Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4-7 2019 | Page 144

Foolish she was, it was hard to meet such people these days; in a world where everyone had begun to think about
themselves.
As the royal ship came into view I was mesmerized by its, captivating presence: the delicate arch of the prow where a
fair maiden posed elegantly, reaching out to the foamy sea, as the waves lazily slapped against the deck. The boat
possessed a beauty that was rough around the edges but was nevertheless majestic. Despite the peeling paint, the
crooked mast and the weather-worn sails she remained poised, unbothered.
The sun formed a vague glow around the ship and caused the tittering waves to twinkle incessantly beneath the boat as
if it were on ice. Upon closer inspection, the sun revealed a gleaming sword and steel armour. I heard a muffled gasp
from the scholar besides me and seized the telescope from his trembling fingers. The elder men behind me growled
precariously and began raising their sickles and swords gently into the air, with their face contorted in anger. My chest
tensed beneath my shirt in anticipation while my primaeval instincts threatened to be loose. A white flag was shot into
the air and swung in the air violently. The soldiers, at least what I had thought were soldiers waved nonchalantly.
Amidst the commotion, the scholar’s pupils lost focus, quivering erratically, while a shadow of confusion flickered across
the visage of the men beside me.
Even If the young lady were to correct, should we accept their gifts? Who knows their true intentions. Even if they
were to form an alliance who knows what they would do with us after.
Mrs Lin
Exactly three days ago, 30 or so men suspiciously arrived at the southern dock, waving a white flag and bearing gifts for
the village chief, claiming to be part of the Ming treasure fleet. The situation sounded eerily similar to my experience as
part of a fleet before I was separated from my family. But, more than a decade had passed, and from the villagers’
description, the ship was nowhere close to the one I resided before. The chief was currently offering 100 yuan for
servants in their accommodation. Upon hearing the offer, I immediately closed my box sized clothing stall in the
market- I was run with debts to pay and a son to find. I couldn’t pass up this opportunity. My regular chase with the
Mr Ho was getting strenuous. My luck would soon run out.
For the first day, several villagers swarmed around the crew in curiosity and suspicion, after all this was a rare case. All
the visitors we encountered before were only interest in raiding the village and causing distress. However, the night
these men arrived, I heard the crew even entertained the villagers with traditional melodies and trot songs. Most of the
villagers had warmed up to them but few remained wary due to the guard the captain kept up. The captain and a
couple of soldiers regularly met up with the chief, privately. Not once during my time at their accommodation had I
been able to catch a glimpse of them or overhear their conversation.
Syaoran
I leaned towards the carpenter’s counter, asking for the towns insider, pressing few jewels I’d pocketed from the ship's
storage into his palm. Although the shopkeeper’s curiosity wan after I handed him the jewels, other locals stole glimpses
at me, even glaring. Then turned their heads as I lifted mine, pretending I didn’t see them. This unfavourable attention
probably had to do with the thick plates of steel armour on my chest, the blood-speckled brass helmet I grasped in my
hand and the pretentious jet black-maroon robe that danced behind me as I walked.
Glancing at the address he’d given me, I trudged towards a stilt house, buried into a corner. As I tugged at the uneven,
bamboo door it squealed open as its rutted hinges brushed against steel. Rolls of parchment paper and record books
lined the sides of the room, while a makeshift desk was placed to the left. Mr Zhang , who was also a moneylender faced
the wall, scanning the shelf behind his desk when he asked, ‘Young man, what brings you here?’
I discreetly slid a piece of paper with my mother’s name across the desk. And dropped the bag of gold coins and jewels I
had bagged from the ship on to the table. Initially, the moneylender eyed me warily, glancing at my attire.
But, once the moneylender glimpsed at the contents of the sack his eyes lit up and sparkled, the corners of his mouths
twitched. I must have looked desperate and pitiful with my dishevelled hair and grubby appearance- he said he would
fulfil my request so long as I helped collect money from a ‘troublesome’ customer.
.
.
.
Using the portrait Mr Zhang had given me as reference, I conducted my search: Not long after I was alerted of her
location by a silk shopkeeper. The following afternoon, when the straw huts bamboo door was locked shut I stormed
into the quaint house, slashing the brittle door open. Upon entering, I noticed 4 mattresses scattered around the one-
room shelter. I tugged all the drawer’s in sight and fumbled with the stale mattress’. Towers of clothing that peppered
the room tumbled as I rummaged through their room, finding loops of money hidden behind nooks and crannies in the
wall and in the hollows legs of the bamboo furniture.
I gazed at the now war-zone like shelter that appeared ransacked with upturned mattresses, ripped bedding and
collapsed cupboards that were encircled by shattered glass and ceramic cutlery. Though I was soon to be ridden with
guilt. It was too late to change my mind.