The night that Mulan had planned her escape for finally arrived. When everyone had fallen asleep, she went to visit the family temple, asking her ancestors to bless her as she ventured to do something no woman in China had ever done before. Then, she slipped into her brother's bedroom―who had been recruited to be her accomplice in her deception.
"Fa Ping!" she called him with a firm whisper.
"Dajie, is it time?" her brother replied. Mulan nodded. "All clear, everyone is asleep."
It was either a good coincidence or a sign of bad luck, but it just so happened that Fa Zhou was away for a few days to visit their distant relative who had fallen victim to a disease similar to what had taken Fa Li. With one less person to worry about, Mulan had to act now to execute her plan seamlessly.
Fa Ping grabbed the solitary candle by the alcove to light their way. Both of them tread carefully, making their way to the storage room.
"Where is the key?" Mulan prompted. Fa Ping grinned as he produced the item in question from the depths of his pocket.
"Excellent," Mulan commended her brother's crafty work. She placed the key into the lock, and with a modest click, the storage room was opened, revealing their father's battle armour.
"Mmm… there is one piece missing," Mulan mumbled under her breath as she retrieved Fa Zhou's armour and sword.
"Ah, that must be it!" Fa Ping extended his arms and stood on tiptoe to reach his Father's helmet. "There you go." He handed it to Mulan, who gave him a smile of gratitude.
At first, she tried to where her father's robe, similar to the one she saw her husband wearing underneath his war armour. It was too large for her, but thankfully not by much. Compared to Shang's stature, her father was slender and less broad across the shoulder. The extra room worked in Mulan's favour, allowing her to hide her feminine curvature.
There was a strange feeling as she fastened the armour to fit her figure. Mulan had never been involved in a war, and being a soldier had never crossed her mind before―but being the daughter of a famous war strategist, war had become something very intimate and real.
Mulan had first-hand experience witnessing her Father's heroic struggle, which had earned him a few permanent marks on his body. She reminisced with a strange feeling of relief, pride, and fear in her chest. She often raptly listened to her Father's stories. In between his narrations, he would point out some of his blemishes―the countless testimonies of what a courageous warrior he had been. Each scar was a sacrifice: something he had chosen to take for the sake of someone else. And through the years, the number of these chivalrous marks increased until one day his luck ran dry, and a debilitating injury forced the outstanding war strategist to lay his sword to rest.
From her Father's exposition, Mulan had heard of countless friends and enemies rising and dying, learning how war's brutality stole many fathers, sons, and brothers from their loved ones. Despite the strings of accomplishment that Fa Zhou had carved out of life, he had never felt proud of the enemies that he destroyed. It was obvious that the brutality of war had engraved marks on her father's soul as much as it had on his figure.
And if war's cruelty were not enough―anyone who ever looked into the glazed eyes of a soldier dying on the battlefield would consider long and hard before starting a war. How war had made use of the best warriors, like her father, to do the worst to others, was beyond comprehension―but unavoidable.
"How do I look?" Mulan said, turning to face her brother.
Fa Ping paused, scrutinizing his sister's new look and a mischievous smirk came upon his countenance as he saw her back. "At least your ass doesn't look like...-"
"Ping!" she gave him a look.
"Fine." He stepped back a few paces, absorbing the sight. "Thank god that you lack in... feminine facial feature. You actually look pretty convincing! A bit on the short side for a soldier...but that's fine. I am sure they won't turn you away for being a midget."
"Thanks," Mulan deadpanned, not sure whether she should feel proud or insulted. It was so unfair that her pre-teen brother shot like a weed and was already nearly as tall as she was.
"And don't forget this," Ping handed her a small sack. "For your lady days."
Mulan gaped, mind jumbled between embarrassment, gratitude and amazement at her brother's thoughtfulness. She accepted it mutely.
"Well, of course except you've fallen pregnant during these few weeks, after all, you have a Greek god as a husband. Grandma said his abs...-"
"MOVINGRIGHTALONG!"
The disguise appeared to be very convincing, especially after Mulan tucked her neatly bunned hair into the helmet. She caught a glimpse of her figure donned in proper war armour. She looked nothing like her familiar self. Excellent! She thought to herself with pride and contentment. No one would have guessed.
From now on, this would be her new identity: A man, a son and a soldier.
"Now, hand me the sword," Mulan told him, commandingly. Her brother trotted to the other end of the room to fetch their Father's sword, but his fingers stiffened there and his smile dissolved at the memory of what lay ahead of them, and what an armed conflict may entail.
"Dajie," he called her, voice thick with reluctance."Are you…. Are you sure about this?"
Mulan felt her courage dwindling, being buffeted by her brother's plea. By joining the Army, she was gaining consent to kill… and to be killed. War, really did not conclude who was right, but who was left.
Fleetingly, the glimpse of her father's frail posture and her grandmother's longing look flashed in Mulan's mind. How would they react when they knew she sneaked off to join the Army? Would they be sad? Angry? Disappointed even? She shook her head, resolutely pushing her hesitation aside. This wasn't time for petty emotions, this was time to dare and endure! This was a chance that every man would take to stand for their dignity and proof of the love they had for their country. And there was no love without sacrifice.
"Fa Ping," Mulan sighed."We've talked about this… There are no other options. I can't let Baba go. Consenting to him going is like sending him to his grave!"
"But what about you? What if you are… ―" the young boy couldn't finish his sentence. The thought of losing another person so dear to him crushed his heart in a painful grip.
Mulan wanted to lecture him with the exact same words their father told her yesterday. However, noticing beads of tears balancing on the edges of his eyes, Mulan abandoned her intention. Instead, she reached for her brother and pulled him into a hug.
"I promise I'll be back," Mulan tried to sound firm. Deep down, she knew no one could guarantee that. "Promise me you'll take care of Baba and Grandma in my absence." Her voice dropped along with her eyes, as she loosened up her grip.
"I am going to miss you, Dajie."
Mulan felt her heartbreak in that instant, but instead, she put his brazen facade on, smiled firmly and nodded to him.
Her brother looked immensely proud, wiping the tears from his innocent eyes, as he watched Mulan mount up on Khan and disappear into the night.
A bright, beautiful morning cast a magic spell on the landscape, turning the foggy, cold night into a warm, promising day. The path ahead was clear and wide, flecked with dazzling sunlight split into patterns by overhanging trees. Khan neighed ecstatically, barely containing his boundless energy to gallop and cut across the terrain―just as well, given the urgency of her mission.
"Oh calm there, Boy! Just give me a second, and I'll be ready," Mulan rubbed Khan's mane affectionately before she returned to attend to her belongings and rolled her sleeping bag neatly. Another neigh was his answer, and Khan obediently waited. Her hand accidentally brushed the scroll of her father's summon and Fa Ping's birth certificate which she had conscientiously forged to make him old enough to qualify to be a soldier. Her mind fleetingly went back to Fa Ping and everyone she had left behind. In accordance with her plan, Mulan had left a note to her father, pretending that her mother-in-law wanted her presence urgently. Now, she just hoped that Fa Ping could make up some clever excuses to delay their father from realizing that his war outfit, sword and summon were gone.
Her train of thought was interrupted by a sudden itch, crawling up her leg. Mulan frantically leapt, hands vigorously scratching and repelling the source of the disturbance. It was only the first night that she oddly spent alone―just her and her horse, cutting through the length of the country, against mother nature and earth's natural elements, and she was already missing her warm, comfortable bed.
Here goes nothing! Mulan willed herself to move on. Too late for any consideration or second thoughts now.
Every now and then, Mulan's hand move instinctively to her sword, feeling its cold hilt and hard metal scabbard―from now on, this would be her company, her companion that would help her to defend herself and her life. She remembered her father telling her he never left the weapon behind; even going so far as to cradle it in his sleep and sit it next to him as he ate. He even jokingly told Mulan that his sword was closer to him than his wife in a war because no man would fancy taking his wife into the toilet when nature called.
War. Mulan mused. She was actually heading for war.
There would be a lot of bloodshed, plenty of killing and the risk of fatal injuries.
But even with the grim prospect of dying and the wistful fate of never returning home as a possibility, somehow, Mulan couldn't ignore a strange exhilaration and the swell of excitement over getting into the encampment. Perhaps, one part of her equated this exercise of being a man as complete freedom from her mundane life, endless household chores and a list of nuptial demands, and the other parts were celebrating the fact that she, as a woman, had a chance to defend her country, just like her father.
Mulan knew she was never going to be an exemplary wife, but could she become an exemplary soldier?
She reminisced, hearing her husband's commanding voice as he told her what he expected out of a good wife: never defy his requests, nor meet him eye to eye. And then she remembered the training from her strict mother-in-law, Li Yue, not to make a sound when she chewed, walk slowly with elegance, speak softly and only do so when she was asked.
For once, Mulan would not need those 'ladylike' habits. For once, she would be free.
Mulan picked up her Father's uniform carefully, running her digits on its rough, hardwearing fabrics. She welcomed the idea of leaving the thought of being the devoted wife behind for a while because at this time and place, there was no Fa-Li Mulan.
There was only Fa Ping.
She mounted her horse, and with one firm instruction, Khan galloped into the woods.
After spending two night sleeping rough on the road, Mulan decided she'd earned enough credit for a night with a ceiling, instead of stars, above her head. She quickly made her pick and went in to ask the receptionist for a room if it was available.
"A room for the night, Sir?" addressed the demure lady with the copious bosom from behind the counter. In a lapse of concentration, Mulan questioned the strange way the lady was leering at her. The young woman must have been around her age, hiding half of her pretty face behind an embroidered silk fan, batting her long eyelashes while her curious eyes sized up Mulan's figure from head to toe, drinking in every detail.
"Ugh, yes… one person… please," Mulan fumbled, thankfully remembering to lower her effeminate voice to sound more masculine. She reminded herself that many women, according to her late mother, had a thing for men in uniform. What was the word again? Fetish? Whatever it was, Mulan was sure she also had been afflicted―chronically, if not worse. Because, despite Shang's affinity to boss her around, Mulan had to admit―just a fantastical depiction of his toned figure wrapped in his captain's uniform with that crimson cape flapping behind his back―could make her weak at the knees.
She slapped herself mentally. Get a grip, Mulan.
"Unfortunately we only have shared rooms available," said the lady in feigned regret. "It's also small and very basic. However," she brightened. "I have a spare bed in my room."
Mulan nearly bit her tongue. Mulan felt―as Fa Ping, unlike Shang―she was hardly heartthrob material, yet the unknown lady was hitting on her! Perhaps she underestimated the power of military armour.
"That's ok, I'll take that," Mulan replied. Sharing or not was hardly a concern to her as long as there were no insects, wild animals or criminals to worry about.
The lady opened her mouth, perhaps to offer another alternative, but Mulan quickly offered a few coins, insinuating that she was too exhausted even to do a little bit of harmless flirting. The lady winked as she slid the key across the counter. Thankfully, that was as far as the fooling went. Mulan wondered how horrified the lady would be if she knew she was a woman.
Scuttling towards her room with her belongings, Mulan politely knocked on the door before going inside.
The distinct smell of sweaty boots and masculine musk invaded her nostrils, and the sight of a messy room welcomed her.
"Ugh!" she gasped lowly. Perhaps this was revenge from that coquettish receptionist for ignoring her advancement, but hell―this was way over the line!
The large guy, possibly more than 5 feet tall, had his frame barely squeezed into the space between the top bunk and the ceiling (and Mulan briefly considered her safety in trusting the bed frame could hold such a load for the night. Just think of the mock and ridicule if everyone knew she died in the hotel and not during a battle). The man was topless, but thankfully was laying on his belly with one of his hands dangling down, mouth open, tongue lolling and a loud snore only to be expected to accompany them.
"Hello," said the husky, sleepy voice. Mulan froze where she stood. The guy in front of her dragged his bulky figure sluggishly into a half-sitting position, managing to hit his head on the ceiling in the process and clumsily rubbed his bleary eyes.
"Ah... hello," Mulan responded, not knowing what else to say.
After hearing Mulan's voice, the rotund man, suddenly doubting the gender of the person that had appeared completely uninvited, frantically tried to cover himself only to end up falling onto the floor. He let out an undignified yelp followed by a painful groan.
"Sorry… are you―are you okay?" She came closer and offered her hand.
With his alertness intact, the man rubbed his sore bottom, replying with a short, "Thank you," and accepted her hand. "But wait," he said, bewildered. "I don't remember… calling a… ―" he stuttered, mind floating elsewhere―wondering whether he had gotten so drunk to have requested a prostitute undeliberately. He blinked again, studying her features and then her outfit. "Oh wait, you are a soldier. But, why your voice… ―? I mean, I don't mean to… ―"
Mulan froze, head buzzing in panic. She had let her secret out, no less to a stranger.
"You are good at keeping secrets, right?" Mulan said, praying to her dear ancestor that this rotund man was as kind as he seemed to be.
"I swear by the god of dumpling I won't tell anyone," he crossed his heart.
She placed her bag on the bottom bunk, and removed her helmet, letting her bound hair fall to her shoulders. He was speechless at the revelation.
Just as she thought her night couldn't get more interesting, the door slammed open, and another man appeared at the door. But instead of a warm welcome, he immediately gasped loudly.
"Mu―...Mulan? What are you doing here?"
"I am Chien-Po," the man with the rotund belly introduced himself.
"I am Fa Ping… ―well supposed to be," Mulan replied. "Fa Mulan is my real name."
"I am Ling. Wait! You guys know me." Then he beamed at Mulan. "Mulan and I were neighbours in her village before I moved away."
"Yes, I remember you were bullied a lot," Mulan chuckled.
"Hey!"
Mulan ignored him. "Remember Qiang, the tall, brawny guy in your class?"
"Oh heavens, yeah. That jerk. Are you two still in touch? I remember you have a major crush on him."
"What? Me? No way!" Mulan said, repulsed.
"Nah, I won't blame you. He is quite handsome... and always dress to kill. Quite confident too. Girls like a confident guy."
"A bit too confident. He has serious body odour issues but is completely oblivious about it," Mulan made a gagging noise. "I have never seen anyone that narcissistic."
"I forgot about that," Ling laughed as his thought drifted off memory lane. "Armpit of doom," he smiled. "I heard he has married already."
"My cousin Ren went to his wedding last year. He said he wasn't the guy we all knew in adolescence. This man tripped over himself, stuttered when he spoke to his new wife and greeted Ren with a hug and flowery speech that Ren needed to remind him he was a straight man!"
"Woah, he is totally whipped," Chien-Po joined in.
"Who is his new wife?"
Mulan shrugged. "Ren said someone from the city."
"Is she cute?" Ling said curiously.
"You remember Ah Mei?"
"Yeah."
"Hotter than Ah Mei."
Ling's jaw dropped. "Life is not fair!"
Mulan laughed but was very much aware of Chien-Po who was listening to their nostalgic drama patiently. "So, how did you two meet?"
"Well," Ling rubbed the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. "Chien-Po and I were mates in… ―"
"Chinese Orchestra," his friend finished for him.
"What? You played?" Mulan's brow climbed to her hairline, while her scrawny ex-neighbour blushed from head to toe. For the better part of his life, the guy was famously known for his tall, slender figure and slightly effeminate body language. It often incited profuse bullying and was the source of a lot of mocking.
"I played the gong while Ling played something more dignified―erhu. The local temple where we lived had a few monks looking for something to do―I guess constant peace and tranquillity could be boring at times," Chien-Po offered as an explanation.
"Anyway, how come you two are here? I mean… weren't all the soldiers supposed to gather a few weeks ago?" Mulan asked.
"I have just…. become engaged, so…. ―" Chien-Po confessed shyly, his chubby cheeks blooming with happiness and pride, which Mulan found rather adorable.
"And I just recovered from typhoid," explained Ling, and that was enough to wipe any trace of a smile off Mulan's face.
"Speaking about that, I'm starving, I haven't eaten anything since noon," Ling continued, reaching into his sack to pull out a bag of pork buns and dumplings. "Recovering boy needs some nourishment," he went on and offered some to Chien-Po, who obviously delighted in the unexpected blessing.
"My mom's speciality, have some. Mulan―?"
She didn't see the portion of the pork bun and dumpling that currently danced across her vision. She was suddenly reminded of her own mother. "Are you ok, Mulan?" Ling repeated a touch louder.
Ling gesticulated wildly and finally managed to break her brooding.
"I'm fine, thank you," she replied, almost curtly.
"You don't sound fine at all," Ling disagreed, looking at the now-cold dumpling in his palm.
Despite feeling tired and famished, Mulan's appetite was destroyed. The bitter nostalgia of her departed mother lingered around her. Finally, after a beat of silence making sure her composure stayed intact, she spoke up. "My mother just passed away. I attended her funeral a few weeks ago," she breathed ruefully.
"Oh, I am sorry. But… still, it doesn't explain why you are here, dressed in your father's gear."
"My father can no longer fight. Letting him go would be like sending him to his grave. My brother just lost his mother, I can't allow him to lose his father as well," Mulan sighed resignedly; imagining her father, who had no intention of resting with his past heroics, would be furious once he unravelled her ploy.
The room fell into profound silence. Mulan could sense her friends' ambivalence towards her, a combination of admiration and apprehension.
"I know you always protected me when I was bullied, Mulan. But war is not a game. And it's a dangerous place for a man, let alone a woman."
Ling's gentle but astute remark touched a raw nerve. Mulan wanted to shout at him. Thankfully, she managed to withhold her emotions and settled with an exasperated sigh. Ling would never mean to insult her purposefully. Why couldn't she do what she wanted just because she was born with the wrong sex?
"I never said it was a game," she countered wryly, masking her sour expression.
"No, that's not what I meant… Look, you are a woman. If some of the army officers find out who you are, regardless of your excuse, they'll have you executed for misconduct!"
The prospect of execution was enough to kill the strange exhilaration that filled her chest just days before. Ling was right; she would never be as free as a man. The reality was much more dreadful than she imagined it would be.
"I am aware of that. But I had to try. I can't let my father die... and my husband refused to… ―"
"Wait! You...you are married?" Ling nearly lost his grip on the big pork bun in his hand.
"Ling!" Mulan reprimanded her friend's unwarranted shock. "Are you expecting me to be a spinster?!"
The lanky man snickered, nudging Chien-Po with his elbow in fun. "You should see how she beat those boys in my village. She was ruthless! I am surprised there is still a man who dared to share a bed with her," he whispered loudly. "Speaking of which… when was your wedding?"
Mulan mentally kicked herself for opening the door to a conversation about Shang.
"Couple of months ago, it was a family affair, I'm sorry I couldn't invite you," Mulan tried to give a close-ended answer.
Ling waved his hand.
"And how about you, Chien-Po, have you got the date fixed yet?" Mulan attempted to switch the topic, thankfully the man in question didn't seem to mind the detour.
Chien-Po rubbed his rotund belly as though it would help him think. "Hopefully after the war."
"What if the war lasts a decade? Would Su wait for you that long?"
"She said so," Chien-Po shrugged as he answered Ling's question. "She would much rather stay single than marry another man."
"D'aww.... No wonder you look like a lovesick bear. Tell her she is very lucky, there are not many men who will cook for their wives," Ling commented, elbowing Chien-Po on his ribs.
"You can cook?" Mulan turned to Chien-Po. It was considered a rare sight for men to step into the kitchen, let alone cook.
"Uhm….." the guy rubbed his side while trying to consider his reply. His profession as a chef wasn't exactly his favourite topic of conversation. Not because he wasn't proud of what he did, but because any discussion of it invariably seemed to invite a slew of snide remarks about his unhealthy obsession with food. It was naive to hope that Mulan hadn't concluded that from his unusually large stature, although, what was the point of hiding the truth?
"I am a chef," he admitted. To his surprise, Mulan said nothing more than an impressed stare. "So, I've tailored the menu for my wedding myself." Never mind even when he didn't know when would it happen (or would it ever happen), the feverish anticipation was enough to spur Chien-Po to go overboard and penned down all his most notable recipes and favourite dishes that his wedding guest would savour.
"I bet you look forward to things after the wedding," Ling butted in. A suggestive smile twitched his lips.
Chien-Po visibly flushed at that. "Hmm…. I look forward to all sorts of things… " he retorted shyly.
Mulan rolled her eyes to another dimension.
"Would you mind if…. If I ask for some household tips in the future?" Chien-Po turned to Mulan. "I want Su not just to be happy, but also comfortable. It won't be easy to leave her childhood home to live in an unfamiliar house with a man."
Mulan thought his gesture was rather sweet. "Of course!"
"Thank you."
"So…" Ling bounced his questioning stare at Mulan. "I need to know this. Who is the lucky guy?" he asked, leaning closer to Mulan and batting his eyes expectantly. Mulan mentally berated Ling's unyielding spirit. Why was he so insistent on finding out, anyway?
"You don't know him. He's not from the village. His father and mine used to serve the Emperor together," she replied, hoping this time Ling would stop pestering her over her husband's identity.
"Oh… bet he must be of… good lineage."
Mulan snickered a little at the qualities Ling attached to her husband's persona. Yes, perhaps he wanted to marry me and chain me to the stove.
"Isn't your husband aware of what you're doing?" Chien Po raised his concern.
"No."
"What if he finds out?" he asked again.
Shang was a trained soldier, part of the elite group. She was positive that he won't be in the same league.
"Don't worry," Mulan said confidently. "He won't."
The next morning, Mulan and her two friends set off for the next stretch of the journey. But before they went any further out of the town, Mulan went to hire a messenger to send her letters.
"One for my mother-in-law, my father and the last for my husband," she explained, responding to her friends' curious gazes as they settled in for their breakfast stop.
"Such a shame you're married, Mulan…"
"Yes, perhaps," Mulan responded, faking a voice of disinterest.
"...because there is a rumour," Ling began, rubbing both of his hands together expectantly as he whispered. "The son of one of the army's generals is going to train us. I've heard he is a very handsome young man, roughly our age. I think his family name is Li."
Mulan's blood froze, but she dismissed her unreasonable alarm instantly. There were plenty enough men around with the surname Li; surely it could mean anyone.
"Oh, I know him!" Chien-Po butted in. "I heard he gained the moniker 'Pretty Boy' due to his dashing good looks and hot physique."
Mulan swallowed a rock that seemed to have lodged itself in her throat….or maybe her heart? She couldn't tell the difference, but somewhere deep in her mind, she was almost sure it was Shang. Except of course if there were some other Greek gods joining the encampment. She couldn't help imagining Shang with his magnificent raven mane, captivating eyes, angular jaw and sharp, well-defined brow, he was the perfect depiction of a knight in shining armour out of fabled legend. Despite her best effort to curb her thoughts away from her husband, the memory of him holding her on their bed, his body curling to surround hers, kept on returning like a plaguing disease.
"I bet he is brutal," she heard Chien-Po say while inhaling his breakfast in one go. "All army officers are horrible! I hear they're all slave drivers and only interested in those promiscuous women in the bars." Mulan tried to conceal all her emotions and appear as stoic as possible.
"No, this guy isn't!" Ling disagreed, absently pouring tea for his friends before pouring a cup for himself. "My father was in the same regiment a few years ago, and he wasn't even interested in going to the brothels!"
"Perhaps he doesn't like women?" Chien-Po quipped.
Mulan nearly died on the spot choking on her tea.
The lanky man couldn't restrain his teasing smile as he continued to deliver rice into his mouth. What was better than salacious gossip about their future captain? "No. Well… I don't think so. I heard he just got married recently and had since become exceptionally ruthless in his training!" clarified Ling. Mulan began to wonder where her friend had received this 'distribution' of practically sacrilegious gossip.
"Perhaps his wife annoyed him," Chien-Po mentioned nonchalantly, snickering into his bowl of noodles.
Mulan nearly spat her tea the second time. "What?" she exclaimed a notch too loud. The hulking giant cowered and wished he could hide behind the tiny piece of ceramic in his hands.
"Mulan? Are you okay?" Ling's puzzled stare was enough to bring Mulan's mind back into the realm of reality. Hell, she was even assuming this mysterious guy named Li would be the same person as the one that seduced her in bed.
"I… I'm sorry," she fumbled. "I am just… ―"
"We don't mean to insult you. I bet you are different from any other wife, and that is a compliment," Ling interjected, presenting a sincere smile.
How would you know...? said the voice in Mulan's head mournfully. Regardless of her acknowledgement of her loveless marriage, she sincerely hoped her friends' hypothetical scenarios and speculations were far from the truth; that her husband didn't see her as a waspish, unpleasant woman he would have to share the rest of his life with.
"Thanks, Ling," Mulan paid a faint smile, only daring to meet her friend's eyes fleetingly. She knew she could fool the world, but she could never fool her heart.
The next day, after journeying nearly half a day with no rest, the sight of large makeshift tents emerged on the edge of the horizon. A few war ensign and red banners advertised their presence.
"Here we are," Ling huffed. "There is no turning back now."
"I am actually worried," admitted Chien-Po, fiddling his fingers sheepishly. "I heard, during the war, soldiers are on strict food ration." He grimaced as though even the thought of such drastic measures could cause him physical pain. Ling could only shake his head.
"I thought you were going to say you were worried about getting killed," Mulan muttered with nonchalance in response to Chien-Po's dietary dilemma.
Chien-Po looked mildly offended but mostly sad.
"No, I mean… surely, a robust guy like you won't fall as easy prey on the battlefield. Perhaps you'll end up with some scars! Big manly scars! My father said they might help you impress a girl," Mulan revised, hoping her previous unapologetic rambling would be written off soon enough.
"That's true!" Ling piped up excitedly. "Think about Su, the girl worth fighting for. Besides, we may return all lean and muscular! Like that hot Captain," Ling gestured his hands up and down his thin frame, subsequently bringing his arms up and flexing his non-existent biceps, showcasing the idea of the burly figure he was becoming.
Spurred by the cheerful thought and promising future, Chien-Po grinned brightly. "You are right!" he chirped, enthusiasm returning to his stride.
Lucky you, Mulan watched the two men giggling and exchanging banter with euphoric thrill, imagining the risky wager of their life had paid off. At least both of them had a future waiting at home for them after the war, while she had to return to her life of imprisonment: living under the subjugation of her mother-in-law and husband.
But….what if she returned with visible scars or debilitating injuries like her father? Inadvertently, Li Yue's disgusted face and Shang's infuriated rebuke transpired in her mind. However, what hurt her the most was imagining her father's disappointment. It would kill her if someone unravelled her impersonation and dishonoured her family name forever.
Perhaps death is a better option.
Be optimistic, Mulan. You are not even on the battlefront yet! She chided herself. You can do this, train to be a man and a soldier and bring honour to the Fa and Li family! Mulan sighed pensively realizing the risk of the gamble she took. It would be a steep learning curve, but she had purposed in her heart that she wouldn't say anything was impossible before trying it.
"I think I need some tips on how to be a proper man," Mulan said under her breath, halting Ling and Chien-Po's chatter.
"You have to deepen your voice," advised Ling, pacing beside her.
"Like this?" Mulan offered a lower falsetto. Ling laughed but nodded approvingly. "Not too low, you sounded like a man who ate too much Sichuan chicken the day before."
"And don't walk with a gait. No…..no….don't swing your hips," counselled Chien-Po, looking pointedly at Mulan's effeminate movements. "Think about marching, straight legs, straight back. Ugh, that's a bit too much, you look like you have constipation. Just relax a little, loosen your knees. Now, that's right…. Very good," he congratulated and clapped encouragingly.
"Don't forget to spit," Ling added. To accentuate his point, he sucked his breath and spat into the nearby river. "See that?"
Mulan's eyes widened, both from incredulity and repulsion. The imagination of Shang doing just that all over the house wasn't particularly an attractive fantasy to have.
"You need to yawn louder…. Speak with confidence….and forget whatever your mother ever told you about table manners," he said, moving forward and joining the long registration queue. "Just imagine you live in a barn! No rules!"
"Let me rephrase again," Mulan surmised. "If I want to be a real man, I have to expectorate at random occasions, laugh, eat and yawn loudly and punch anyone that oversteps my territory?"
"Exactly! I know you are a fast learner!" praised Ling.
"But, what about…. the toilet business?" asked Chien-Po innocently.
"What about it?" Ling eyed him with confusion. The brawny man stood up and demonstrated by pretending to undo his trousers and stood facing a nearby bush.
"Oh, that!" Ling rubbed his chin as though thinking hard. Two months ago, Mulan would have fallen into a giggling fit if anyone said she would be embroiled in an in-depth lavatory discussion with two men.
"It's hard to learn how to do that without owning a proper organ…"
"Not to mention that men in the army bathe together," quipped Chien-Po.
"Do they?" Mulan winced at that.
"Yes, but I take it since you are married, You've seen what men's hind look like," Ling countered plainly.
"That doesn't mean I would like to see other men's hind!" Mulan snarled, her cheeks reddening with embarrassment.
"I'm afraid you don't have much choice," stated Chien-Po.
The three of them talked as they joined the queue. After standing and moving at a pace close to a snail, they arrived in front of a long desk, where a few fully-armed soldiers handed over their rudimentary supplies, armament and a bag of bathing equipment.
"Fa Ping?" called the raspy, high-pitched voice that reminded Mulan of the noodle stall owner in her neighbourhood.
A judgemental stare greeted her. Chi Fu was his name, a scrawny-looking old man with a sinister moustache, crooked teeth and a frown that appeared to be tattooed on his face. She sincerely prayed this man wasn't one of the leaders of the battalion. If Mulan had wished for an awe-inspiring leader or bold-looking warrior, this guy was neither of them.
"Yes, that's me, Sir," Mulan firmly stepped forward and presented the forged birth certificate and her father's summons letter.
The man stuck his nose on the conscription, then he lifted his head and observed her closely, trying to draw correlations between Fa Zhou's imposing image and the young man's rather feminine features.
Mulan was right to have a sinking feeling about the man. Chi Fu didn't have an exactly pleasant reputation among the trainees. The air was palpable with dread as the man narrowed his eyes and scoffed incredulously when he appraised Mulan's less-than-stellar figure for a warrior, let alone that she claimed to be the son of the Honorable war strategist, Fa Zhou.
"Has your father ever trained you?" he inquired without looking up, his hand busy scribbling something on his notes.
"Sword fighting, Sir," replied Mulan truthfully.
"Has he taken you into any battle before?" prodded the old man.
"No, Sir." Mulan tried to sound firm.
"No wonder," Chi-Fu sneered snidely.
Despite the colourful words that began to form in her head, Mulan tried to remain polite. She didn't want to be expelled from the regiment for misconduct just yet.
"But not to worry, Captain Li will train everyone in this battalion. He'll make a man out of you," the scrawny man made a wry chuckle.
"Cap... Captain Li?" she repeated in disbelief. Ok, after Ling's precious intel, she saw the prospect of three of them serving the same battalion. That's good news. But potentially having Shang as the man who trained her? That's obituary.
"Yes, Captain Li Shang," Chi-Fu narrowed his eyes. "You know him?"
Mulan's heart stopped for a second. She didn't know whether to feel apprehensive or happy at the prospect of meeting Shang―fate be damned; apparently, it was much harder to escape from him than she thought it would be. Thankfully, Mulan didn't have the luxury of meditative contemplation over petty things like that. "Soldier Ping! I can't wait for your answer until the next century!" A rude, nasally yell broke her reverie.
"Ugh...uhm―" Mulan sobered, regretting that she had spoken her thought aloud. "No, Sir. I don't know him much Sir," she replied with a brisk shaking of her head.
The old, crotchety advisor looked unconvinced. "Really? I heard that he is your brother-in-law."
Gods, Mulan mentally facepalmed herself. How could she forget? Spending time with Ling and Chien-Po had evidently caused Mulan to let her guard down. And this Chi-Fu guy was a lot more perceptive than the average ignorant, foul-smelling soldiers that she had met so far. Mulan had to make sure she edited her cover story logically.
"Yes, but we met very briefly, Sir. My sister's wedding was done in a hurry," she finally said, being careful to tell the truth, or at least as much of the truth as she was willing to divulge.
The creases on Chi-Fu's forehead deepened and his lips twisted into a distasteful scowl, but after a beat, he decided not to press the matter further. "Dismissed!" he ordered Mulan grumpily.
Joining Chien-Po and Ling, Mulan strode across the clearing towards a series of dull-coloured structures.
"Tent number fifteen," Ling read from his scroll. "This is ours," he announced, inviting his friends to join him inside.
The large tent was packed to the rafters with boisterous, sweaty men. Even with her hand covering her nose, she could do little to curb the stench of masculine musk intermingled with the scent of cheap alcohol. Mulan wrinkled her nose, thinking of how she had to share this tent for an unforeseeable amount of the future. The men didn't pay any attention to their arrival. Their concentration was absorbed by a curious spectacle occurring in one corner of the tent.
"I picked that spot first!" came the incensed voice of a man. He was short but stocky. The muscles of his arms rippled as he clenched his fists. In front of him, his opponent was a soldier twice as tall as he was, his muscular form wrapped in a protective shield that was literally shining under the rays of the sun, free from scratch and dents. Mulan could tell the man's armour had never seen the light of a battle yet. But her attention was drawn by a large crest of the emperor resting on the man's shoulder.
"Shut up!" the larger man demanded, looking very much affronted. He drove his fist to the table with so much power that the piece of furniture crumbled under his strength. "How dare you challenge me like that?!"
The stocky man's nose flared and his chest heaved, looking just as infuriated. "Just because you are nobility doesn't mean you can treat other people like dirt!" he spat with vehemence. The watching onlookers let out a synchronous gasp at the man's audacity.
"You just arrived today, and I've been here for a week!" he fumed indignantly, finger pointing to the exact point where his bedding was―currently dishevelled and soiled with dirt―perhaps a result of the other's man dirty mischief.
Instead of trying to appease both conflicting parties, the crowd gave the men noises of encouragement, fueling them to fight. "Fight! Fight! Fight!"
"Is this what men normally do?" whispered Mulan, curiously watching the growing tension.
"Pretty much," Ling equated her whisper. "The curse of territorial creatures."
"That handsome jerk is the bully," Mulan remarked, brows slanted in annoyance, observing the unbalanced battle of dominion.
"Don't you recognize who he is?" came Ling's worried voice.
"No," Mulan mouthed uncaringly, her concentration devoted to the intense exchange in front of her.
"Prince of Wei… he is the Emperor's nephew! The third man on the throne!" Ling emphasized, hoping to give Mulan some logical explanation to stop whatever plan was currently brimming in her mind. But it was too late. The petite Ping had marched to the battlefront.
"Mu… ―Ping! Wait!" But Ling's frantic warning only fell on deaf ears as Mulan made a beeline into the core of the commotion.
"Is this how a respectable man behaves?" Mulan began, looking at the handsome young man with dark eyes and broad shoulders who currently gripped the much shorter man by his collar.
The prince's eyes collided with hers. For a moment his mouth fell open… and close, his hardened expression evaporated… and transformed into satirical laughter. The prince's reaction elicited a sudden fit of hysterics from his gang, and Mulan began to realize almost the entire encampment had drawn to watch.
"Well...well….a newcomer wants to get a spotlight," the Prince smiled with an amused expression, abandoning his grasp on his victim's collar. He clearly wasn't expecting a threat coming from someone that looked to be half of his stature.
"Who are you?" The prince scoffed in disdain as he scanned Mulan's petite frame.
"Is that relevant?" Mulan objected, hands flying to her hips showing her aversion. In the back row, Ling and Chien-Po cringed upon witnessing Mulan's hostile, yet unmanly, gesture. It didn't spell out provocation in the dictionary of a soldier who was trying to challenge his opponent, more like a mother scolding her child.
"Of course, if you knew who I am… you would be speaking to me with fear and respect," the Prince said relatively calmly. The room fell silent as though putting the Prince on his rightful pedestal, paying him the reverence he demanded.
"I have no respect for people who dare to bully someone smaller than them," Mulan argued.
"Are you with this hopeless loser?" The young prince darted a derogatory glance at Yao and let out a disgusted scoff. "You need another weakling to defend you, how pathetic," he continued his verbal assault, pacing around Mulan like a predator stalking its prey. He smirked when he realized the watching crowd was beginning to take sides."I shall give you one more chance. Who are you?"
Mulan shot the prince a withering look, before replying firmly. "Fa Ping, my father is a retired strategist, working for the Son of Heaven." Her answer stirred the crowd and evoked more incoherent murmurs.
"Oh, dropping names are we?"
The growing ruckus eventually invited more interlopers than they intended to, because not long after that a snivelling, nasally shout from Chi-Fu was heard. "What's going on here?"
His query was immediately reciprocated by a collective groan.
"This scumbag stole the Prince's spot!" claimed one burly guy with a large scar on his neck, Mulan speculated that he must be one of the prince's lackey.
The scumbag, apparently a guy named Yao, snickered furiously as the gang retreated to give Chi-Fu the central stage. Mulan glared at the prince's accomplice, how could he lie so blatantly in front of so many witnesses? To her surprise, even Yao shut his mouth not daring to verbalize any advocation.
"And this Ping guy was admonishing the Prince rudely!" bristled another. Mulan's restrained emotions were unexpectedly riled.
"What?!" she raised her voice, incredulous and affronted. "I wasn't rude! I was.. ―"
"You shouted and were disrespectful!" rebuked one of the onlookers.
"That's because he won't listen!" Mulan shot back, refuting his claim in her attempt to defend her and Yao's position, but Chi-Fu took no notice, turning to the Prince instead.
"Your Highness?" Chi-Fu addressed, flashing his sceptic glare towards Mulan, as though saying 'Credibility, you have not. Pick your enemy wisely, you fool!' before returning to the young nobility. "Is this true?" he consulted.
The prince remained mute, but his expression betrayed whatever was crossing through his mind. The prince was certainly pleased with Chi-Fu's mutual disdain against the regiment's latest recruit.
Mulan never thought that soldiers were capable of such vicious slander; far more than the idle gossipers one could find among the bored women in her village.
"Don't worry about it, Chi-Fu," the Prince feigned a long-suffering sigh. "I will let it go this once."
"No, that won't do." And with a raise of his finger, the scrawny advisor pointed towards Mulan and Yao. "You two!" commanded Chi-Fu. "Go and clean the horse stalls and then help in the kitchen. No dinner for you two tonight as punishment!"
"You… ―!" Mulan was about to confront the advisor when she felt Ling grasp her forearm tightly, his eyes glinting with fear. It took Mulan considerable willpower to bite back the snide remark that rose to the tip of her tongue.
Satisfied upon delivering his castigation which hopefully disciplined the two rebellious mutts, Chi-Fu stormed out of the tent with much flair and bravado.
"That was close…" Ling breathed in relief. He knew, defying the Prince could well mean his friend was to lose her head even before marching to war. But Mulan seemed to be completely oblivious that the young ruler, despite his wrongdoing and boorishness, was being generous.
"They do say there is a wild animal inside each of us…." Chien-Po responded in a hushed tone, studying the angry Fa Ping from a reasonable distance. The girl in disguise was still glaring and seething at the horde of hulking men following the Prince of Wei, grabbing their bottles and tossing their victorious cheers to the sky.
If only it would stay inside.
With mounting annoyance, Mulan followed Yao exiting their tent. She didn't know where the kitchen was, but she couldn't care less, not with the amount of frustration over the brutish aristocrat who had been nothing but a bully and Chi-Fu's blatant unfairness in handling the situation. The world of men had presented its own unique problem that she hadn't foreseen.
Thankfully, Yao, the soldier in front of her seemed to know his way around the encampment like the back of his hand, even though he was steering autonomously because his mind was preoccupied with the same clouded haze that was bothering her mind.
"You shouldn't have done that," Yao said, breaking the silence. "You've picked the wrong enemy. I won't be able to forgive myself if you lose your head because of me."
Mulan opened her mouth, but after quick consideration, she shut it again. Even when she didn't see Yao's facial expression, Mulan could feel his visceral feeling of resentment still searing hot from the altercation earlier. She wanted to be clear they were on the same side, so she just dipped her head compliantly.
They entered a tent that looked no different from any of the others, but the amount of vegetables, sacks of grain and scattered pots and woks confirmed they were in the right place.
With an exasperated sigh, Yao flicked a brief glance over his shoulder, signalling her to follow him approaching a man who sat in front of a cauldron.
"We are here to help," Yao said shortly, fighting to keep his tone neutral so it wouldn't reflect how vexed he was to end up in the kitchen while his mates probably enjoyed the evening playing mahjong and drinking beer.
The Chef briefly introduced himself as Zhang, a man with hairy arms, thick biceps, a silvery mane and matching beard.
"Great, I can do with a few more hands!" he responded brightly. "Let me see…" He stroked his beard which was plaited into an intricate twist. For a second, Mulan thought he looked more like a Kung Fu master out of her brother's posters than a chef.
"You," he pointed at Yao after appraising his muscular arms. "Yes, you… take those sacks of rice outside where the large pot is. And you…" He flashed a frown after seeing Mulan's slender frame. "Slaughter these chickens for dinner," he commanded, pointing to the cage where a rambunctious clucking sound could be heard.
Mulan wrinkled her nose. An image of blood and gore transpired in her head. So far she had been sheltered and spared from witnessing such horror because her mother or their family maid had done the dirty work. But now, there was no such luxury. She had been demoted to a scullery maid after allegedly defying that arrogant prince.
"I don't like killing," Mulan said off-handedly. Not that she was questioning the morality of killing innocent creatures for the pure enjoyment of it. She clearly liked eating chicken and didn't have any plan of quitting anytime soon―not until this point.
"Well, no one does," the Chef concurred. "But it is necessary," he added, placing a blade on the table and bobbing his head instigating her to start working. But Mulan felt her limbs completely paralysed.
"Don't tell me you are afraid of slaughtering chickens when you are supposed to slaughter men out there in a few weeks time," scoffed Zhang as though he could read her mind.
She was about to retaliate, but thinking about it―the Chef did have a point. She wouldn't be much of a soldier on the battlefield if she didn't even have the heart to kill a few chickens.
"I'll give you a tip," the Chef said, clearly understanding Mulan's detestation. "Do not hesitate. It makes them suffer... less." The advice that was intended to assuage her fears seemed to amplify them.
In desperation, she looked across the room. Yao, although wearing the same thunderous expression, was working laboriously without saying a word. She looked at the chickens that were blissfully pecking a little bit of grain, completely unaware of their impending doom. And here she was, trapped in her own mental limbo, absurdly trying to reconcile her shrinking moral and logical necessity.
Sucking in a sharp breath with a combination of trepidation and helplessness, Mulan commanded her unwilling hand to grab the knife.
This would be her first voluntary kill.
Chef Zhang offered an encouraging smile as they approached the makeshift coop. "Ping, there will always be a first in everything, and I promise you, it'll get easier as time goes by."
Mulan nodded despite her disquiet, marshalling her courage as she wielded the blade. Seemed like she wouldn't be eating chicken for a very long time.
As the last tendrils of sunlight vanish, and the stars appear all around them, the previously quiet clearing was filled with sounds of a hunger driven mob eagerly fighting their way to fill their empty stomachs. Even after distancing himself at the far end of the field, Shao Wei could still hear the boisterous laughter and incompetent singing disturbing the peaceful silence.
Shao seethed when the nasally voice of one of the soldiers pulled a particularly ribald stunt to his ears. In this kind of situation, he abhorred his own resolve that caused him to be stranded in the least bonafide training camp in the country, leaving all his princely comfort behind. But still, his human curiosity urged him to take a glance towards the source of the cacophony.
"And he said to her… do you like sleeping?" He heard one of the recruits suspended dramatically in his narration, lifting his mug and wiping his mouth with his sleeve ungracefully before dropping the punchline. The crowds inched forward expectantly. "Me too. We should do it together sometimes."
A jarring laughter filled the air. Shao could see the narrator's lips curled into a satisfied smirk at the desired reaction.
Shao bristled once again. It wasn't exactly because of the bawdy content of the joke or that he failed to decode the implied meaning of the sordid parody. Back in Chang'an, he and his friends had cracked the same kind of lecherous humour, perhaps even more vulgar than this one considering the absence of Chi-Fu's occasional policing around the vicinity. It was just that the cheerfulness reminded him of the life he had a few months ago before his father… ―Ugh, he berated himself for thinking about it again. He came here to complete his mission, to jeopardise his father's plan and to prove that he was wrong even to dare advocating such a ludicrous proposal.
Another inharmonious rendition followed by a peal of laughter deteriorated his foul mood further. But this was precisely the wrong moment to count his misfortunes. Leaving the comfortable life behind the walls of his palace was his choice―not that he had any alternative after he had openly challenged his father's decision.
He threw his sight far beyond the clearing. His sharp eyes quickly identified a lanky man, grunting and fumbling as he wrestled to lift a heavy cask from the top of the stack to the floor.
Fa Ping, Shao remembered him―the newest recruit who had been a dolt to meddle with him during his argument with Yao. What was he deal? Shao felt his temper flare. The way that petite framed warrior squared his chest like a rooster, effectively taunting him, still vividly permeated his mind. But there was something else about Ping. The way he confronted him, his unyielding spirit, his sharp dark eyes and the spark of animosity declared within their hypnotic depths reminded him of someone―someone he was supposed to forget.
Shaking the irrelevant daze out of his head, Shao turned his attention back to reality. From where he sat, he could see the scrawny Ping wrapping his arms around the length of the barrel, pulling a sharp breath as he marshalled his strength, but despite his best effort, the vessel didn't move an inch.
Although bearing the penalty of his mistake, Ping didn't look resentful. He seemed to be trying to do the task to the best of his ability.
"Oh, poor Ping…" Half inebriated Jing said in feigned pity. "Perhaps you should go home and help your mother lift bowls and wok instead," he added, sinking in his seat enjoying Ping's struggle as a form of entertainment. Ping solemnly disregarded Jing's attempt to ridicule. He was quick to learn that in this kind of setting, weaker men who attracted attention tended to be picked on… a lot.
"Ping, do you hear me?" came Jing's incensed voice. He was indignant that Ping had the guts to ignore him.
Finally, someone with genuine compassion stood and helped the poor boy.
"Here, let me...," announced another man, immediately coming to Ping's rescue.
With minimal to no effort, a rotund man Shao recalled was named Chien-Po hoisted the vessel, and handed it over to Ping. Unfortunately, what could have been a smooth estafet, ended when the heavy load accidentally landed on Ping's toes. The boy let a pain-filled shrill, while Chien-Po apologised profusely for his carelessness. The incongruous warble suddenly stopped before being transformed into a mocking guffaw at Ping's expense.
"I think you need the healer to see whether your foot is broken," Chien-Po winced as he rolled the load off of Ping. "My fault," he said, voice thick with regret.
"Hey, you were just trying to help," Ping replied, smiling faintly. Chien-Po extended his arms to take the load, but Ping prevented him.
"I got this," he said firmly before limping away, rolling the cask with him. The discordant voices resumed right after. Shao glanced towards the far end of the clearing, where the crotchety royal advisor watched the entire exchange unfold. It was clear even Chi-Fu was indulging in the young man's brief time of distress.
The atmosphere returned to normal after Ping retreated to the kitchen to serve dinner. However, as soon as the boy emerged, skilfully balancing a tray with a few wafting bowls, Jing hovered right behind his unsuspecting victim with an air of malice.
"PING!" Jing yelled loudly in Ping's ear. The young man jerked and staggered backwards, spilling the contents of his tray all over his comrades.
"Oy!" A man with a large tattoo hollered before pulling the hapless Ping by his collar precariously. He went on to point furiously at his wet lap. "It's only fair if you share the humiliation," he announced, his features contorted with rage. The congregation stifled a loud gasp.
"I… I didn't mean to..," Ping confessed. "Someone startled me."
The man scoffed, neglecting Ping's explanation. He grabbed his beer and threw a generous amount in Ping's direction. His disparaging action incited a wave of laughter.
Shao felt the blood rise to his face, watching the assembly howl and hoot at the unfortunate Ping, who at the moment stood in the middle of a puddle of beer. The boy may have landed on his bad side but that didn't mean he would ignore his suffering altogether.
Meanwhile, Ping's assailant grinned appreciatively for the support, raising his now empty mug and indulging in a surge of satisfaction for his quelled vengeance. Where was Chi-Fu when the situation desperately needed his tyrannical reproach to restore order? Shao studied the old counsellor who was sneering quietly, with no intention of getting involved.
In a brief wisp of introspection, Shao decided he had enough integrity and humanity to put his antagonism towards Ping aside and come to his aid. Clear with his mission, Shao cut through the clearing and marched over to the group.
Instantaneously, the soldiers mocking laughter sputtered into an uneasy chuckle when Shao squared his shoulders and raised his hand. "Enough now."
And those two words were sufficient to make that hulking culprit, Jing, shrink on his to him, Chi-Fu muttered some unintelligent curse that Shao suspected was never meant to be said aloud. What a bunch of jabbering idiots.
You still risking to take a bath in the open air like this?" Ling stated his objection. He had grown weary of Mulan's womanly habit of taking a bath twice a day. Losing a head over body hygiene seemed to be an extortionate price to pay.
"I may act like a man, but I refuse to smell like one," Mulan replied, whistling cheerfully as she took her bathing equipment. Ling rolled his eyes at that.
"Don't worry. I'll be vigilant," she promised.
Regardless of some unexpected hurdles these last couple of days, overall, Mulan was quite content as she was, settling nicely into the routine. She was happy with the more challenging duties and welcomed the novelty of freedom in her role as a man. After a string of unfortunate events, she did not need further complications.
Unfortunately, the universe seemed determined to test her.
It was a quiet night, after a hot day working helping Chef Zhang inside the badly ventilated tent which felt more like a broth scented sauna, a well-deserved bath was next on the menu.
However, it was also when the presumptuous prince came strutting out to the exact same spot, sporting his usual silk robe, acting like he owned the place. Which, technically, he kind of did, he was the Prince, the third to the throne after the Emperor himself. But did he have to look so smug and indifferent about it? That night, Mulan was certain the Prince had seen her in the pond's vicinity, but he pretended to be oblivious, nonchalantly stripping himself naked before plunging into the water.
After their odd first encounter―with him being bossy and intentionally pretentious in expressing his opinion―Mulan never wished to make any voluntary acquaintances with the haughty prince. But now, he seemed to be intentionally resurfacing everywhere she went, even showing her a rare kindness by defending her against the brute―Jing, a few nights before.
Mulan swallowed deeply, watching the Prince's toned back ripple as he swam across the pond. He reminded her of Shang. Mulan immediately slapped herself in an attempt to shove off the inappropriate fantasy. She quickly picked another hidden spot behind a large tree, singing some tune to keep her head safely occupied.
After finishing his bath and covering himself with a comfortable night robe, Shao Wei prepared to leave. But his ears were taunted by an effeminate singing from the far end of the pond. He only remembered seeing a glimpse of Fa Ping before he dove into the water. Could that lanky soldier have enough guts to smuggle a woman into camp? Shao nearly burst out laughing at that thought, but there was only one way to find out.
Along the marshy edge, Shao saw Ping step into particularly long-standing reeds to create the illusion of privacy as the boy undressed. He let out a blissful sigh―very untypical of a man, as the cool, calming water of the pond wrapped around his figure to his neck. Shao prowled closer and peeked through the reeds into the location where Ping had left his personal possessions. His eyes widened when he saw a strange object lying there.
A chest binding.
Is he into cross-dressing or something ?
He glanced and Ping wash his body in no way any other man did. It suddenly hit him. Ping is a...
No. It can't be. Shao silenced the uncertain speculation. He was aware of the protocol and the implications if Ping's real identity was revealed.
Suddenly, everyone's mortal enemy entered the pond.
Chi-Fu.
Just about the last man who could handle this kind of information with fairness and justice.
"Hi...er, Sir." Ping stammered, clearly caught off-guard. Subsequently, Shao lowered himself down behind the dense shrubbery, inching closer to eavesdrop on the exchange.
"I...I didn't know you took a bath at...at this time too," Ping stuttered as he slowly backed away.
"Is there anything wrong with that?" Unfortunately, that sneaky advisor roamed closer.
"Oh… no, no," Ping waved his hand casually. "Of course not!" and deftly camouflaged himself behind a lily pad―that was a wrong move, because not only was his skin not green, it almost implied he was trying to conceal something behind the leaves. If Shao's speculation was true; that Ping was a woman in disguise―that evil counsellor would be the first person that insisted on putting the blade to Ping's neck.
Sensing the danger, Shao swiftly thought of a plausible distraction. He glanced to the set of arrows and bow that he habitually carried everywhere, a measure of precaution―as his defence teacher taught him. With impeccable accuracy, he aimed his arrow towards the tree stump closest to the pond, just so it was visible by all the parties to deliver a false warning of impending attack.
"Intruders!" Shao alerted. Run!"
It was not a lie, technically, since he was the intruder, but it made for an effective deterrent. Obviously, the coward Chi-Fu didn't spare any second thoughts for Fa Ping and immediately fled the scene. Ping only emerged when he was sure there was no one around.
And he saw it, even though he was aware that what he was doing was the furthest from honourable thing a man could do, more so for a prince, he had confirmed his suspicion.
Fa Ping was a woman.
Why did he have to know this? He berated himself for his on curiosity. He was already embroiled in a far more dangerous deception between the Huns and his father, and now this?
Shao groaned into his palms, feeling unexplainable fatigue swallowing his strength. He plopped himself down by the bank, trying to console his discombobulated mind. It seemed like fate continually challenged him to defy the norms and orders all over again. Ping was truly nobody to him―why he had to go against the rules and risk everything, even his credibility, for a reason not very clear even to him?
Of course, Shao could opt to report his finding, but he was sure Ping had a strong reason to risk her life and masquerade herself as a man. What was her agenda? Was she sent by his father to spy on him and to find out his deceitful plan? Shao shuddered at the thought. But why would his father send a woman, more so, one that could hardly fend for herself?
His head ached so much from thinking that he thought it would burst.
"Chi-Fu," Shao beckoned the royal counsellor who sat behind his bureau, a stash of the paper mounting in slight disarray across its surface."I need a little assistance from you."
"Always ready at your disposal, Your Highness," Chi-Fu replied politely, abandoning his work.
"Good," Shao forged a smile of gratitude. "What do you know about Fa Ping?"
Chi-Fu's brows drew together. Why would the Prince be interested in that troublemaker? But Chi-Fu was a lot smarter than to question the Prince's demand. Clearing his throat, he pulled a bunch of scrolls, running through the list before reading them out loud.
"He is Fa Zhou's fourteen years old son, apparently here to take the place of his father." Chi-Fu handed him the copy of Fa Zhou's conscription. Shao studied the scroll but found nothing of a conspicuous trace of oddities.
"Anything wrong, Your Highness?" Chi-Fu prodded as a preemptive measure. Shao shook his head at that.
"Any other family connection you know?" he inquired further, placing the summon letter back into the canister.
"He has one sister, Fa Mulan, who married to the captain of this regiment, Li Shang."
Interesting, Shao mused. Although the conundrum was far than resolved, Shao's intuition had hypothesised the fact laid in front of him was of great importance.
"Chi-Fu, hand me all Fa Ping's daily schedule to the hourly detail," he commanded.
Chi-Fu bowed obediently. "Yes, Your Honour."
Mulan's first-week foray into the life of a man ensued with a lot of perilous hurdles. Thankfully her second week was relatively uneventful, mostly because she was consciously trying to distance herself from a certain clique that she felt frequently demeaned her and picked on her weaknesses.
To begin with, most of the men in her regiment were nothing like anything she had imagined―boldly poised soldiers with undefeatable fighting prowess like her father or General Li. In contrast, they looked more like clueless mobs in tin foil rather than warriors in battle armour.
However, after taking more serious consideration, she knew she shouldn't be surprised. The recruit consisted of many people indiscriminately selected regardless of their ability or strength. There were many different facades that she had seen, from an intimidating figure of a burly man whose semblance looked like a member of gangster, farmer, cooks, to a small, dirty-looking street urchin that appeared too weak and malnourished to even stand up.
With the absence of their appointed trainer, the male populace spent most of their time gathered in their own little cliques, playing Mahjong, gambling, getting drunk, laughing at dirty jokes or waiting for Chi-Fu's high-pitched tenor to bark some random order at them. She cringed every time she was reminded that if she wanted to be successful in her mission and put on a convincing ploy, she needed to act like one of them.
But her curiosity at the moment was orbiting around the mysterious Prince of Wei. Initially, Mulan speculated that a bunch of imposing men who were often found ganged around the Prince must have been his henchmen. However, as days passed, it was clear the Prince had practically no one you could call a friend. Those who were parading around him merely wanted to get on his good side, wishing in due time that they would reap a benefit of some sort.
According to Mulan's critical observation―The Prince, who everyone addressed as Prince Shao Wei, always distanced himself from the rest. He seemed to prefer to be isolated, detaching himself from any involvement in any social activity and discouraging any form of camaraderie. Mulan saw him every morning, running through his training routine with his sword, showcasing his fluid Kung Fu moves or sitting in silent meditation. Regardless of having arrived in the encampment weeks before, Prince Shao Wei remained an elusive, enigmatic creature to the rest of the regiment….and this in itself piqued Mulan's inquisitive mind - especially after Prince Shao Wei unexpectedly came to her rescue. Perhaps… there was more to him than just the haughty, presumptuous noble that she saw on her first day.
"Thinking about that conceited prince again?" Ling's voice broke her stupor.
"No," Mulan responded blandly, even when her friends clearly knew otherwise.
Ling chuckled. "If you were an actor, I'd say I want my money back. That was hardly a convincing act."
Mulan had the right to despise him after the incident precipitated days before. But something else strummed her heart at the sight of the Prince, sitting, having his lonely meal near a makeshift fire a distance away from them.
"It's odd that a prince would agree to join a regime like ours," Mulan stated between bites.
"You mean because we are…. pathetic?" Ling remarked bluntly lacking a more polite word.
"No. Perhaps we are hopeless… no, maybe...ehm― weak?" Chien-Po voiced his opinion while stirring the contents of the bowl in his hands.
"Have any of you seen him training in the morning?" Mulan looked at her two friends.
"Yes, his fighting technique is impeccable, executed with grace and precision. His sword skills are some of the best I've seen in centuries!"
Chien-Po cackled at that."...And you are not even that old."
"C'mon guys. He is the Prince...a royal. Obviously, he has access to the best, most renowned teachers in China to train him," Ling quipped, outlining his logic.
"Yes, I know," Mulan intervened, a little bit impatient that her friends were completely missing the point. "But why did an excellent fighter like him join a low-class regime like ours? Why not the elite Imperial Army? Or the exclusive Emperor Crusade? He has the skill to meet their criteria and all the necessary connections to get in."
Chien-Po halted his ravenous chewing, twisting his bushy brows. "Are you implying… that the Prince is here for...other purposes?"
"Oh geez, this is how gossip starts," Ling whined, forging a disgusted frown.
"I thought gossip is your middle name," Mulan said smugly.
Ling fabricated an irritated scowl but entertained the banter. "But, after hearing his exceptional testimony, you are looking forward to seeing our sexy captain, right?"
Mulan let out a deep sigh and answered in as roundabout way as she could to mislead her friend's suspicions of her husband's mysterious persona. "What for? I am already married, it's too late to imagine such things."
"Not that I encourage disloyalty, but it's better late than never." Ling pulled an impish smile.
"And how should I explain that to my estranged husband?" Mulan challenged.
"Woah… wait, you don't love him?" Chien-Po gasped, looking perfectly horrified. In his ideal world, romance would be the fundamental basis for any matrimonial coalition, a basic foundation―even in an arranged one.
"Sorry to break your perfect dream. But the reality isn't always as sweet as you wish," Mulan said.
Chien-Po shook his head. "Pardon my melodramatic reaction, but why is he not your type of somethin'?"
Mulan just shrugged. "I don't have time to think about men. Every woman must marry regardless of who they fancy."
"Well perhaps he died in the war, and you'll be his widow," piped Ling. "It is something called a second chance."
"That's a reassuring thought, Ling, thanks," Mulan deadpanned.
He grinned, but his smile dissolved instantaneously. "In all seriousness, even when your interest is solely platonic, I promise I won't say anything to your husband about the Captain." Then he made an animated movement crossing his heart as a pledge of adherence, his face dead serious. It took all of Mulan's self-control not to burst out laughing, imagining Ling's reaction if he knew the captain and her husband they had allegedly plotted to cheat on were actually the same person.
"Why not one of these days, you try to strike up a conversation with the Prince and ask why he's stranded here?" Chien-Po suggested, steering back to the original topic.
"Why me?"
"The Prince certainly has his eyes on you. He wouldn't have noticed Jing was picking on you if he had not been observing you."
One accidental stumbling into the same team of seven (that's among hundreds) doing the morning exercise was an easy coincidence for her to accept. But a second and third time? How had he even found out her exact daily routine to the meticulous detail that he knew the exact timing when she normally took a bath? Plain creepy! Mulan suspected Chi-Fu was responsible for sending this man straight into her lap...metaphorically speaking, of course. Perhaps the scrawny advisor suspected who she really was and sent the Prince to secretly spy on her?
Truthfully, despite her curiosity of the Prince's motive, Mulan knew, the more she interacted with individuals outside her usual two confidants, the greater her chances of accidentally showing signs that she wasn't truly a man.
"I don't think it's a good idea," Mulan sucked in air and exhaled slowly, she had a bad premonition about all this.
"Well, among the three of us, you are the one most eloquent with words," Chien-Po said. "Besides, he looks lonely. A friend will do him good." They glanced towards the clearing, finding the Prince still sat there in solace, gazing an empty stare towards the sky. Mulan considered her options.
"Which begs another question," Ling interjected. "Why has Prince Shao Wei been watching you?"