by Jeremy Han
“Go! Run towards her with all haste. Do not look back. She is a friend. Follow her where ever she takes you and don’t wait for me.” He turned back and headed towards the fight.
“Father!” She cried out, looking towards his retreating figure.
“Go!” He shouted without looking back.
She ran towards the beckoning figure. Not knowing who she was, Li Po could only trust her father’s instructions.
Fu Zhen attacked. But An Deli had anticipated the move. An had observed that Fu’s foot always moved first in a sliding motion. An took a side-step and thrust his blade simultaneously; the flexible blade swept across the Farmer’s attack path, forestalling the charge. An pressed in his advantage, his blade so quick that the moon light reflecting off it looked like lightning bolts flying towards Fu Zhen. Fu ducked and parried away most of the blows; his own defence just as quick. He waited until An over-committed a step then he leapt and turned, bringing the staff downward onto An’s head with all his strength.
“Huoooooo!
With a mighty yell that was uncharacteristic of this stoic man, he brought the staff down. The secret agent brought up his sword to take the blow. He managed to block it but the force pushed him downward until his legs went into a split. He pushed himself up with his powerful core muscles; kicking out at the same time with both legs. The Farmer managed to block one kick but the other came crashing into his face. But before An Deli could withdraw, the Farmer, hurt as he was, thrust the pole forward in a classic infantry spear attack and the heavy staff rammed into An’s chest. An felt the internal energy travelling through the staff enter his body with a jolt. Both men retreated.
Long counter-attacked and broke Ji Gang’s pattern of attack. The commander’s fan opened and closed depending on whether his attack was a thrust or a slash. Ji’s moved like a dancer; graceful and athletic. Long slashed and feinted, thrust and blocked as the commander counter-attacked. It went back and forth until Ji Gang lured him in. Long’s sabre had a longer reach than Ji’s fan so he allowed Long to lunge. He side-stepped and took a step towards Long. As Long’s momentum carried him forward, Ji’s fan suddenly opened and he extended his arm in an arcing motion. Long saw the blade come towards him and his instinct kicked in; he bent his back and the blade barely missed his neck. Momentarily vulnerable as his body was in an awkward position, he was unable to defend against Ji’s next move. The commander brought a heavy elbow down onto Long’s chest and Long went crashing to the ground. He rolled away just in time to avoid a crushing foot that would have ended everything. He turned just in time to look straight into Ji’s eyes to see no mercy there as the commander brought his fan up for one last, decapitating blow.
Just before Ji Gang’s iron fan cut Long’s head off, Ji suddenly jumped backwards, lifting his fan just in time to block off two deadly darts thrown at him. Both darts were aimed to his face. The attacker surely knew that human reaction to the face was the greatest. Any objects thrown in the face would affect the person more than any other part of the body. Ji looked just in time to see a demon attack him. The guan dao came slashing down with a great whoosh as it sliced the air. Ji dodged it before counter-attacking. Demon or not, he could kill it. But the assailant was extremely skilful with the guan dao as he defended himself against Ji’s slashing fan. The masked man somersaulted out of the way and did a series of little odd movements as he circled Ji like a prey. Ji realised the man moved like a monkey, and the masked he wore was the one that opera actors wore to depict the monkey god in Chinese mythology. He immediately knew who it was – the Acrobat, whose real name was Li Jing. This would be no easy opponent. The monkey god jumped. Ji reacted only to realise that it was a feint as Li ducked and rolled away further from him. Ji thought it was a good time to attack so he attacked with a powerful kick. Instead of dodging, Li Jing threw something at Ji Gang. There was a loud bang; an explosion. It was the cue, as Ji’s ringing ears vaguely registered someone shouting
Ma Hun’s yelled with fury as he attacked. He was a terrifying foe; strong and aggressive. His shouting was a psychological attack on his foe and even Zhao had to control his nerves when he fought Ma. But Zhao, despite his age, was still a fearsome fighter. He broke Ma’s attack by attacking just when the younger man came forward. He had analysed his pattern: the yell preceded the attack. Zhao went in with a heavy parry; he slammed the flat edge of the sabre onto the shaft of the spear as the tip was raised. Then he moved lightning quick sideways and towards Ma, the sabre edge sliding along the shaft as though he was paring it. He moved so quickly that Ma had to drop his right hand from the shaft if not Zhao would chop it off. Ma knew he had been tricked and was in great danger. He dropped the spear and retreated just as Zhao drove his elbow like a battering ram into his gut. For a moment, Ma was off balanced and vulnerable; Zhao’s foot work got him into a position to finish Ma off with a standard infantry slash. His instincts conditioned to the point that he did not think; he just wanted to take Ma’s head off. Ma Hun staggered backward and the Zhao heard a loud BANG, an explosion. It was the cue to go. He shouted to the group,
“Retreat!” It would be dangerous to fight on. Any longer and the Marquis’ guards would come and help the secret agents. They needed to get out while they could.
“ Tui Retreat!” the Acrobat waved his hand toward the exit.
Smoke obscured their view as the three agents tried to give chase. With their ears ringing and vision blurred, they proceeded cautiously, afraid that the rebels would lure them to an ambush. Meanwhile the four men reached the maofang and they dashed in, regardless of shit or not. They ran or slid down the trough; they did not care about that anymore before they exited through the tiny hole. Zhao was the first and he signalled to Yula not to shoot, then he looked and checked if the streets were clear. Then he ran, followed by Long, who was hurt, and then the Farmer and lastly the Acrobat, who had one last trick to play. They had discussed their retreat plan – set fire to the maofang so that nobody could follow them. With the toilet on fire, any pursuer would have to exit the Marquis’ residence through the main doors and run to where they were and by then, they would be gone. Li Jing took out some chemicals he used in his street performances and lit a fire. He sprinkled the powder across the room and then he threw the fire on it. The dried shit combusted with plenty of smoke. Perfect. Then he dived through the exit and ran toward freedom.
Ji Gang was the first to reach the smoking toilet. He dashed in, unwilling to lose his prey. An and Ma Hun ran in too, unwilling to lose face in front of their leader but was forced out by the smoke. There was something strange in the smoke, it made them tear. Ji saw the little hole they dove through and followed. He slid downward. He closed his eyes and one of his hands clamped his nose so that he would not breathe in the damn fumes. After short slide the hot, nauseous smoke suddenly turned into crisped, winter air. He was outside the marquis’ residence. He opened his tearing eyes – just in time to see a retreating figure on a building turn and run away. But before the figure fully faded from sight, the figure loosed an arrow that flew straight at Ji’s throat. He opened the iron fan just in time to block the arrow and it caused a loud twang before the arrow fell harmlessly onto the floor.
As he lowered the fan, his mind re-played the scene: a lithe figure in black running, caught sight of Ji Gang, turned the torso toward him and shot an arrow in mid-motion that would have pierced his throat had he not blocked in time. Something about the smooth, coordinated shooting reminded him of Mongol horse archers who shot on the move, with their torsos turning to aim. He knew Zhao Qi, Fu Zhen, Long Wu and Li Jing. But who was the archer? He had no time to answer the question. He pursued in the direction where he last saw the archer; his footsteps echoed across the silent streets. He rounded a corner and stopped: there was no one on the long and empty street lined with snow. Quiet houses stood; their doorways illuminated by swaying, lonely lanterns that cast a grey light over the wooden gates. There were intersecting streets that cut the long road in front of him. He
ran forward and looked; at the intersection was another perpendicular street which stretched off and then it was crossed again by another road. The whole sleeping city was a rabbit warren. His veins pulsed with frustration as he realised that his prey had disappeared. They had so serendipitously appeared, and then vanished like ghosts into the night. His bald dome glistened with perspiration in the bright moon light as he stared at the surreal, dark, sleeping world in front of him, pondering his next move.
FORTY
Ji heard running footsteps. He did not turn to look because he knew they were the backup. Ma and An could not enter the smoking toilet, so they ran the length of the palatial home, and exited the main gate, leading the soldiers to where Ji was. But it was too late; the rebels had disappeared. All they found was their fuming commander. They waited quietly for Ji Gang to say something. The commander stared into the dark the empty streets and the silence was deafening. A wind blew across the lonely streets and loose snow flew in a flurry across where the men were. They were still as statues in the cold. Then Ji gave a quiet command that seethed with anger,
“Search!”
The men suddenly came alive at this monosyllabic word as though it was a magical incantation that could turn stone into flesh. They fanned into the warren of streets. Ji calmly turned and walked back to the Marquis’ hall to wait for the results. There was no need for the commander himself to do the dirty work, to be in the biting cold. He had underlings for that purpose. The Marquis ran to him the minute he stepped into the hall and screamed, face livid and veins bursting. No doubt news of the fire had reached him.
“What did you do to my house?” He screamed. No one had screamed at Ji like that; not even the emperor.
“Rebels were in your compound. We were trying to apprehend them.” He glared at the Marquis as he responded calmly.
“Rebels?” The Marquis said astounded. Ji emphasised firmly,
“Did I not say that rebels were looking for the girl captive? We wanted to use her as bait because she is the daughter of one of their ring leaders. But they came to you first.”
“It is almost midnight now. Is the girl still in my custody?” The Marquis demanded. Obviously he was more concerned with his regeneration ritual than his duty to the emperor. Ji was fed up with his idiocy. He grabbed the man by the collar and shoved him onto a chair. The opulent man fell. His weak leg was not able to hold up against Ji’s shove. The porcelain set, a wine set worth a year’s salary for Ji went crashing to the ground. The bodyguards instinctively drew their swords but none dared to move toward Ji. Ji’s gaze bore through the Marquis. He did not even bother to look at the guards; his whole aura was menacing enough to stay them. The men knew that Ji could kill all of them there.
“Houye. Should I report to the emperor that you were the least bit concern about rebels, rebels he personally wants dead, even though they were wandering around your city and your home? The rebels knew the city well enough to make hideouts and secret passages, infiltrating the home of the Marquis himself. And yet his noble cousin was more concerned with his own private affairs. What would His Majesty make of your behaviour?”
The Marquis glared back, but he knew that Ji could destroy him at that moment. Word would get out that the Eastern Depot uncovered rebels in his home and even fought them. He knew his cousin; even his noble status would not protect him from an offence such as failing to capture rebels that fell into his lap. Moreover, it was not the regular military that was pursuing the rebels; it was the much feared Eastern Depot so there must be more than it was meeting the eye. He’d better play ball with Ji. He got up and tried to salvage as much dignity as he could, in a surrendered tone, with his eyes looking downward, he muttered,
“Take all the men you need. Seal the city. You have my permission. Dig the worms out and make an example of them. I won’t have anyone saying the Marquis is weak.”
“Thank you Sir. And while I wait for the results, please have your servants set up quarters for my men, and a hot bath for me.”
Sunlight streamed into the derelict warehouse where Fang Xiaoju sat waiting for Zhao and his team to return. Before him was a fire; he had started it to warm himself, as well as to prepare a breakfast for the rest. He built a mud stove, a semi-circular dent in the soil covered by balls of hardened mud. A fire was lit until the mud balls glowed red then sweet potatoes were thrown into the stove to be baked over a slow heat. By the time the team straggled in, the potatoes were ready and each member received a hot potato and a cup of steaming tea. They readily consumed breakfast while enjoying the warmth as they recounted the rescue to Xiaoju. The old man listened without comments and nodded his head as he absorbed the fact that the Eastern Depot was now involved in hunting them. He had expected it of course: one did not get involved in subterfuge without the Dong Chang hot on your heels.
As Zhao spoke, the rest of the team tended their wounds. Yula pressed a hot cloth to the spreading bruise on Long’s chest. He had told her about the injury and she did not say much, but her actions revealed her grave concern. Fu Zhen dabbed at the cut on his face. It was a superficial wound and he was not too bothered by it. He knew An Deli would be in some form of pain too from the solid thrust he inflicted with the staff. The Acrobat hugged his daughter as though anytime she would disappear. Fu Zhen envied his friend; he wished he had a kin. Then Xiaoju spoke.
“We must assume that they will find this place soon, so you must not tarry. I will tell you what you must know. I have held the information from you until now just in case any of you were captured. I will tell you the latest information from the Network, and also the location of the emperor. Once I finished, you must leave.” They turned their attention to him as he revealed the things he knew.
“Wen Xuan is dead?” Zhao asked again to confirm the sad news. Xiaoju told them the information from the Network: Wen Xuan’s suicide, Tu and Zhang’s execution by the Eastern Depot. It was clear enough; the Dong Chang was hot on their heels.
“Yes. The Chamberlain poisoned himself when the secret agents went looking for him. He knew too much and he could not afford to be taken. But he made sure all the pieces are in place before he sacrificed his life. Now, the only things left to tell you are the location of the emperor and how you shall leave the empire.”
After he had finished, Zhao said to him, “Come with us Minister Fang. Your role is finished here. You too deserve a new beginning. I am sure the Emperor Jian Wen will need you wherever he is going to.”
The rest of them nodded. They had come to respect his leadership and resourcefulness. Most of all, they admired his dedication and his sacrifice. The price he paid resonated with their personal loss and bonded them. Fang Xiaoju put a hand up to indicate to Zhao that he had no plans to leave.
“Commander, I thank you for your kind gesture. I have loose ends to tie here so I cannot leave with you.”
“But....”
“Please do not persuade me. I waited long for this day when I have discharged this honourable duty to my master. There is no need for me to be rewarded or rescued. Moreover, there are people waiting for me here. I can’t go with you.” He shook his head to emphasise his choice and Zhao nodded, respecting his decision, although the commander could not fathom what the old man said about having people waiting for him here.
“Then we should be on our way, Sir.”
“Take the remaining hot potatoes with you. And tea for the journey. I don’t need them.”
Zhao Qi turned to the rest and said, “Pack your things and mind your wounds. We leave in half an hour.” Zhao and the men turned to carry out their tasks but Yula glanced sadly at Xiaoju. The men did not get it, but she did. She was sensitive enough to hear the finality in his tone.
Back in the city, An Deli and Ma Hun reported to Ji Gang what they had found: in one of the abandoned house, there was a hidden passage dug. It was concealed in the stove. There was a trap door that could be opened by moving the bricks. Apparently the tunnel led out to the countryside. Ji listened and said
,
“Get Li Wei and Lu Ximing. Once they arrive, we set off. Meanwhile, get some breakfast and rest.” The two men brightened up at the thought of hot tea and warm food. It was a bonus that the food was coming out of the kitchen of a member of royalty. They had spied smoked duck, hot buns with braised pork, and other delicacies on Ji’s table. It did not take too long for Li and Lu to turn up. They dutifully greeted their commander, who remained seated while An briefed them what happened. Li asked, “What if there are booby traps in the tunnel?”
An said, “Unlikely. They were leaving in haste last night. Moreover, the Marquis’ soldiers had already gone ahead and checked. They had found nothing.”
When they had no more questions, Ji stood and said, “Alright, not a moment to lose. Move out.”
At the warehouse, Zhao’s group left in a single file. They carried what little they had slung over their shoulders and walked silently away. Yula turned and waved; Xiaoju returned the gesture. Yula teared as she saw the quiet determination on the ex-minister’s face. She liked him a lot. He did not despise her for being a Mongol, and had shown that he really sympathised. There was iron and at the same time, peace, in his eyes. She knew what he was going to; she could feel it. The loss of loved ones took away the meaning of living. If she had not found love, she would have followed the path Xiaoju was going to take. She turned to Long Wu and asked him, “Do you think he is really mad?”