Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4-7 2019 | Page 91

The Admiral's Last Voyage
Heep Yunn School, Cho, Shu Nga Keziah - 14
He was going to die.
That was all he knew as he lay limply on the bed, his eyes glazed over, gazing at nothing in particular. Scarcely minutes
ago every inch of his body had been ablaze with pain, and panic had consumed him as he fought frantically against the
illness burning him alive.
Now he felt nothing but a sort of serene resignation. He was going to die, and he might as well die at peace.
The Xuande Emperor’s voice rang in his ears. One last voyage, San Bao. This will be an expedition no one in the
world has ever seen the like of.
The corners of San Bao’s--or Zheng He’s--pale lips turned up slightly in a faint smile. An expedition no one had
ever seen the like of. The past few years had been just that, had they not?
For some people the world consisted of a worn-out village, a dusty hut, and a wife who could cook and sew. For some
it consisted of sparkling mansions, glamorous young women in flowing robes, endless music and dancing. His was a
boundless world of blue, of sun-dappled waves dancing beneath him, of myriads of stars that guided him and his crew
through the palpable darkness of the night. His was a world of trunks overflowing with fragrant tea and lustrous silk,
translucent porcelain and rich brocades woven with the finest gold thread in all of the Empire; things he and his crew
would give to the rest of the world. It was a world of exotic, far-off lands, populated by dark-skinned men who gifted
them in return with smooth ivory, vibrant feathers in every hue imaginable, gemstones that sparkled and shone in the
sunlight, and a qilin .
Amidst excruciating spasms of pain, Zheng He laughed inwardly. What a queer animal they had been given by the
envoys of Malindi once; a qilin. How he and his crew had stared in awe when that giant, towering beast had come into
sight! He could almost see it now, the gracefully slender creature with a neck that stretched higher than the treetops, its
elegant frame covered in a silky, spotted coat of fur the colour of golden hay.
His sailors and the court officials had marvelled over the quaint horns on the creature’s head, as well. “They have
brought us the legendary qilin, San Bao,” one of the court officials in the palace had told him, excitement in his voice.
“Its horns, its body—they are exactly as the early scholars described it. A good omen, sir; a good omen.”
That was before the Yongle Emperor passed away. The Yongle Emperor, who had treated him as a friend, who had
held him in high esteem as if he was a prized jewel.
He had always wondered where the Emperor had gone after death, the man who had trusted him so. Now he was
about to find out.
As the Emperor passed away, so had this grand world of Zheng He’s. He had watched, helpless, as the new Hongxi
Emperor closed the empire’s doors to the world. He had not seen the burning of the fleet, but he could see it in his
mind’s eye—the ships which had roamed a thousand miles on water, now utterly submerged in a sea of fire, the orange
flames licking higher, higher.
Had he been devastated, then, since such glorious voyages had been brought to a halt? No, not exactly devastated; he
was becoming too old for those trips anyway. It was only that during those five years in which he did not once set sail,
in his dreams, he sometimes found himself and his crew roaming the seas again, striking awe into the hearts of nations.
In his dreams, he sometimes heard the name The Great Ming Empire whispered in admiration throughout remote
places, and he would glow inwardly knowing that it was because of him.
As it was the Hongxi Emperor had died, and he had been given one last mission to complete. One last chance to rule
the waves.