Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 | Page 311

Stories Unspoken to a Beloved
Ying Wa College, Leung, Wai Hei Matt - 14
My dearest Biming,
The waters are serene in this area, so I have a break from the labyrinth of endless labour to write this to you.
I would’ve liked to talk about the seasons, the weather, but as you know, there is only sky and ocean. There
hasn’t been a sight of land in months, according to our trusty compass and sundial, but we still have another
month’s supplies before we fully starve. So the General’s pretty confident.
Look, I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while. It’s been what, two years? Almost three, I believe. The only
reason I remember about the absence of letters was because when clearing some space out of the dorm, I
found out a shard of coloured glass from the porcelain figure you collected on that lone island off the coast
of India. You did love that figure, didn’t you? A shy little maiden gave it to you before our parting. It was
the only thing that you liked in this journey, the only time I saw you smile.
You would have liked to know how people have been faring since you left, wouldn’t you? The blowing
wind caught up with most of us, so most of our comrades are gone. Only Wuxi and Jiawei are alive, one
heavily injured by a wild tiger in one of our most recent journeys. The others— well, three of them found
their lives in the outlying islands off seas of Malacca, and one met his end in the jagged rocks of the gulf of
Tonkin. So out of the eight of us who started, there are only three left, and eight others on the other side of
the ship.
That makes me wonder when my time will come. Will it be a stormy, tempestuous night where the ship
will be lifted upside down and all of the crew will slip into the sea, just as we were slipping in and out of
consciousness? Or will it be a calm, reassuring night, with unexpected pirates coming out of the blue with
queer weapons, demolishing us in one pleading scream? Or will it be on land, after a bright bloody war with
the locals who so uninvitingly attacked us, lying on the beach and withering to find that the rest of the fleet
are gone, thinking I was dead already?
It’s not fair, you know. You could choose, straight and fast out of the labyrinth, leaving everything behind
without bearing the consequences. You get to choose where and when you meet your end, while we have
to bear with the unknown.
Things have changed since you left. Being the smallest of all ships in the fleet, we and a few others were
made into a ‘second fleet’, sailing into further realms, but without the freshwater ship and the resource ship
trailing our paths. We were sent as scouts, deemed to sacrifice so the general’s ship wouldn’t sink. We had
few weapons but bountiful treasure, and with that I mean we are a natural target to pirates and scapegoats to
other predators roaming the seas.
I miss you. Really, I do.
I still remember the day you left us. The weather was stormy. The boat heaved and tossed and bobbed like a
cork on the surface of the water, ready to flip every minute. The storms were raging furiously, as if heaven
was furious at our worthless expedition.
You think I didn’t, but I saw your look.
It was a look of despair, of hopelessness, one so wild that I have never seen it on your face even in your
angriest moments, because it was the look of death. I didn’t realise it then, but I do now. I always tend to
realise things a bit late, don’t I?
You looked at the trembling ocean, at the savage waves pounding at the ship’s side, half-threatening, half-
whispering to you, like sirens luring their prey. And you were lured. Your eyes stared at them as if they
were giving you what you had dreamed for a whole lifetime, and they shone. Then you took one last look
at the cabin door, which was slightly ajar, perhaps your heart screaming for help, held prisoner by your
body, clinging to the last thread that was supposed to be your brother, your Shixiong , your dearest person in
the world.
And I let you go.
I couldn’t, or even cannot at this very moment, explain why I did that. Maybe I was selfish, maybe I was
indignant. Angry that you have brought upon your own death with the mean and aggrieved attitude that
you had put on at the start of the journey. Furious that you were so negative, and since you wanted death,
taunting you to embrace it. Maybe I was unbelieving. Reassuring, no, deceiving myself that you were only
looking at the sea, admiring its ferocity, refusing to believe your actions.
It’s always been my fault. My entire fault that you came into this expedition with me, that I made you come