Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 2 - 2 | Page 67

The old man laughed, “I am the chief or I used to be, of a tribe. When a Chinese admiral came
and convinced us to support some emperor, we accepted and gifted him our sacred stone as a gift. We were
foolish, yes we were, but alas, the stone is magical. It cast a wicked curse upon that poor fellow, who died in
a few days from diseases. Most people would not know the true story, and would not believe. The old man
gazed at the sun, and exhaled,
“Mistakes, Mistakes” then, turned, and walked into the cave, the stone floating after him.
“So, that's it?” marvelled Woods as he pulled himself up and shook his head. “That's the end?
“That's how Zheng He died?” “Because a stone wanted to go home?” Woods patted the dirt off, and
dashed after the old man.
The old man had disappeared, but the stone had not. It sat on an altar, resting contentedly. Upon
his return, Woods reported what he heard, but no one was willing to believe him. The island however was
investigated and explored, resulting in marvellous and unpredictable rewards. But for now, he was safe. He
had changed the wordings on his research on Zheng He, to the real reason only he knew. It didn't matter if
they chose to believe it, or not.