Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 2 - 2 | Page 188

The men had journeyed from Africa to Arabia, India to the Philippines. The threat of the assassin was long
forgotten. Oh, how foolish men can be when faced with merriment! However, Zheng He remained alert.
He was shaken by the assassination attempt. As he brooded in his study, he noticed the engravings on the
blade he had discovered. There was an abbreviation. A.O.I. He thought for a while, then a wave of
realization crashed unto him. “Abdula of India” he muttered. He swept away, calling his troops
immediately.
“Ahhhhhh!” A shriek broke of quiet. A big black snake reared onto the foolish nurse. With a single bite, she
fainted on the ground. Abdula materialised on the ship. “Finally, I can strike safely again.” But she was very
wrong indeed.
“Not if a squadron of elite soldiers and their generals are standing in your way, Abdula of India!” Zheng He
whispered in disdain.
The peace of the night was broken. Smashed. For the battle had ensured, and will not stop until one of these
people are dead: Abdula or Zheng He. The sound of iron rang through the ship. It was time for death.
Then, as quick as lightning, a sword thrust pierced through her waist.
“Ah!” The female of terror fell. Her waist snapped as her legs gave way. Her head crashed through a wall
and landed on a steaming pot of soup. Then, a note fell out of her pocket:
“We cannot bear any further pressure from the chinese any longer, it is ridiculous! We must take action
now! Kill Zheng He, for this will make China withdraw from India in shock. Also, kill as many chinese
scum as possible.
-Sultan”
“So the Sultan was behind this, was he?” asked a soldier. “Yes.” answered Zheng He.
The sky was as pink as blushing beetroot, as chaotic as a ruined empire, and the slight tint of blue reminded
the Chinese of better times ahead.