Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4-7 2019 | Page 275

He turns.
The man who has suddenly appeared beside him bears him an astonishing resemblance, although he has died
long ago. Both men’s eyes are almond shaped and obsidian black, although Zheng He’s hair is still dark and
his father’s has become streaked with grey. The latter approaches and leans beside him against the gunwale,
dark eyes scanning the sea.
“You’re scared.” Says Ma Haji.
“Yes, Father.”
“You fear death.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Why?”
Zheng He swallows. “Perhaps because of what lies there.”
“Why fear it?”
“Father, this is the fear of the unknown.”
Ma Haji strokes the wooden railing beneath his arms with one finger. “Look around you, Ma He. Where
are you going?”
“The ship is on course to Champa.”
“And after that?”
“Java. Malacca. Aru.”
“Afterwards?”
“After that I cannot say for sure.”
“And do you know what Champa is like?”
“No, Father.”
“Do you fear it?”
He thinks before answering. “No. I have been there. I have seen the sun rise there, and at Java, and
Malacca, and above the mountains of Ceylon besides. Every journey brings another sunrise, and I have seen
a thousand. I don’t think I fear it.”
Ma Haji smiles. “Precisely. Be brave, Ma He.”
***
At dawn, two days after the fleet has left for Hormuz, the crew scatters Zheng He’s ashes over the sea.
Li Wei stands at the stern of a baochuan , the revolving sail of one of the ship’s nine masts casting him in
shade. The sheet of paper Zheng He has left him is clutched tightly in one hand.
He has not read it yet, but now he opens it, his eyes roving over the lines of clear writing, mouthing the
words to himself as he reads.
In the course of a thousand sunrises and seven voyages we have traversed more than one hundred thousand
li of immense water spaces, and have beheld in the ocean huge waves like mountains rising sky-high. We
have set eyes on barbarian regions far away hidden in a blue transparency of light vapours, while our sails,
loftily unfurled like clouds, day and night continued their course with starry speed, breasting the savage
waves as if we were treading a public thoroughfare.
The fleet now sails on to Hormuz without me- I am on my own voyage now. I know not where that may
lead, and I know not how I will get there, but it is another voyage all the same. For what is another sunrise,
except for a new day, and a new adventure?
- Calicut, written in the reign of the Xuande Emperor
Li Wei finishes reading and folds the paper closed, looking upwards as he does so.
The sun has risen above the horizon before him, lighting the sky with swashes of orange and gold. Another
morning has come- it is a new day once more.