2 The Great Ming (2)

Amidst the mist, the fleet followed the song, uncertain of what lay ahead. No matter how far they sailed, the melody always lingered in front of them, seemingly moving along. Gradually, the fog thinned, and they finally emerged. The singing vanished as well. The vast ocean stretched out in brilliant blue, the surface shimmering, revealing nothing. Could it be that the gods were guiding them? Many crew members began to kneel and offer prayers to the heavens.

Yunyao had not gone far; she had followed the fleet and watched as they landed on a nearby island. After some time, the fleet set sail again, this time with the ships riding deeper in the water, clearly laden with goods. As a mermaid, Yunyao keenly sensed an approaching storm. Sure enough, by nightfall, fierce winds whipped the sea, lightning flashed, and thunder roared. The bow of the ship rocked violently with the waves. Such swells were nothing to fish; in deeper waters, there was barely any disturbance. But humans were different.

The fleet began to scatter. Suddenly, a figure fell from one of the ships, plunging into the sea. Clad in a vibrant dragon robe, the man struggled fiercely, his official hat lost to the waves. A giant swell crashed down and pushed him beneath the surface. Yunyao quickly swam over; the raging waves were as if nonexistent to her, presenting no obstacle. She effortlessly rescued the man and swiftly brought him to shore, placing him on a rock. He lay unconscious but appeared unharmed.

Curious, Yunyao touched his dragon robe. Ah, the silk from the Ming Dynasty was truly exquisite—such fine fabric! At that moment, she met a pair of dark, ink-like eyes. They had opened unexpectedly, gazing at her in astonishment, full of disbelief. Startled for a moment, Yunyao swiftly dove back into the sea. The man sat up immediately, clutching the edge of the rock and looking into the water, but by the time the waves settled, the mermaid's figure had vanished without a trace.

Shortly after, the fleet arrived, and Zheng He boarded the ship before making landfall in Sumatra. Upon landing, a crew member exclaimed, "Look! Isn't that Lord Zheng's official hat on the beach?" The hat was quickly retrieved. Zheng He recognized it as the one lost when he fell into the sea that day. The crew marveled, seeing it as an auspicious sign. Yet Zheng He instinctively gazed toward the sea, as if searching for something. He knew who had sent the official hat.

The arrival of the Ming fleet caused an uproar in Sumatra. Such a large and well-equipped navy—were they here to attack? The king grew anxious and ordered his troops to be on high alert. Fortunately, translators aboard the fleet dispelled the misunderstanding. The king, treating Zheng He’s fleet as honored guests, welcomed them into the kingdom. That day, every citizen came out to witness the visitors from the far East. Streets and alleys overflowed with people, all eager to see the envoys from the distant land.

A single flag fluttered in the wind; everyone remembered the emblem upon it—the character for “Ming.” The Ming Dynasty: a mighty and mysterious realm! The king hosted a grand banquet, inquiring about the Ming lands. Zheng He answered fully and exchanged tea, silk, porcelain, and other goods for Sumatra’s treasures. The king was astounded by the vastness and wealth of Ming but suspected Zheng He might be exaggerating. After all, no one had ever visited Ming—how could they be sure?

To test him, the king posed three riddles. The first: a labyrinthine ivory ball from the treasury, with a thread running through it, challenging Zheng He to pass the thread from one end to the other. The second: the height of a giant stone idol, but without climbing it to avoid disrespecting the deity. The third: the classic “chickens and rabbits in the same cage” problem.

Remarkably, Zheng He answered all three alone, humbly remarking that Ming had many scholars far more learned than himself. The king was thoroughly impressed and fully convinced that Ming was an unparalleled celestial empire, bestowing generous gifts as tribute.

That night, Zheng He came alone to the seaside, hoping to find the mermaid, but to no avail. He had assumed that maritime nations would have legends of mermaids, so he asked the king, only to be met with a blank expression—no one had ever heard of such creatures. Could it be that he was the only one who had seen a mermaid?

Under the bright moonlight, the sea sparkled gently, waves caressing the rocks. Remembering the mermaid’s song, Zheng He took out his jade flute and began to play. No matter how he tried, he could not match the divine melody.

Then, from afar, a singing voice floated to him, harmonizing with the flute. Filled with emotion, Zheng He persisted until he finished the tune. “Thank you, maiden, for saving me. I am Zheng He, sent by His Majesty to open the Maritime Silk Road and to proclaim the might of our Ming Empire.” Bowing toward the sea, his tall frame bent with the grace of a gentleman.

When he straightened, a beautiful figure appeared on a rock. Long silver hair, as luminous as moonlight, fell behind her and into the water. Her face, as pure as snow, turned slightly toward him, bathed in the moon’s sacred glow. Her eyes held a touch of curiosity.

Zheng He recounted the journey and the stories, regardless of whether she understood. He told of the emperor and the king’s three riddles with great amusement.

“For the first, I tied a thread to an ant and smeared honey on the exit hole; the ant carried the thread through,” he explained.

“For the second, I stuck a rod in the ground and measured its shadow alongside the idol’s shadow, then used proportions to calculate the height.”

“The third was simplest—anyone who’s studied arithmetic would know.”

The Ming navy was formidable; when it struck, it was invincible, intimidating all nations. Yet Zheng He, as Ming’s envoy, wielded no weapons, conquering instead with wisdom. Winning hearts with virtue—that was the hallmark of a great nation.

When the tale ended, Yunyao sang once more, a radiant hymn praising Ming. Finishing her song, she dove into the water, her ethereal tail tracing a graceful arc in the night, sending droplets sparkling into the air. Zheng He gazed at the calming ripples, lost in thought.

From that day forth, he often played his flute alone by the sea. It became an unspoken signal: whenever he played, the mermaid would appear. As he traveled from one land to another, he shared stories with her, and she listened quietly. They spoke no words. At first, Zheng He merely mimicked her songs, but soon he played melodies from Ming, one after another, as if never-ending. After he played, the mermaid would hum them, her voice far more beautiful than the flute’s.

And so their silent exchange continued beneath the moonlit sea.