Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4-7 2019 | Page 226

repose on our ship, we had been whipped into a frenzy, for our humble vessel was indistinguishable from a
rubbish dump – not exactly ideal sleeping conditions for the highly-ranked admiral. The captain’s room was
hurriedly vacated, and the men were ordered not to drink to appear more of a proper crew and less of a
drunkards’ commune. We had performed our assigned tasks with an unprecedented enthusiasm, as if to
reassure the admiral that we were completely unfazed by the unexpected turn of events.
It was concerning how disorganized we were. Within the two shichen the admiral and his
company boarded our ship, we had managed to burn the feast prepared for them, made crude and
unseeming references without realizing the admiral’s company was standing nearby, and had addressed
Admiral Zheng without the correct titles, more than once. The admiral had been lenient with us and
tolerated our misconduct, but I had witnessed, on more than one occasion, Vice Admiral Wang giving us
the stink eye.
As I descended the dek towards the captain’s - now Admiral Zheng’s - room, I pondered over the
reason why I had been called. I was not an important figure in the running of this ship, and I was not in
charge of anything in particular. The only contact I had had with the admiral’s company was when I was
pouring them a measure of wine; I had caught the admiral’s gaze as I offered a wine cup to him. His brows
had furrowed slightly before quickly smoothing out. Perhaps he had deemed the wine I served to be too
cheap and was now summoning me to reprimand me about it.
I reached the room and knocked on the door. A soft “Come in” floated up from behind the door.
I shut the door and surveyed the room. The admiral, seated at the wooden desk, was the model of
grace and elegance of the court, a stark contrast to the roughly hewn cabin. He was accompanied by Vice
Admiral Wang, who stood behind him.
“Chen Xiaojia.” the admiral’s voice had a curious lilt, perhaps influenced by his native Dian dialect.
“Aged nineteen, has been working on this ship for 5 years. Tell me, child, where do you hail from?”
“A small village in Guangdong, Admiral. About 200 li from the Guangzhou ports.”
“How very... interesting.” He gestured towards the Vice Admiral, who presented him with a scroll.
Admiral Zheng unrolled the scroll and inclined his head slightly. “Come closer, child. Do you recognize this
person?”
I bent over to inspect the scroll. It was a portrait of an elderly man. His visage showed Chinese
features, yet his skin was darker. His unkempt hair framed his lined face. His eyes, however, stood out the
most: coldness and cruelty shone out of them. His gaze struck an unrecognizable fear in my chest, even
though I had no idea who he was. This was definitely an old man I would not want to cross.
“He looks Chinese, but his skin is darker than the average Chinese man. Is he a huayi living in the
southern states? They receive more sunlight there; his skin would turn darker as a result.”
The admiral nodded in approval. “A reasonable guess, but you have still not identified this
individual. Perhaps you would be more familiar with his name; would the name Chen Zuyi ring a bell?”
My blood ran cold. Chen Zuyi was a bit of a legend among the men at the docks, his name only to
be spoken in hushed whispers, as if they feared he would someone hear them and unleash his wrath on
them. A pirate of the southern states, he was originally a sailor from Guangzhou – from our dock, even –
who went rogue during a trading journey to the south. He had mutinied, along with a few of his
crewmates, and murdered the captain., throwing the first mate overboard. After claiming the ship for
himself, the pirate had raided ports and cities, killing its residents and robbing their wealth. On more than
one occasion he had set fire to entire cities; a rumour spoke of the pirate setting fire to a palace while staring
directly in the eyes of the monarch, watching him completely break down before ordering his men to throw
the sobbing king into the fire. The huayi had written to the central government, begging them to stop the
pirate from wreaking havoc onto their cities and ports. There was quite the commotion in the Ming capital;
ministers were furious that Chen Zuyi would inflict such terrors on his fellow Chinese, and ordered the
navy to bring the pirate back, preferably alive, so justice could be executed on Chinese soil, “bringing an
end to this degenerate who had stained the noble reputation of the great Ming”.
That was four decades ago. Since the navy had returned empty-handed, most people had assumed
that Chen Zuyi had received his retribution at the hands of the navy. His name was not as widely spread
among the public as it was previously; I had only learned of this person when I started working at the docks.
We had believed that the infamous pirate had died, yet somehow the person in the portrait was Chen Zuyi.
“How... what? But I thought he’d died; wasn’t he killed by the navy?”
The vice admiral’s face was grim. “Quite the contrary. He had defeated our navy, and slaughtered
the majority of our fighters. The ships that returned to Quanzhou barely escaped the jaws of death. The
death toll of the mission was unprecedented, and the risks were considered too high for us to send another