The Story (Not Official Title)

Prologue

It was quiet when the news hit. The world, as if waiting for something to break the silence and rush through the emptiness, disrupting the peace, stayed silent. Around noon, it seemed everyone was holding their breath as if they could predict what was coming to Dadu that gloomy winter day in 1331.

The Story

The Mongol official raced through the streets, crashing into many of the Chinese peasants as he made his way towards the Imperial Palace. He waved a wrinkled scroll in his hand, rushing past the guards standing at the entrance of the palace, his fur robe billowing out behind him. He burst through a large set of ornate doors, and ended up piled at Emperor Wenzong’s feet. The Emperor’s glare sent the official scurrying back.

“What is it you want?” Wenzong thundered, keeping his menacing glare fixed on the official.

“Your Imperial Highness,” the official trembled. “There has been word sent from the Silk Road that Marco Polo and Wang Dayuan- .” He held out the scroll, worn by the many hands that had helped it along its journey, arriving eventually at the Imperial Palace. Wenzong flicked it aside, smiling in satisfaction as he heard the paper skidding across the ivory floor and landing several feet away, out of the official’s grasp.

“Continue!”

The official gulped, his eyes wide. “-have been murdered.”

Jia Li started listening then. As the Emperor’s assistant, he often heard many tedious conversations and complaints about trade, land, and many other dull subjects, but the mentioning of murder caught his attention.

“What?” Wenzong said weakly. “Who murdered them?”

The official looked around carefully, leaning in to the Emperor. “That’s the thing,” he whispered. “No one knows. And the murderer is here in Dadu.”

The Emperor went pale, his face fixed with a look of absolute horror. His eyes glazed over slightly, and his breath became heavy and labored. He slumped over, pasty face was covered with sweat. A small man with white robes rushed into the room, several guards following him eagerly, hoping to see the doctor heal. He leaned over the Emperor and pressed two of his fingers into Wenzong’s bloated face, leaning towards his chest, listening for a steady beat.

The Mongol turned and fled out the door to the palace. Jia Li studied the Emperor for a moment, praying for the ancestors to let him heal, then raced out the door in search of the official. The streets were now crowded, bustling with foreign merchants trying to trade off their wares. A man with a tall, skinny build and a notorious glimmer in his eye advertised a long ivory tusk, his smooth voice slipping after Jia Li as he hurried past. A man with a belly as large as an ox shoved a bundle of cotton in Jia Li’s face, his sulphuric scent following the rushed assistant as he walked past the next booth, showcasing luxurious gold and silver. Jia Li dodged several men tethering large stands of wool to a precarious-looking tent before he finally found the man he had been looking for.

The way the Mongol was sitting on the ground, his head in his hands and his once-distinguished fur robes dusty and wrinkled all contributed to his defeated look.

“Excuse me? Scholar-official?” Jia Li tentatively tapped the man’s shoulder, causing him to divert his eyes from the ground and stare at the Chinese assistant standing over him.

“Call me Arslan.”

“I would like to know more about the murders, if possible.”

“There’s not much to know,” Arslan said quietly. “Wang Dayuan was traveling on a trading route south when his ship, her belly full of silk, was pillaged by pirates. But the survivors of the attack seem to say that the ship was struck by a small boat with a single man on board-who managed to kill half of the crew, including Wang. No one knew him, or could recognize him if he was brought in front of them. They say he was silent; nobody could tell people were dying until they were killed themselves. The surviving crew took life boats ashore, and the killer was never caught. Marco Polo was a different story. Maybe you’ve heard of him-he served as a scholar for our Emperor for quite some time. Anyway, his death was of a completely different matter. He died just eight years ago. His wife, Donata, found a half-full bottle of poison on his bedside. Polo then fell deathly ill. Donata remembers him saying, before his death, to find the man who sold him the poison.”

There was a long silence.

“What do you want to know?” Arslan asked finally.

“Are you sure you have no idea as to who the killer is?”

“Well, I think that he’s a Chinese merchant, perhaps a rival to Wang or Polo.”

“That’s a reasonable guess,” Jia Li mused. His thoughts consumed him for a moment before he spoke up again. “How can I try and catch him?”

Arslan gazed upon Jia Li for a moment. “You could try and make friends with some of the merchants nearby. You may be able to tell whether any of them are murderers.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Jia Li said, and he turned and strode out of the building, a mission set in his mind.

As Jia Li entered the bustle of the streets, however, he began to feel less determined, but he shook off the impending feeling of frustration and began to search. He started by retracing his steps, approaching the man who had been selling ivory.

“Excuse me, Sir,” Jia Li addressed the merchant awkwardly, his face red and his ears on fire.

“If you aren’t here to buy my precious Arabian ivory, I suggest you stop blocking my customers and leave.” The merchant smiled in a rather intimidating manner that sent chills up Jia Li’s spine.

“I would appreciate it if you would tell me about your travels on the Silk Road,” Jia Li continued bravely, ignoring the merchant’s threat, though inside his heart was thumping against his chest wildly.

“I may be able to tell you a few things.” He paused here as a customer handed him a few chao in exchange for a small block of the smooth white material. “I couldn’t have known about Wang Dayuan until now;I just returned to China. Now leave.” The merchant smiled again, giving the appearance of a snake that was just about to strike.

Jia Li’s instincts were ahead of him, though, and before he could respond, his legs were carrying him down the street, weaving through the thick crowd. Soon his legs began to burn, his breath rapid and his lungs burning, and he forced himself to sit down and rest next to a small tent.

“Running from life?” The voice caught Jia Li by surprise, and he turned abruptly to the small figure who it belonged to.

“More like a rather terrifying, unhelpful merchant.” The girl’s eyes caught his attention, a stunning green that contrasted her dark skin.

“Maybe I could be of help,” she offered. “What do you need to know?”

Jia Li considered her question. “You could start by telling me about any news you know about the Silk Road, trade, and murder, and any news you may have acquired from other gypsies.”

“Ah,” she smiled. “Observant. Well, I’ve been traveling along the Silk Road, though this may have been my last trip, with all the ambushes, it’s become too dangerous.”

Jia Li furrowed his brow. “What do you mean, ambushes?”

“Many people have been attacked by highwaymen, some hurt or even killed. Some merchants or gypsies have been sold false product. My own mother died after being sold a horrible poison, disguised as an herbal remedy. She fell deathly ill and died just a year later.”

“Just like Marco Polo!” Jia Li blurted, his eyes widening at the discovery that confirmed Arslan’s suspicions of the murderer being a merchant.

The young woman, frowned, her face laden with confusion. “Anyway, I would be careful if I were you. I heard that there’s a suspicious shadow of a man lurking outside of the Imperial Palace.”

Jia Li jumped to his feet, knocking the girl, who had been leaning close to him, to the ground. “I have to leave immediately,” he cried. “Take care of yourself, and, just to tell you, you’re immensely beautiful.”

The gypsy opened her mouth as to say something, but, even if she did, Jia Li wouldn’t have heard her, as he was racing towards the palace as fast as his still-weary legs could handle.

He could feel the persistence Arslan had underwent as he had ran up the palace steps, knowing he had to get to the Emperor, or his life could be lost. Every minute he spent getting through the entrance rooms and tong’s Wenzo chambers could be the difference of life and death. Jia Li somehow knew that he might just be saving the Emperor’s life with every exhausting step he took.

Jia Li burst through the doors to the Emperor’s corridors, examining the room before him and making two brief observations: One: His hurry to get to the palace was indeed necessary, and Two: There was a man holding a sharp knife up the the Emperor’s pudgy neck, looking very willing to slit perhaps the most important man in China’s throat.

“Stop!” Jia Li exclaimed.

The man smiled menacingly. “But I can’t, you see. I would have been faking my own death for nothing.”

“W-Wang Dayuan?” stuttered Jia Li.“Smart boy,” Wang teased malevolently. “Yes, I was the one who killed my crew, disguising myself as I rowed to shore. I sold Marco Polo the poison, as also to many other merchants and gypsies.” He paused here to smirk, his lip curling up to show his vile teeth. “It’s because of them that my father died, and so they shall suffer!”

“What do you mean?”

“He had been trading on the Silk Road alone when he was attacked. My mother always blamed it on highwaymen, but she was lying. My father was doing well, and many merchants were jealous. They were being put out of business, and even the most mellow agreed that they needed to stop the problem that was causing their empty pockets. They killed him, and so I’m doing him a favor: eliminating the wicked people who caused me all my grief.”

“So you’ve become just as horrible as the people who murdered your father!” Jia Li said fiercely, forgetting to be careful.

Wang shoved the blunt side of the blade further into the Emperor’s throat. “Do you want him to die?” he asked, but his voice wavered and he dropped the blade away from Wenzong, his hand shaking.

“That’s it,” Jia Li soothed. “Now, just give me the knife.”

Wang Dayuan took a step back, his grip still tight on the knife. “I am evil,” he recited, “and evil people should die.”

“No, Wang!” It was too late. Wang Dayuan had already stuck the knife into his own throat, and, after a few moments of his screams echoing across the room, the world went silent again.

Emperor Wenzong took one look at Wang’s glazed over eyes, and let out a sigh of relief, one that matched Jia Li’s.

Epilogue

Nadya May 10, 1332

I am safe and well. After the recent events, I thought I might never see you after I met you on the day of the attempted murder of our beloved Emperor. Though I was, for a while, suspected of murdering Wang Dayuan, Emperor Wenzong cleared the issue as soon as he heard of it, and my life continued for a few months uneventfully. Shortly after the threat on his life, however, our Emperor died of other circumstances, leaving the throne to his brother’s, Kusala’s, son, Toghan Temür, out of regret of having part of Kusala’s death. Because of the new throne, I have been withheld my position as the Emperor’s assistant, and become a merchant. I found Wang’s maps of Southern Asia, and found many places that would trade a fortune in exchange for items easily accessible for us. Seeing you again would bring me great pleasure.

Please write soon,

Jia Li