by Jeremy Han
“Tomorrow if the weather is good, we should reach the mountains. There, we might have to proceed on foot up to the monastery.”
An asked, “Can’t the horses go up the mountain trail?”
“They would have to be led on foot. The trail, according to the monks, is steep and narrow. The horses could break their legs.”
Lu addressed his colleagues, “Then it would be better if we do it carefully. It is not good to rush and upset the mission at this crucial stage.” They nodded their agreement.
Ji spoke again. “There will be another outpost at the foot of the trail. We can leave our horses there. I think this is a better idea. Or at most we bring one horse to carry what we need for the upward trek. We do not want to be caught in the cold weather without food or blankets.”
“How long would the trek take?” Ma Hun asked his commander.
“As long as a day. If nothing goes wrong, we will reach the temple by sunset. We will summon all the monks and search for our man. But the weather worries me. If we are stopped halfway, then either we return to the outpost or we camp overnight.”
Now Li raised a pertinent question, “Lord, what happens after we find the former emperor?”
Ji took a breath before he answered. “We look at the conditions. If it is possible we will take him with us down the mountain.”
“And if not?”
“Then we take only his head.”
TWENTY SIX
“Heaven shed its tears,” The strange man said,
“Eighteen years ago” Zhao continued,
“Heaven will right the wrongs on earth,” The man added.
“Will you do your part?” Zhao concluded the code.
When the old man crept behind Zhao, the commander had whipped his sword out so quickly that it would have killed the man before he could resist if Zhao wanted to. But Zhao Qi held back because he was expecting to find this apparition of a man in this ruined building. The man had grinned at him even when the cold blade rested on his neck. Despite his crazed look, he spoke in perfect court Mandarin and Zhao answered him accordingly. They shared a code memorised eighteen years ago; it was the code that stayed Zhao’s blade.
This was part of the code established by the anti-Yong Le factions within the Ming court. Scholars and the Civil Service were bitterly opposed to his cruelty and unjust usurpation of the throne and many officers were purged. The man facing Zhao Qi was one of the former ministers under Jian Wen. He escaped the elimination and gave up his identity, his illustrious career and social standing as a grade one imperial officer. Now, he was a ‘mad’ man hiding in a ruined building. His hair was long and lank, matted in parts and smelled. His clothes were torn and ragged. At different spots there were patches of sewing; a talented man forced by circumstances to live like an animal. Once Zhao had confirmed the identity of the man, he lowered the blade. The man started a fire for them and they sat around the crackling fire.
“Wen Xuan is dead.”
Zhao did not look at the man who said it. He stared into the crackling fire as thoughts of the chamberlain flashed. Slowly, he nodded. They all knew this day would come and it had. There was nothing more to say. The flames consumed the wood loudly like a starving child devoid of etiquette. Zhao, Long and Yula warmed themselves as they pondered the fact. The old man, like a grand host, brought them to a section of the warehouse that the winds could not get through and offered to his guest roasting parts of rabbit. Yula asked, “So this is where you live?”
“Yes.”
Looking around, he saw evidence of creature comforts. There was a mattress atop a brick bed. The brick bed was laid over an oven that allowed heated coal embers to be put into it so the entire bed would be heated. Coarse blankets and cushions were stacked on top. “Not too bad for a mad man.” Long shrugged.
The old man stared at him, “I look and act crazy but I am not. I still need warmth and comfort like everyone else.”
“What if someone checks this place out and find out that you are not quite as mad as you look?” Zhao asked, concerned about security.
“It’s all perception. People scare themselves with what they could not understand so I feed their imagination.” He took a bite of rabbit and continued, “Somehow people might see you approach and enter the house, but if they don’t see you leave, they will think the house is jinxed.”
“How do you do this?” Yula asked, intrigued. She bunched her knees and sat closer to the fire. The orange glow illuminated her face with its erratic dance as a slight breeze blew across the room.
“There is a tunnel. Whenever I need to go somewhere, I exit from there, and I change how I look. This place is a lot more complex than it looks.” He said with a wave. “The anti-Yong Le faction is not poor and comprises of people high up in the hierarchy. We have the resources and the hatred to build such an extensive network to thwart his will.”
Zhao asked curiously, “And how are you related to the matter?”
“Me?” He leaned back and sighed. A look of sadness overtook his countenance. It was so grave that even the failing light could not hide it. “I am one of the Eight Hundred and Seventy Three”.
Zhao could not hide his astonishment. The eight hundred and seventy three martyrs were relations of Fang Xiaoru and his students. The forty-five year old Fang was an influential man who had taught many outstanding students who held power in the Shi or Civil Service. They were all executed alongside their teacher for offending Yong Le. None of them were known to survive. The old man sensed their surprise,
“You must be surprised. I escaped death only because I was away on assignment then. When news arrived of the tragedy, I did not return to the capital. I faked my own death and with the help of the Shi, I found myself here. This safe house for me soon became a safe house for anyone who opposed the emperor. He paused then added, “Even Jian Wen had stayed here before briefly.”
“Now that you mentioned the emperor, where is he?” Zhao had finally brought up the vital question. Wen Xuan had refrained from telling him the location too early. The deceased eunuch’s instructions were for Zhao to gather his men here at this safe house to await the final detail – Jian Wen’s final location.
“We will wait for the rest of your men to arrive before we go into that.” The old man said casually.
“And what will happen to you after we depart?”
“I will burn this place down. There will be no more need for a safe house.”
The group was silent for a while. Zhao and his team were thinking of what the old man had said while the old man seemed to be lost in the past. Finally, Zhao spoke again. “Sir, until now we have not asked your name.”
The old man turned sadly and looked at him. “I am Fang Xiaoju, Fang Xiaoru’s younger brother. I am the sole survivor of the Fang clan.”
TWENTY SEVEN
An Deli looked up at the sky. The clouds covered the stars and there was no moon. It was a dark night. He sat down again next to Lu Ximing and Li Wei. He felt most comfortable among these older warriors. Yong Ju and Ma Hun were from another generation, and he felt that they were different. They were men out to make their careers while An was a man who just wanted to survive his: the difference between a veteran and the rooky. The arrangement in the camp reflected this difference. Ma Hun and Yong Ju, both eager to impress, positioned themselves furthest away from the fire, alert and on guard. The three older men took more comfortable positions. They were in the middle of a camp, for goodness sake! What trouble could come?
Ji Gang of course had a room to himself, and was now soaking in a hot tub of water in the privacy of a room, the commander’s favourite activity after riding. The rest of the men slept in the command hall commandeered from the camp commandant, who could only agree even if he did not like it. The hall was L-shaped. The longer side of it stretched forward; the petitioners or soldiers would assemble here. The shorter side of the hall held the table of judgment and behind it, away from the audience’s eyes, the corner where advisors would g
ather and listen without being seen. The three older men were gathered there for privacy as well as warmth as it was windowless, and the wind did not travel round the corner to where they were. They had sleeping bags laid out on the floor; their weapons stacked against the wall for easy reach. It was both private and defensible. Seasoned soldiers did not sleep where they could not defend. An recounted the incident when Ma Hun executed Zhang’s family and raped his wife. He spat his disgust out, not hiding the venom he felt towards his younger colleague. The other two listened impassively.
“Talking bad behind your team mate’s back?” All three of them looked up and saw, to their surprise, Ji Gang standing there. They rose and bowed. “Commander.”
“Sit.” The commander produced a flask and some cups. He poured fragrant wine for each one of his veterans, the perfumed liquid filling the small space with a new lease of life to the dank, winter-drab space. “Drink.” Ji Gang lifted his cup and toasted them. They downed the burning liquid with a toss of their heads and felt the warmth immediately permeate their bodies; bringing a new sense of vigour to their stiff coldness. Ji refilled their cups and urged them to drink, which they did. It felt great having alcohol in the system to combat the cold.
“An Deli. Why don’t you continue with what you were saying?” Ji asked him in a convivial tone.
“Lord. I am sorry. I did not mean…. Except that...”
“Except that you could not stomach what he did.” Ji finished the sentence for him.
“Yes Lord.”
“What do the both of you think?” Ji Gang pointed at Li and Lu. They felt uncomfortable as the commander’s gaze fell on them.
“We...do not think we need to go to the extent of raping to get to the truth.” Li said after an uncomfortable silence. They were all silent. None dared to speak while Ji Gang seemed to be in thought. Then the commander broke the silence by pouring them another round of wine. He surprised them all. “Speak your minds. Tonight over fire and wine, there will be no rank.” They could not believe that the omnipotent Ji Gang would remove the protocols of rank and ask his men to speak freely. They kept silent until the commander himself got impatient.
“Here, get drunk. Then you will speak. Tonight I want to hear the truth.”
As the alcohol took effect, tongues became loose. Finally, An spoke. “Lord Ji, how do you really see this mission?”
“The emperor gave us an order, we fulfil it.” Ji did not look at his man when he answered. His gaze was far away.
“That simple? Doesn’t it trouble you that we are sent to assassinate a member of the royal family? The Jingyi wei was established to protect the royal family, and the Dong Chang to fight against enemies of the state. How did it lead to us getting involved in a family dispute between two emperors?”
“We are servants of his majesty. We do not question him, even if it bothers our conscience.”
“So you do mean you feel uneasy over this mission?” An pressed.
“Just as we are loyal to the emperor, there are others who are equally loyal and capable who love the emperor’s disposed nephew. Their devotion and skill makes me worried.” Zhao replied with a frown.
Lu was surprised that his commander was actually worried, “Is this Zhao really that good?”
Ji laughed softly, the way a man chuckles when he remembers a distant memory that amuses him. “Do you know we went a long way back? Zhao Qi was the First Fist among the Imperial Guard. He held that position for a long time; he was unbeatable.”
“Until you came along?” Li asked, curious about this bit of the commander’s history.
“Yes. Until I came along. Subsequently, we shared the position of First Fist. He held it for one year, and then I would take it. And the next, he would reclaim it. He was also First Sword. And I, his rival.”
“So you were peers?” Li asked.
“Yes, we were. Do you know what is Zhao’s real claim to fame? It is not his championship in the martial arts competitions.”
“What is it? An asked.
“He started his military service as a foot soldier. Zhao came from a poor background, a tanner’s family. But from young he learnt his skills from several pugilists from his region. His unit was ambushed by the Mongols and nearly wiped out. Its young commander then, the prince Zhu Yunwen, who later became the emperor Jian Wen was surrounded by the Mongols. Zhao single-handedly defeated the platoon of Mongols and broke out of the encirclement. He fought till his infantry man’s sabre broke, and then he used his famous ‘Tiger’s Claw’ to rescue the prince. The various accounts all claimed that the young Zhao killed several Mongol veterans with his bare hands. From that time on, he followed Jian Wen and was given the nickname ‘the Emperor’s Pet Tiger’. When Jian Wen became emperor, he raised Zhao to become the chief of his bodyguard.”
“From a nobody to the chief of bodyguard of the emperor, Zhao must be very indebted to Jian Wen.” An concluded.
“And thus extremely loyal.” Li added.
And Ji gazed into all their eyes as he rounded up the discussion. “And therefore, extremely dangerous to us.”
“Would you be able to beat him Lord?” Lu asked.
“Who knows? In a fight, anything can happen. But we won’t allow him the chance to win.”
“You mean?” An queried with a raised eyebrow.
“In a tiger hunt, does anyone go for the tiger on his own?” Ji asked rhetorically.
“Never. Many people work together to drive the tiger to the trap.” Lu replied. Emperors were fond of tiger hunts and so imperial agents often accompanied them.
“Exactly what I mean. We will not take any chances. No one, not even I will fight Zhao alone. We will trap the tiger and kill it.” After another swig, Ji’s eyes harden as he spoke his mind. “This is war, not a pugilistic competition. The days of being ‘First Fist’ are over. Who even cares about such a stupid title anyway? It’s who that survives that matter, and who completes the mission.”
After a moment of silence, the alcohol took effect and the men drifted off to sleep. Filled with fatigue and wine, their eye lids closed as though they were made of lead. Ji did not fall asleep as memories of his first encounter with Zhao came back….
Drum beats and the fluttering of flags in the strong winds blown in from the northeast created an atmosphere of excitement and thrill. Footsteps strong and sure echoed across the yard as the two contestants stepped up and faced each other on the competition stage. The platform was made of cedar planks and then wrapped by leather for grip and to soften the throws executed by the contestants on their hapless opponents. Ji Gang faced Zhao Qi in the annual competitions held for the Imperial Guard unit for the title of ‘First Fist’.
The members of the royal family sat on an elevated balcony overlooking the stage. They wore the silk finery of the elite and chatted excitedly among themselves in anticipation of the final contest between the two most outstanding members of the Guard. Prince Zhu Yunwen, the heir to the throne grinned broadly as he spoke of his ‘Pet Tiger’, who was representing him. For the young man, it was an honour that one of his guards would reach the finals since he commanded a much smaller army than his uncle Zhu Di, who commanded the northern army responsible for putting the Mongols to flight, never to come back. Zhu Di smiled indulgently at his nephew and turned his attention back to the coming fight.
Ji Gang stood opposite the younger man he knew as Zhao Qi. Ji Gang was a typical northerner, the place where Prince Zhu Di had his stronghold. Tall, broad and strong, his head bald, shaved to remove the discomfort of having to wear a helmet over a head of hair. His scalp gleamed under the bright spring sun. His face was expressionless as he assessed the shorter man opposite him. Zhao Qi looked plain. Neither handsome nor striking as one would expect of heroes; he was just plain and honest-looking. An inner strength seemed to emanate from Zhao, a never-say-die spirit that gave a sense of solidness that was larger than the man. Ji could see why the Prince Zhu Yunwen would take to such a man. Here was a man you could de
pend on in any circumstances. For a soldier, you would not find a better commander to lead and for a prince, you could not find a more loyal subordinate.
As they waited for the fight to start, Zhao looked at his competitor. He had heard a lot about Ji Gang. The man accompanied Zhu Di on most of his northern campaigns, and had established a solid reputation not only as a fighter, but also as a cunning strategist. Shrewd was the word. Ji had an empty expression on his face; he neither showed any anxiety nor hatred towards Zhao. Calm. In control. This must be the result of facing countless Mongol braves and sending them to their ancestors, not in peace, but in pieces. But Zhao did not feel any anxiety. He knew his own abilities and felt a surge of confidence arising within him. Around the two combatants, the strong wind blew and the flags fluttered loudly. The rule was simple. The fight will last the length of one burning incensed joss. Whoever stands at the end was the winner. There was a referee but he would not intervene unless it threatened life or limb. The gong sounded.