The Emperor's Prey

by Jeremy Han

  “I am not leaving without it. All my hard work and danger I risked is for the chance to get out of here and live a peaceful and abundant life.” Yuen said firmly.

  “I’m not having you along if your heart’s not on the mission.”

  “You want a share of it don’t you?” Yuen looked at Zhao with narrow eyes.

  “Say what you like, Yuen. We are imperial bodyguards. Not thieves.”

  “Look, I am not against sharing it with you if you let me bring it along.” Yuen said.

  “I said leave it. The mission comes first.”

  “Farmer, say something. You want the silver too. I will share it with you.” Yuen prompted his colleague.

  The Farmer spoke, “Commander, what if we take only what we need. The money would come in useful.”

  “Fu Zhen, you know that’s not what he meant. I will not compromise on the mission’s success.”

  Yuen rebutted his commander, “I can get the money out of the Middle Kingdom on my own, Commander. I do not need your help if you insist that I abandon my hard-earned wealth.” Yuen put both hands on the table and stood staring down at his commander. His criminal eyes were hard. Yuen must have gone through rough times to thrive in this trade and accumulate his wealth. He had done dangerous things before and no longer feared authority. The Farmer put a placating hand on him, and pulled him down. On one hand he did not want to attract attention and on the other, he did not want a full-blown confrontation between friends.

  “So this is what it boils down to, Yuen? Money. Nothing about loyalty and duty. What happened to you?” Zhao rebuked him.

  “What happened to me? Reality happened. Eighteen years, Commander, eighteen years of hardship. After the last mission, I could not even return to the city to see my family. And when I finally could return, I saw my elderly parents die of sickness and malnutrition because there was no one to support them. I had no salary, no status. I was on the run. I could not even give them a proper burial. That’s what happened to me Commander. You can have your honour and loyalty to Jian Wen, but I would rather have money. You think I want the money only for myself? I will buy a tomb for my parents wherever we escape to and properly honour them.”

  “You do not need two chests full of silver to do that, Yuen. A couple of ingots will do.”

  “Enough! Zhao Qi. You are no longer my commander. You can no longer order me around or hold me to your ideals, you idealistic moron! After I build a tomb for them, we will still need money to survive in a foreign land. For old time’s sake, I am willing to share it with all of us.”

  “No. I cannot have something that would distract us from the mission. Its either you leave it or you leave us.”

  Yuen shook his head. “Still holding on to your pride, Commander? Well, if that’s the case. I’ll go. I am not an imperial bodyguard anymore.” He got up, but the Farmer grabbed his hand. His grip was surprisingly strong for such a small man.

  “Don’t do this man.” The Farmer urged his friend. Turning to Zhao, “Commander, let him take some silver with him. We will need it too. We need able, sword hands.”

  “No.”

  Yuen shook the Farmer off and got up. He turned and walked out without looking back. There was an uncomfortable silence as both thought about what happened. Zhao understood now what Wen was trying to tell him. It was unwise to assume they were the same men eighteen years later. Time changed people and not everyone remained loyal like Zhao. Suddenly he felt lonely and afraid. Suspicion arose in him. Zhao turned to the Farmer and said wearily,

  “What about you Fu? Do you want to leave with Yuen too? You seemed eager to speak for Yuen’s case to collect his money.”

  “Commander, if you recall, I decided to join you even before we knew about the money.”

  “You have no secrets Farmer? No real reason why you want to join this?”

  “Yes I have. My reason is to get out of this life. Do you think it’s fun to go from village to village collecting chickens for sale? Sitting in the rain and cold hawking birds? I end up smelling like them too. You ask me what my motivation is. This is it. I want my dignity back. I want an identity. I go from village to village, not staying in any because I cannot afford to let people get close to me. It’s crazy, Commander. Living like this for eighteen years is unbearable. I want to settle down and give myself a new name and become a new person. I don’t want to be considered a traitor just because I did my duty to my emperor. You want me to give you a motive? This is it. I want to be free!”

  Zhao looked at him quietly for awhile. His head was spinning. Had he read motives where there were none? Did he doubt the only one he could trust after being misled by so many others he trusted? Then the commander looked down and said quietly, “I’m sorry Farmer. I should not have doubted you.”

  Zhao realised it was so easy to doubt this unassuming man. Everyone, including himself, saw the exterior. He saw the others who looked more imposing than this slightly built man and assumed he was lesser. Nothing was further from the truth. And Zhao realised how way off he was in judging people.

  “It is fine.” The Farmer sighed. “I know it is difficult. Sometimes we are misled by what we want to see and not the truth. You saw what you wished to see in the team. But Commander, you are not wrong, for in each of them there is still that loyal side. You’ll see. I’m sure some of them would come back. Give them time. Give them the time to unravel eighteen years of anonymity and become warriors again.”

  Zhao nodded his head at the Farmer’s assessment and faith. Then the Farmer asked him, “Now what do we do?”

  “You will go ahead to look for the Acrobat. And I will proceed to Sichuan province to make the travel arrangements. We will meet up again at the city of Chongqing. From there, we will go to the temple together to escort his majesty.”

  “Yes Commander.” The Farmer replied with a dip of his head. He got up, picked up his weapon and left. Stepping into the bright morning sun, he was soon swallowed by the crowd.

  Zhao finished with his food, drank a cup of tea, and contemplated his next step. He thought about the Eastern Depot. Where are they now?

  He got up, heaved the heavy backpack and left. Like the Farmer, he was engulfed in the human tides of a vibrant city and like flotsam pushed towards the river mouth, he drifted out of the city gates and into the vast countryside.

  TEN

  Zhao Qi walked for hours without rest. When he left the city, he followed a popular route until the crowd slowly petered away; he was the only one left. By then, the road had been reduced to a trail and soon, it was just a path through dense forest. Away from the city, the scenery around him became majestic. Against a backdrop of cedars that reached toward the sky was a row of sequoias turning red. Gingko trees interspersed the red sequoias with yellow, creating a beautiful montage of colours against the looming evergreens. The autumn air was cooling. A breeze rustled the gingkoes and leaves fell, fluttering to the earth like yellow butterflies. He counted the sequoias like a child to mark his journey. He felt happy and relaxed as he paused for a moment when he passed a lake. The stillness of the lake reflected the hills and the blue sky around him. He sat down, stretched his tired muscles and lay down to look at the sky. An eagle glided passed him, going in circles. Zhao lain on the grass, and his mind followed the bird of prey. The silence was pleasurable. He closed his eyes and for a moment, contemplated how life could be so simple; it was all a matter of choices. If he had not joined the army as a boy and had remained as a tanner, he could be doing this every day. If he had turned Wen away, he could be doing this without thinking of the dire consequences he would face in the next few weeks.

  So many ‘Ifs’.

  Like a dark summer storm cloud draping its cloak over the sun, the situation he was in crowded away whatever joys his uplifting surroundings brought. He felt so lonely. The knowledge that his men no longer supported him hurt, because he had assumed they would go through thick and thin with him. He smiled ruefully as he contemplated the irony that the only
one that had not chickened out was the Farmer. He promised never to tease him again. Chamberlain Wen was right about having to test and discern people. Wen must know a thing or two about people otherwise he would not have survived so many years in the toxic environment of the palace where eunuchs and civil servants vie for power and position. Wen was notoriously non-political. He kept his head down, but he was not stupid or ignorant about the need to manoeuvre carefully. Wen had learnt to judge human nature in the palace where a single gesture or word could tell if you had found a friend or a foe. Suddenly he no longer felt at rest. He got up and went.

  As the sun beat down on him from the west, he realised that the day had almost ended. He wiped his sweat, and decided to stop for the evening if he could find somewhere suitable. As he rounded the hill, he saw a tea stop. Wearily, he approached them for a drink. A typical countryside cha dian; it was just a wooden shed with a kitchen, with a few rough timber tables set up. It had a big sign that said ‘Cha’. The waiter was a young boy, and the cook was obviously his elderly mother. As he spoke to the boy, he got curious and asked them where did they stay? They pointed to the village ahead and told him that every day they would set up their store here. He enquired how far he had to walk, and found out that it was only another hour or so. He wanted to go, nodded his thanks, got up and left but the boy smiled and told him that business was poor, and they had not earned enough for the day. Would the kind Sir like to stay for dinner? The la-mian was really good. And his mother boils the broth with pork bones for more than ten hours a day! After all if he got to the next town after dark, it’ll be hard to find a place to eat. Better still, for a small additional fee, he could stay with them. The boy finished the business pitch and grinned toothlessly at Zhao. He chuckled at the business acumen of the boy and his courage, although he did see that the there were other patrons at the stall. Some were sipping tea; some were slurping bowls of hot noodles. He knew that being a small business owner was tough; not having a man around the house was tougher. He felt sorry for the boy and his mother and decided to order a bowl of noodles. Yes, he would have a bowl of that magical la-mian. Its goodness was probably exaggerated, but he wanted to reward the kid’s effort.

  Half way through his food, he noticed a group of three soldiers approaching the stall. Like others, he ignored them. He did not think that the Eastern Depot would be onto him so quickly. Moreover, from the uniform, he could see these were just ordinary soldiers. Agents of the state did not wear uniforms, so he continued eating as the soldiers sauntered over like lords. They did not sit down. The leader, a lieutenant, went over to the stall and spoke to the boy’s mother. She bowed from the waist repeatedly, pleading with him over something. The boy stood at a corner with fear in his eyes. The mother started to cry and mumbled something, lifting her hands like a supplicant. Everyone, including Zhao paid no attention, or at least in his case, he pretended not to pay any attention. In other circumstances, he would have intervened. It was a clear case of soldiers using their official position to extort. Very common indeed, nothing to be surprised about if you live far away from the major cities that have effective inspectorates to prevent corruption. This was the countryside, and the poor and defenceless were always the prey for the predators in colourful official costumes. But it was not his fight, so he kept his head down and ate.

  Suddenly, the lieutenant shouted, “If you can’t pay for the license to operate, then don’t blame me for being rude. Tear down the stall.”

  His soldiers acted. One burly man kicked the pole supporting the stall and the mother screamed. She ran out as it collapsed and hugged her son. As she did that, she was kicked. Another soldier overturned the pot of soup with a kick. The Lieutenant stood there as the mother knelt before him begging him for mercy. Tired of her pleadings, he kicked her. The boy hugged his mother courageously; shielding her with his body, absorbing the blows. Now the soldiers turned toward the patrons. Everyone ran including Zhao. He did not want to get involved even though every fibre in his body wanted to even the score on behalf of the poor peasant lady.

  One patron did not run. She sat by the edge of the eating area, so she was the last for the guards to reach. The burly soldier walked over to her in a way most men deemed menacing and macho; arms swinging widely with a measured step. He kicked her table. But the foot did not connect; she caught his leg mid-air with her own leg, and rising from her lower position, pushed his leg upward so he lost his balance and fell. When he tried to get up, she splashed the hot bowl of noodles into his face before smashing the bowl over his head.

  “Damn you, I lost my appetite.” She growled.

  Another soldier attacked. He threw a punch which she avoided by side-stepping and then she kicked him hard in the stomach. As he bent over, she kneed his face. A man grabbed her from behind; she put her palm under two of his fingers and bent backwards. At the same time, she folded her legs and leaned backward, using her full body weight as leverage against the two finger joints. As she leaned backwards, the man screamed just loudly enough to cover the sound of his finger joints popping out of place. Once his grip loosened, she elbowed him, spun around and kicked him hard in the face.

  Burly was back with his sword drawn. He slashed from right to left but she ducked. She wanted to attack him, but saw just in time a blur coming from the back. She knew it was the cowardly lieutenant who attacked her only when she was distracted. She had no choice. She spun and parried his sword thrust with her own weapon, which was still in its scabbard. Now she had to fight two sides. Next she parried a blow by Burly before expertly stepping in toward him, so that she could use her shorter arms to her advantage; she could move but he was obstructed. She hit him twice with the covered sword, then to his amazement, she grabbed his lapels, moved her hips and legs between his and threw him to the ground. When he tried to rise, she stomped his head savagely. Zhao witnessed blood and tooth flying away before she drove the tip of the scabbard hard into his solar plexus with a vicious shout. Zhao had retreated behind a tree to watch. His conflicting emotions, whether to leave or to stay and right a wrong, were silenced by the woman’s actions. He felt acutely ashamed that a lady, and not him, was fighting injustice; never mind that his intellect told him that he had a higher reason not to get involved. So he stayed and watched, telling himself that if she failed, he would step in.

  Only the lieutenant was left. He waved his drawn blade as he moved in circles like a tiger circling its prey, except in this case, it was not clear who was really the hunted. Her entire demeanour indicated that she was like a sleeping bear awoken by some fools ignorant of a bear’s temper and strength. Zhao watched the man. His movements showed that he had some experience with the sword and his face betrayed a mean streak. There was no doubt to that, judging by the way he treated the widow and her son. The man was broad although he was not as big as Burly. His steps were measured, and his ugly face was screwed up in anger and determination to kill this woman who dared to upset the authority of the state vested in him. Zhao had seen many of this type, men who bullied the weak to feel good or for benefit, then sucked the toes of their superiors. But it did not mean that they could not fight.

  The lady stood still. She looked at the officer coolly, although every muscle in her body was ready. Zhao had a good look at her. She was calm, used to violence and being violent. She stood like a stature and only her eyes moved, tracking her prey, wondering when to strike. Just by comparing the composure of both parties, Zhao knew that she outclassed the soldier many times. If the soldier was wise enough to know she was so far ahead of him in terms of ability, he would find some excuse like having to give his men medical attention and leave. But the bully had his pride and continued prowling around her. Zhao looked again. She was holding her sheathed weapon, a slightly curved blade. Thin, not thick like the Chinese sabre he was secretly holding. She was not pretty; her eyes were small and her forehead slightly high and flat. But she had tremendous presence. Her strength radiated from where she stood and the more calm she was, th
e more it glowed. Zhao’s observation was broken when he finally attacked. He screamed, and came in from the left of her back with a backhanded downward slash. She moved out of the blade’s range by a simple step then raised her own weapon to block not his sword, but his arm, locking the limb and with a twist, disarmed him. Then she pivoted and smashed the pommel into his face. His nose flattened and blood splattered. Then she executed a perfect punch to his chest. Her legs spread sideways onto a stable stunt, which enabled her to throw all the weight into the punch by twisting her waist. But this was not enough. As he reeled from the blow, she went forward and caught his arm. She tripped him, causing him to lose balance before flipping him facedown onto the ground. He tried to get up, but she enforced her will by stamping her feet and grinding his face into the mud as though she was crushing a cockroach. His defeat was complete. Then she walked away. Zhao Qi’s eyes followed her. After she had gone, he picked up his things, went over to the mother and boy, and gave them some money.

  “Here, take this.”

  Then he went on his own way. While he was impressed and intrigued by her, he did not follow her to ask her name. She was another nameless heroine that the crooked soldiers were unfortunate enough to meet. He continued on to the village. He must make it before night fall or he must sleep in the open. Or maybe he should follow the boy and his mother back? Well, he decided to press on. He continued through the forest. There were cypress trees growing in rows for some reason only known to nature, but it provided him with a good path to follow between the rows. The setting sun’s rays got fragmented by the trees, casting the area in a golden light. He hurried along as the ground became steeper. He was going uphill. After that, he would descend onto the road that led to the town. Reaching soon. So he jogged, it was getting dark, but when he crested the hill, his optimism turned into both bewilderment and dread.