Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4-7 2019 | Page 301

paid any boatmen 2 years’ worth of salary in advance. With this lump sum, I could ensure that I would not
be left with hunger for quite a while. Yet, for people as poor I am, choices were way too luxurious. We are
nothing but disposable pawns on the giant chessboard of life, always replaceable. The best chance for us is to
keep our head low, and fight for survival whenever we could.
20th July, 1407
Writing supplies on the boat were scarce, and considering how life on the boat was usually mind-
numbingly dull, I hadn’t considered keeping an entry. Day in, day out, we followed the same routine.
Tending to the ship’s sails, loading supplies each time we neared a port, and when the day was over I went
to my bunk. Every now and then we passed by some cities, where the treasure ships would unload some of
the Ming Dynasty’s treasured goods. We might’ve passed by Ceylon, Calicut, or maybe Malacca, but I
insisted on keeping my head low, as a lowly boatman.
But today—two years after the boat had set sail—everything took a turn for the worse. On our voyage back
to Nanjing, in the seas of Southeast Asia, something the whole fleet had always dreaded happened.
A pirate raid.
Despite having only been a boatman for 2 years, the pirate’s name was enough to send shivers down my
spine when I realized who the leader was.
Chen Zuyi. Together with his 5000 men and having 10 ships under his command, he was the most feared
pirate in history. From overhearing snippets of conversation, I learnt the fleet had a reason to be afraid of
Chen—he had full command of a nearby city, Palembang, and was able to supply himself and his fleet,
should resources be depleted.
But the same snippets of conversation had supplied me with the fact that the Grand Director of this fleet, his
name being either Zheng He or Ma He, had already demanded the surrender of Chen Zuyi by the end of
the day. If not, the fleet would open fire instead, which had me worrying in no time. It was very likely that,
instead of choosing to surrender, the pirate would fight back with all he had, armed to the teeth, resulting in
a bloody mess. Would I be part of the casualties? Would I not return home in one piece?
I knew that no matter what, I have to survive—I needed the salary, the lump sum to keep on living. Death
has never been an option.
16th November, 1407
Glad I can make this entry. I could’ve lost my life back then, 4 months ago, rather than returning to Nanjing
in one piece.
My intuition had been wrong that day. In fact, nobody had expected Chen to signal agreement towards the
surrender. Fully believing that the pirate was handing his head over on a platter, a lot of boatmen decided to
relax for the day. The tension during the day, which had been so thick you could cut through it with a
knife, had mostly diminished by the time night rolled around. Some of my fellow boatmen were even
drinking and singing sea shanties.
And just when they were singing the chorus for goodness-knows-how-many-times in a row, the blade of
a cutlass shone under the moonlight and cleanly lopped off the arm of the boatman standing right in front of
me.