Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 | Page 85

“Not true!” he squeals, face scrunching up, lips in a pout. He stomps ahead of me, grumbling about how
much of a liar I am, probably. Wong Bai, 15 years old, the purest soul I’ll ever know. We met our first day
in the shipyard, around a month ago. Being on the younger and unathletic sides, we tended to see each
other quite a lot, so naturally, we became quite close. He’s still quite young, innocent, makes me wonder
why he’s here. He’s a lanky kid with curly soft hair, his smile is blinding and he has these eyes... God, those
eyes. He has these huge round doe eyes and when he smiles they curl into tiny crescent moons.
We begin to load up the planks of wood into piles for the others to use to construct the boat. Zhang-Fei is
working on panelling, I believe. The majority are focusing on the sternpost rudder, China’s very own
invention, used for navigation. Next to me, I hear Bai giggle at something someone said. I sigh, the noise
itself adding a year to my life, hauling a log of wood up and walking it over to the others.
Bai and I are walking to get dinner. It’s now been 3 months since we met, the ship edging completion. The
sun rests on the horizon now, a blanket of purples, oranges, pinks fanning around it. We walk in silence, not
an awkward silence, but a warm, pleasant one. The crunching of the gravel under our feet, crickets chirping,
I look over at him. The tinges of pink and purple glazing his face, glimmering eyes, his lustrous hair laid on
his forehead, the chiller breeze blowing it slightly, I wonder. I came here because I belong out there, on the
sea. I peer down at my hands, fingertips running over the various blisters and splinters littering them. It’s not
like I was leaving behind anything, I have no family to miss me and I was never great at making friends. But
Bai? I return my gaze to him. I have no idea. Maybe I don’t want to know.
My cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. Pride swirls in my chest, growing by the second. The weather is
tamer, the sun has shown some mercy. The wind whistles, auburn leaves gliding off the trees. Bai and I are
just two in a crowd of hundreds all roaring in celebration. It’s been 4 months since I’ve arrived here. Four
months of hard work and now we have a completed Treasure Ship. It’s so worth it, all the struggle, physical
strain, it’s all so worth it. It was a group effort, it really was. And now all that’s left is to load it up and then
we are free. We can join Zheng He and the others, I’ll be where I belong. I peer over at Bai, he’s howling,
jumping up and down, one of those blinding smiles plastered on his face, he’s proud too.
The masses have scattered, all leaving to meet with family or friends before our departure next week. I see
Zhang-Fei leaving the shipyard, laughing. I’m happy for him, he’s found some good friends, people who
have tamed his raging soul, subdued his petulant ways. He doesn’t talk to me much these days.
“Li-Zhong let's go celebrate with the others! We deserve it! We can finally leave!” Bai cackles, clutching
onto my arm, twinkling eyes blinking up at me.
“Let’s go.” I grin, striding forward.
The night is not silent. The sea is not still. The wind is not gentle. The Yongle Emperor is dead. The night
is loud, the shrieks of dreams being burned ringing in our ears. The sea is violent, a vicious body of water
we’ll never see. The wind is a brutal chill thrashing at our already raw skin. The Hongxi Emperor has
ordered the ending of the Treasure Voyages meaning the destruction of the Treasure ships. I stare at the
army of smoke blasting out of her, shooting towards the atmosphere. The hues of reds, oranges, yellows
spreading, the deafening cracks of wood being burned. I can feel the clouds of heat radiating out of her, but
I couldn’t feel any colder. I stand next to Bai. The Bai with no tears left in his body, only a throbbing throat
and an empty, hollow feeling buried in his soul. The flames illuminating his face, glittering in his eyes. He
looks at me. I look into a pair of unfamiliar eyes, a pair of eyes belonging to a broken soul. My breath turns
ragged, my lungs collapsing on themselves. I feel a body wrapping around mine, a head pressing into my
neck, slim fingers tugging at my nape. I close my eyes, releasing a shaky exhale. I don’t ask what will never
be for him. Maybe I don’t want to know. There is no point to grieve for a life we will never live, a door
that will never be opened, a book that will never be read. Maybe I don’t want to know what demons lie
behind the doe eyes.