Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4-7 2019 | Page 38

A Eulogy to Heroes
Chongqing Nankai Secondary School, Li, Weike - 16
“Zhu! Come back home now and pack your stuff! You only get a tiny space for your pack so don’t bring your silly
books and loose pages of poetry! Quickly!” A yell from a grouchy woman pierced the street, so shrieking that it
penetrated tier upon tier of onlookers.
“I’m COMING!” a boy retorted, disappointed and perhaps irritated.
The shriek began again,“Quickly now! Time’s ticking!”
“I AM COMMMING!” the boy roared. His disgruntled sound nearly froze the street, making the idle owner of the
fruit stand jump out of his skin — the owner cast a cursory glance in the direction of the sound, then leisurely resumed
laying out his fresh pears and oranges. Among the crowds a handsome-looking boy, though a bit chubby, dashed
through stores and stalls, dodging in and out of the flow of human legs. A stack of yellowish pages were in his left
hand — the old urchin Li, the only other weirdo in the little town of Yuan, gave them to him — one of which, Li had
claimed exuberantly, had been passed down for centuries from the Tang Dynasty. “What a gorgeous era.” The old man
constantly reminisced about centuries before, eyes gleaming, voice shaking, and words asserting so unswervingly that he
was the true heir of the emperor Li Yuan. Yet the only proof he possessed was a roughly-made imperial decree, and,
his very last name. The boy, on the other hand, was haunted by his name. Mocked by all his neighborhood, Zhu had
the very same last name as the Ming’s emperors, but held nothing yet a very deep hatred towards the dynasty. “The
most distant relatives of our emperors,” he remembered a girl had jeered at him. So he identified with Li. He visited Li
now and then. He would read through Li’s piles of old books from those dusty shelves and drink unrefined oolong tea
with him down by the old birch tree.
**
I would never do this again, never, he thought, the Sixth Voyage down the South Seas , as he scowled and slammed the
door behind him. How ignorant they were, those silly grown-ups, that they even bragged about it as “the Great
Voyages!” And all his neighbors, giving up so relentlessly the company of their children and wives or husbands, rushed
to the ships in exchange for gold and silver coins. Ostentatious fleets, gaudy treasures, and mighty smug captains in
shining armor standing tall on the bows — nothing could be more humdrum than a scene like this. It was quite
glorious, indeed, but even so, how could they possibly compare the scene to what those books had described of the
Tang Dynasty, the infantry and cavalry marching down the prairies of Mongolia, flying spears and roaring horses along
the Yangtze River, and dust and smoke that could darken the skies for weeks. And a knight would always charge in at
the forefront, drawing his sword from its sheath and brandishing it proudly. He especially wanted to be that knight, as
poets of the Tang Dynasty constantly portrayed, who guarded the western border of China against the raids and
invasions of the Huns — but he couldn’t quite imagine himself properly. So heavy, he’d always be standing comically
with sword and shield and armor. And poetry! The moonlight in the capital city of Changan would always shine on an
artistic poet, chanting his gorgeous verses in time. What now? A pile of golden cargo or boxes stuffed with silver coins?
Zhu had stayed in his chamber and refused to come out for nearly all the journey the fifth time he had embarked on
“the Great Voyage” two years before. He brought hundreds of pages in his pack — the full collection of the poetry of
Li Bai — and dove into it at the very beginning, devouring every single character. So thrilled by these scenes, rivers
surging ahead from where the skies originated and moonlight pouring down so expansively, he would nearly jump with
glee. The sea, yet, was an entirely different story. The amazement that grown-ups had described in detail, he had seen
none of on his way. All he ever saw was monotonously stretching water and unvaryingly spreading skies. And the flux
of shining gold and the wicked grins from the shrewd merchants. The waves always raided the ship at night, and his
chamber would be just one step from shattering.
***
“You have to find him, the former emperor, Zhu Yunwen. Rumors have been spreading around the streets.”
“Wait… What do you mean? I remember… a funeral for him. It was the grandest funeral. He died in that huge fire he
himself lit, right?”
“No…” the official leaned forward and whispered, “that was only a coverup job. It wasn’t his body but his wife’s. He
was… lost…the day the new emperor’s army occupied the capital”.
Zhu was passing by the vestibule, and accidentally caught a glimpse of his father sitting across to a golden-cloaked
official whom he had never seen before. Another grown-up conspiracy. He stopped behind the door and began
pondering.
“…So, uh, the voyages were not only about silver coins and expensive spices and all that stuff, they were also about…”
Before Zhu’s father finished, the astute official interrupted him.