Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4-7 2019 | Page 92

One last voyage , the new Xuande Emperor had said to him, his resonant voice echoing through every corner of the
hall. And although Zheng He’s once-bright eyes had dimmed and his hair had turned a silvery grey and his great
towering frame was not nearly as strong as it used to be, he soon found himself aboard the ship once more, the wind
tousling his hair, the sailors at his command, the constellations his guide to the great unknown.
And, oh, what a journey it had been—three more years of sailing, of extending the glowing name of the Empire to
faraway countries and barbarian regions, in much the same way as the sun extends its rays to even the murkiest of places.
His fleet of one hundred ships had taken them further and further away from the Empire, sailing to the edge of the
world, trunks of golden baubles and glittering jewels glinting in the warm sunlight all the way. They had visited flurries
of distant lands, city after city swirling about them like seawater--Qui Nohn, Surabaya, Hormuz, Mogadishu. And
now they were returning home.
Perhaps he had known death was approaching all along, during this particular trip. He had felt it in the mellow breeze
that had suddenly become cold and biting, and in the way the soft sunlight seared his skin. He had felt it in every
faltering step he took, in the strain of his failing limbs, in every frantic pulse of his heart, in the voice inside him
imploring him to slow down, slow down. He had never heeded the voice, had never slowed down. He had moved like
lightning, day and night. Perhaps that was his mistake, he thought, a trifle ruefully.
Could he possibly leave this world behind? To slip away quietly, to abandon the sea and the ship and his friends—all
that he knew? The more imminent it became, the more inconceivable it was. He could feel the footsteps of his fate
approaching, closer and closer. Zheng He’s bloodshot eyes searched for the sky to no avail, meeting the blank ceiling
instead. What was this queer ache deep inside of him?
He felt them all beginning to fade from his memory, the countless escapades he and his crew had shared. What persisted
in reverberating through the vast hall of his mind were fragments; a wisp of a salty breeze across his cheeks, a brief
blinding flash of gold as a piece of jewelry caught the light, the fleeting satisfaction glinting in the Emperor’s eyes as he
caught sight of the sparkling trinkets given to him as tribute.
“ San Bao?”
Hundreds and thousands of days, all hazy through a misty veil of sea spray. Perhaps that was enough, after all, for him to
hold on to as he embarked on his last journey—hopefully—into Jannah. Into paradise, where greater adventures
awaited.
“ San Bao . We have arrived at the port of Kozhikide.” The sailor’s voice rang out, clear and crisp. Through his blurred
vision he saw the silhouette of a young man standing against the rosy sunset glow spilling in from the doorway. “We
shall soon be home again.”
Zheng He closed his eyes. To the young sailor, perhaps, they were on a return trip. But not for him. He felt as if he was
floating on water, drifting, further and further away. For the first time in his life he did not know where he was headed
towards, but he knew, somehow, that all was well.
He chuckled at the ceiling, too feeble to turn his head in the sailor’s direction. “Home?” he murmured. “I have miles
yet to travel on my own.”
The admiral was making his last voyage on smooth waters.