Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4-7 2019 | Page 136

A few days before they had visited the radiant palace that reigned from the centre of the city. The palace being the city’s
nourishing heart, the streets were its veins, teaming with rivers of people. Nonetheless, when they had visited, carts
brimming with cloth, beads, metal goods, silks, and porcelain, and their words dribbled diplomatic greetings and
compliments. They walked back down the palace steps soon after, guiding their carts filled with gold and ivory.
Strolling through the streets that smelt of all sorts of spices, Zheng He had to pause, for his joints were inflaming to the
point where he sucked in a stinging breath. Resting by a stall, he distracted himself with the draped with exhilarating
coloured cloths, and curiously created jewellery, Captain Zheng He fancied the precise weaving of four bracelets, that
were throned on a velvet cushion, for his sisters who long awaited his arrival. After buying them, and safely storing
them in his breast pocket he set out to gather his men. It was time to return home.
Once his crew were all accounted for, they got to untying the aged ropes and dragging in the barnacle smothered
anchor for what felt like the last time. Hearts heavy they climbed aboard, watching the ships that were new, unmarred,
and anticipating adventure, pull up to port. With one last lingering look back, hoping to imprint the majestic though
peculiar city into his mind for the rest of life, Captain Zheng He steered the ship into open waters.
They were just passing the coast of Indonesia when Captain Zheng He’s lips tasted blood. A week later he succumbed
to more shortness of breath, and his skin grew feverishly pale; the doctor on board sorrowfully agreed that death was on
the horizon.
Surprisingly untroubled for a dying man, the Captain announced his arriving departure. The crew crowded on deck,
bustling with uneasy energy, and he stood alone on the bridge. Agitated shouts broke out across the ship.
One sailor called out furiously, “你不能死。我们差不多回家了/you can't be dying. we're almost home”
“我不认为你死的时候会选择，否则没人会/i don't think you get to choose when you die, otherwise no one
would”, said Captain Zheng, chuckling merrily,
Another voice cried out, “但是谁会指导我们？/but who will guide us?”
Zheng He prominently directed their gaze towards Wang Jianhong, his second in command, who had matured finely
over the past few years. Upon noticing the Captain’s meaning, Jianhong turned as red as 红包, the chinese packets they
would get during Chinese New Year.
One last sullen voice begged, “没有你我们不能结束我们的旅程/We can't end our journey without you.”
Eyes wrinkling, he responded softly, “对抗不可避免的事情是没有智慧的，所以我不害怕，你也不应该/there is no
wisdom in fighting the inevitable, so i do not fear, and neither should you”
Voice steady as the ocean below their feet, Zheng He raised his chin and regaled them with past anecdotes of hardships,
testimonies of their bravery, and lastly with his thankfulness of having been their captain.
Teary eyed and despairing, the crowd dispersed, leaving Captain Zheng He once again alone with his thoughts.
Shifting his thoughts to the gentle buoyancy of the waves as they hit the hull, he let himself be lulled into a state of
peace. Exploring the depths of his spirituality, he heard Tianfei, the sea goddess, beckon him closer. Transcendent, he
forgoed anything and everything that tethered him to the physical world, and simply, let go.
Attentively, they cut off a braid of his hair, and took off his pair of shoes, for they were to be taken back to Nanjing for
his burial. Otherwise, they lovingly wrapped their Captain in white silks that clung to his hollow frame. A splattering of
stars attended the burial from above, as the red whispers of a new morning seeped into the night sky. Even the ocean
paid it’s respects, its waves allayed, as it held its breath in memory of the Captain Zheng He.
They ceremoniously lowered him into the shimmering ocean that had embraced him in life and now death.