Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4-7 2019 | Page 274

Wenming folds his arms. “You saw me do it, Ma He. You should know.”
“Will it hurt?”
“Oh, come on, Ma He. Be brave.”
He inches forward. A quote from one of his books comes to mind- Wisdom, compassion, and courage are
the three universally recognized moral qualities of men.
He decides to leap.
The wind whistles in his ears. A blur of white sunlight glances off the deep blue water below. Then there is
a splash, a sudden shock of cold, and a wall of icy water erupts around him as he plunges downwards. The
world around him is sapphire blue and still, and silver streams of sunlight light the depths.
Be brave , Wenming’s voice, saying it into his ear, but that is impossible. Ma Wenming died years ago.
And then Zheng He wakes up.
***
The next day, before sunrise, he summons Li Wei again.
“Have you rested, Admiral?”
“Rested? May I remind you, Li, that I have over a hundred ships to command?”
“Pardons, Admiral, but all night as well as all day?”
Zheng He presses his fingers to his eyelids. When he was younger, perhaps, the work the Emperor has given
him was tiring at the most. But grey has begun to thread his hair, and everything he does seems to take a toll
on him.
“Put me ashore.” He says, suddenly.
Li Wei’s eyebrows rise. “Admiral?”
“You heard what I said.”
“You have made up your mind?”
“Put me ashore. The fleet will sail to Hormuz without me.” He removes from his sleeve a sheet of paper. In
the pre-dawn light it is thin and translucent as a moth’s wing. He has spent the early hours of the morning
setting his brush to it, covering it with row upon row of carefully inked characters. “For when the fleet
leaves for Hormuz.”
Li Wei takes it.
By the time Zheng He is settled on one of the white sand beaches that dot the shore the first rays of the sun
have already coloured the sky a hesitant, faint blue, bathing his distant fleet in a myriad of shadow and light.
As per Zheng He’s own rule, Li Wei leaves him with a crackling fire, and enough food and fresh water to
last him three days, but no more than that. Without water I have seven days. Zheng He thinks. He swallows
and nods Li Wei a farewell, choosing to watch the distant ships across the water as the rowboat the landing
party has brought with them rows back without him.
Having nothing to do for once, the sun rises and sets over Calicut with astonishing speed. He does not
touch the food, instead watching the stars begin to show overhead. He knows the names of every which
one he can use to find his way, but either the dull thirst beginning to set in or his gnawing hunger has
caused that knowledge to seep from his mind.
He does not know how long he remains awake. A fit of coughs racks him in the night, and in the morning
he coughs and sees droplets of blood spattered on the white sand. For a long time he thinks that sleep will
never overtake him, but eventually he does.
***
Calicut, 1407
The first voyage had been the worst.
The first night in his cabin, Zheng He had been unable to sleep. Eventually it had gotten so bad that he had
had to rise and make his way above decks, the better to lean against the gunwale and feel the cold sea wind
buffeting his face. Outside the distant stars, which had always calmed him down in past years, only seemed
to agitate him more.
He places his hands a shoulder width apart on the gunwale and watches the dark sea in silence, lost in
thought of storms and shipwrecks and impossibly high waves. It is a while before he realizes he is being
spoken to.
“Ma He.”