The younger man looked at the old eunuch who was about to die and smiled triumphantly. His expression said, I have won. I betrayed you. Your life in exchange for mine.

  Kong nodded in understanding.

  He did not blame the young man. He had manipulated Wang Zhen almost to death. It was only natural he hated the grand eunuch and he finally understood why the Eastern Depot had not arrested Wang.

  Because the young castrate had made a pact with the devil.

  Touche.

  The executioner’s whip cracked and the five snorting horses ripped with all their might.

  Epilogue

  One year later….

  Zhao Qi dreaded the moment he knew must come. As the harbour loomed ahead in the shadow of the green towering hills he took a deep breath. The air was warm and heavy with moisture. He was home. He should be happy returning home in one piece, but his heart sank at the sight of the island where he had lived peacefully for the last fifteen years.

  After the imperial ship docked at the pier he descended the gangway. The crippled man behind him came down slowly, assisted by two soldiers as Yang balanced precariously on a crutch. His assistants helped him navigate the narrow way and the former crown prince looked with amazement at the scene before him. The bustling pier was filled with workers who hurried about like ants loading and unloading all manner of goods. Bare-backs glistening with perspiration, the labourers paid them no notice as they went about their chores, faces covered by straw hats. Beads of perspiration formed on the crippled assassin’s forehead as the strong tropical sun pricked him with a thousand needles. He hobbled after Zhao, curiously taking in the sights and sounds of the seaside town.

  The commander was very conscious of the fact that he had returned without the Acrobat, and he knew that he must break the sad news to Li Po. He had rehearsed this moment for months on the ship. Each time it ended in frustration, and sometimes in tears as he struggled with the guilt of being the only survivor in his team.

  Have I been a curse to my men?

  How do I tell a daughter her only kin is dead because of me?

  He hoped she would not come so that he could have some time to think how he should handle the inevitable. He looked ahead and dread filled his stomach like icy water as he saw Li Po at a distance. She was tip-toeing to search for a familiar face in the crowd.

  News of an imperial ship must have preceded them, and she had come in anticipation of seeing her father, her only surviving parent. He knew how close their ties were and Zhao felt as though someone had forced a stone into his stomach. Her keen eyes sifted through the crowd before coming to rest on the familiar face of her father’s comrade and she started to weave through the crowd towards them.

  Zhao Qi could hear his heart thump with each step. Images of his heroic, bloodied friend dying in his arms, trying to hold his guts in while he exhorted the commander to finish the mission sprang from his memory. Zhao shut his eyes momentarily. Memories of a lifetime of going through steel and fire flooded his mind. The Acrobat’s cold hand seemed to touch his again, gripping it tightly.

  At long last, I see my wife again….Tell Li Po I love her.

  Those were the last words of his comrade. It was going to be hard.

  Li Po pushed impatiently through the crowd of workers milling about. She knew most of them, having lived on this island for fifteen years, but that day she was not in the mood to greet any of her neighbours and acquaintances. Her focus was on her father.

  Where is he!?

  She desperately hoped the shorter man was blocked by the crowd and his loving face would emerge like the sun behind clouds. She would run to him and he would hug her the way he had for so many years. She saw Zhao, and for a moment she smiled. The commander had promised her that he would look after her father, and if Zhao was there then her father could not be far away. She waved at him and started to make her way forward. A breeze lifted her long black hair, bringing momentary relief from the heat but she did not notice it. Her eyes were fixed ahead.

  Zhao would never break his word! He is a hero, she thought to herself as she pushed through a line of coolies carrying sacks of rice to a boat.

  The commander’s solemn countenance was the first thing that indicated something was wrong and her eyes travelled to his hands, settling on the funerary ceramic urn clutched tightly to his chest. She looked around desperately, hoping for his smiling face to emerge but all she could see behind the commander was a crippled man helped by soldiers. Her father was nowhere to be seen.

  Her heart almost stopped. She saw Zhao’s lips moved but she could not hear anything. Time stood still as the grey urn loomed larger before her. She heard her heartbeat resound in her ears.

  No!

  NO! NO!

  Her legs gave and she toppled like a cut puppet. Zhao dashed forward to hold her, as she started to wail.

  “My father! No! My father!”

  “I’m sorry, Li Po. I am so sorry.”

  Even heroes fail...heroes die.

  Slowly, she took the urn lovingly into her arms and cradled her father’s ashes like a child. Her tears rolled off the smooth glazed clay as she tugged it close to her chest. The urn smelled of the earth.

  “He said he loves you,” Zhao said tenderly.


  But she did not hear him.

  Two days later Yang knelt before the simple tombstone of his father. His knees felt the cool, moist earth as he paid his respects mechanically to a man he did not remember. Trees shaded them from the sun and insects buzzed in the silent forest around him. He looked confused. As far as he was concerned he had no father. All he could remember was the image of the back of a man fleeing. Kong had been more a father to him than the monk-emperor.

  Zhao could see the conflicting emotions in the assassin as he grappled with the knowledge that he was truly a crown prince.

  “My father… what was he like?” he asked.

  Zhao replied solemnly. “He was an emperor worthy of our lives because he represented something greater than the throne.”

  “What was that?”

  “Benevolence. Justice. These were two things his predecessor and usurper did not understand.”

  “How did he die? Did eunuch assassins really kill him?” Yang pressed.

  Zhao noticed the man’s shoulders had sagged. The months at sea had transformed him, as the past ate away the proud man’s demeanour. Once tall and arrogant, the cripple now looked haggard and broken.

  “Yes. Kong’s men murdered him so that he would not return,” Zhao replied. “Her Majesty wanted to use you as leverage for him to return. If he did, she was prepared to spare your life.”

  “Eunuch assassins sent by Kong….” Yang murmured. Men like me. Men with no past and no future, who only had the grand eunuch.

  The old eunuch emerged from the depths of his memories. Kong, the young man who came to visit him as he lived alone in a village where no one cared. Kong, the older eunuch who fussed over him after his castration, genuinely concerned and pained by the boy’s suffering, and finally the look of pride on the grand eunuch’s face as he heard of Yang’s leadership and victories. The same man who killed his father was also the man who saved had his life and raised him.

  “Would he have returned?” Yang asked softly.

  “Yes, he would. He could forego the throne for the Buddha, but he would forsake all for you. I know he loves you, and he never forgot the day he was separated from you… by us, the imperial bodyguard.” Zhao’s voice was laced with regret.