Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4-7 2019 | Page 28

The screaming had stopped so very suddenly. One slash of a blade and the commander, my commander, lay there, like
a ghoulish mannequin. As I recollected my breath, the adrenaline faded from my system. I began feeling nauseous, and
retched. My mind wanted me to think of a plan, I wanted to flee, to hide. But I stood there, frozen. the passage of the
light slowed. Sounds muted, as if I were underwater. Aside from the beat of my heart, no muscle would move. And
before I could digest all I was going through, the kid had fled without a trace. I didn’t even get to know his name.
In these late hours, I begin to humanize the mangled face of my commander, and when I realize I've completely and
utterly obliterated a human being from existence, it becomes absolute mental torture. But it was justified right? I saved
the boy’s life. He r
It doesn’t matter. I can’t let myself ponder upon the sentimental, although it is all that is on my mind. There's is no
space for it here, at such a time. It is too late for me to go back now. I’m a traitor. With or without that kid at my side.
26/8/1437
I hid out in the mountains that night, until the tension died down. I fortunately woke up on the morning of the 26th -
overwhelmed, but hopeful. Surabaya had a cold and hostile air to it. As I observed the paths of the neighbourhood, the
barbarity of the events of the 25th revealed itself. Indonesian corpses were piled on one another, in abhorrent fashion.
Innocent men, women, and children. The fog had faded, and the only remains of civilisation were the ashes at the tips
of our toes. Or so I thought.
After examining the paths of the neighbourhood, I recognised fellow soldiers from the Ming Dynasty. I wasn’t alone.
Thank God. I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t the only one who understood that something had to be done - that we couldn’t
be bystanders to massacre. They understood it too. With almost all hope lost for the Qing Dynasty, it seemed as though
Emperor Shunzhi was going to annihilate all the virtue that we had spread overseas as a result of the voyages, together
with everything that would come in his path. At this point, it was no longer about surviving ourselves. The only chance
we would have as a nation to end this dynasty and rebuild one with values of righteousness and virtue was to cut off the
root of the problem: Emperor Shunzhi himself. Once he would be killed, the entire dynasty would crumble down,
together with him. Tonight, I embark on a voyage overseas, together with my fellow soldiers, with the hope that we
can revive what the Chinese Dynasties were once known to be. The remains of the Ming Dynasty will not go down
quietly.
Together, I have no doubt that we can do it.
26/9/1437
It’s been a tedious journey over the course of the past thirty days. Every moment has been a struggle, a struggle for
survival. Its needless to say that this journey has been taking its toll on all of us - both physically and mentally. But we
have each other, and I guess that is all that matters.
One day, we have to fight for our lives in the depths of the ocean. On others, we have to stealthily prowl past masses of
soldiers, with the risks increasing at every stop - whether it be water or land beneath our feet.
It is almost impossible to describe what goes through one’s head in the constant fight for survival. These events leave an
ingrained mark on a soldier, a stain which stays with that soldier throughout the rest of his life - if he will even have
one:
All senses are tightened to their utmost awareness. There are no longer any arrows raining down on us or fading screams
in the distance. Silence. But it is precisely when it is silent, when one must prepare for the storm which will follow. The
rustling approach of the unknown sparks an inexpressible fear within each and every one of us. The combination of
blood, sweat and tears below me results in a soft and muddy surface, making it even harder to go unnoticed. Every
elbow I put forward feels as though it’s being pushed against me by a thousand men. Every leg that follows ruptures into
my wounded left hip, sending an agonizing pain which pulses through my entire body. But we must not grunt, pant or
gasp - we cannot be detected. Our breaths come in short and faint spasms, like a broken machine. We spot a large
group of soldiers from the Qing dynasty coming in our direction. We have to act quickly. I grasp on my bloody dagger
with my trembling and sweaty hand. The opposing soldier closest to me, aware that he is not alone, takes the sheath off
his sword, triggering a metal scrape which cuts straight through me. We approach opposing soldiers from behind, all at
once, and all our pain begins to disappear as the adrenaline pounds through our bodies, reaching our every limb. They
spot us and turn around, each at different times, but before they can do anything, they are silenced by the edge of our
blades. We escape the restricted area and sprint up the tall and dark fields of the mountain. Drained, I collapse onto the