Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4567 | Page 294

“Seven in the evening, Master.”
Hong’s lips curled up into a cheeky smile.
“Perfect, my favourite time of the day. Prepare my supper, and let us feast tonight,” he ordered with a gleeful
grin.
Lu Feng hesitated, “My good lord, we are running short on food, I’m afraid. The last of the rice fields in the
region had been destroyed. We do not have much left but a crate of wild vegetables.”
“Ah, brilliant!” Hong’s eyes brightened with sweet nostalgia. “My father used to love those, you see. He’d bring
back a sack full of fresh greens every-” Hong’s voice trailed off as he was reminded of that day many years ago,
when he witnessed the terrible occurrence.
His advisor sensed his discomfort and said, “I’ll bring you your supper, Master.”
Hong gulped down a spoonful of bizarre-looking vegetables. They tasted somewhat abnormal, like bitter lettuce
leaves, but he was starving and ended up finishing every bit of food on his plate.
His throat was feeling dry and his tongue a little irritated after his meal, and Hong assumed that he must’ve been
dehydrated. Building an empire required blood, sweat and tears and drinking enough liquids was essential to
keep himself healthy. What was a Kingdom without a fit leader to rule it?
“Lu Feng,” he called, “fetch me the best bottle of rice wine. Let us welcome our impending victory with a
celebratory clink of our glasses.”
When Lu Feng returned with the bottle in hand, he found his Master sprawled on the marble floor of his office,
hands wrapped tightly around his neck, as if he was trying desperately to catch his breath.
Hong, who was barely conscious, moved his blue lips in an attempt to mutter out his final words, as he struggled
to gasp for air.
And what monumental last words they were.
“Papa…...they got what they deserved……”
For thirty years the kingdom thrived
Until the god-like man had died.
With him, crumbled down the mighty wall,
And marked the start of his Kingdom’s fall.