Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4-7 2019 | Page 42

The winds beat harsher than ever, shaking the very planks of his vessel and splintering the cabin. Ma Wen Ming,
oblivious to the collapsing world about him, pressed on, desperately steering the ship away from their fate. No choice
but to fight for his life and press on…
Until the very mast was struck by another thunderbolt, embers from the ignited wood falling around the ship’s lone
navigator before being swiftly extinguished, to which Ma Wen Ming noticed as almost symbolic, like every moment in
time being swept away by the forward movement of life, or tears in rain: all inevitably overwhelmed by an unstoppable
force. As this contemplation prompted Ma Wen Ming to stop and accept the inevitable, he shook off the thought. No!
He could not go so gently when he was still alive! He had to press on!
However, wheeling around after another thunderclap, Ma Wen Ming only saw the great mast toppling towards him,
finally felled by one gust of wind or one bolt of lightning too many, and then came the sharp blow of the mast against
his head.
There was a single split-second of incomprehensible pain, and then everything was gone.
Leaving, resisting, fading and finally falling into a dark and dreamless slumber, as the vessel fell apart into splinters, drawn
into the whirlpool with one doomed soul aboard, bound to the fate of the ship as the wreck disappeared to places
unknown…
Voyage 3: 急
Ma Wen Ming blearily opened his eyes, mustering the strength to roll over and resist the throbbing pain that
incapacitated him. Standing up, he was shocked by the sight of a sky and sea of a more azure hue than any sea that he
saw on his voyage, and astonishingly foreign trees that seemed like the ones he had seen in coastal areas… Where could
he be? And then his eyes fell on a red-hued stranger who looked unlike anything he had saw prior, much like
everything in this strange new land. But upon moving his sand-caked arm, the stranger fled, leaving him to notice the
splintered wood strewn around him, as the memory of that horrifying maelstrom resurfaced.
As to assess the situation, he set off inland, tracing the footprints of that stranger. Pushing overhanging ferns aside, he
found an odd collection of tents, heading to the largest one to find answers. Finding more of the red-hued strangers, he
greeted them, albeit futilely, as they did not seem to comprehend him. Drawing a boat on a plank he found, the
strangers glanced at it, discussing in what seemed to be their language. The exchange of drawings continued, until Ma
Wen Ming pulled out a makeshift compass, cobbled together in the minutes before following the stranger, and deduced
that he could not return to China from this coastline. Spending several days with the natives to fashion equipment, he
then set off from the beach to the “other coastline” to return home, unaware of a series of three ships behind him,
miniscule along the horizon, but visibly intending to make land...
And so he trekked for days on end, with the azure coast receding into boundless plains, roamed by many animals and
more natives who, fortunately, noticed Ma Wen Ming with curiosity, but not with a trace of hostility. Days passed, and
eventually Ma Wen Ming slowly learned about this new world around him: how to hunt, make a settlement, and more.
Acclimating to this new world would undoubtedly make this place harder to bid farewell to, Ma Wen Ming thought.
Going further into this uncharted land, Me Wen Ming encountered strange new sights, like dark columns that
destroyed everything in their path at an unparalleled speed, curious new creatures that ranged from elusive to downright
hostile in disposition, and a series of drastic shifts in climate, from cliff-lined mountains that turned Ma Wen Ming’s
progress into a complete halt at times with the unclimbable terrain and frigid weather, an expansive desert that could
almost make him drop dead from the heat and dryness, which promptly led to another fascinating mountain range filled
with pitfall-esque vales and gargantuan streaks of ice cutting through the landscape, and a verdant forest with some
colossi among trees that seemed to block out the very sky. And for everything the climate and topography threw at
him, Ma Wen Ming pushed on, motivated by the thought of returning home.
For the remaining hours of the journey, he trudged through the landscape past the canyon, seemingly autonomous,
until he managed to smell the sea breeze from the coast, his spirits high from the anticipation of returning.