That evening, as usual, Shao sat in his usual spot, eating his lonely meal. Normally, he would welcome solitude―a much-preferred option rather than sitting with the bunch of noisy idiots across the clearing. But today, his appetite was cruelly murdered minutes ago when he found a secret message left for him inside his tent.
He stared morosely into the fire; the message was still embedded in his mind.
Shao, we need to talk. I fear that someone knew our plan. Meet me, the northern border of Wei, by the river before sundown. Fate be damned, if someone apprehends us and kills us both, this shall be our honourable death ― ALS
Shao groaned into his palm, shaking his head. How could he make the right choice when there wasn't one?
Darn it! How could they know? Has Father been spying on me? He grabbed the bottle next to him in haste, tipping the content ardently down his throat and enjoying the sudden burning sensation that momentarily overrode his anxiety.
His inner tirade was interrupted by a familiar voice.
"Hi," said the soft query from his back. Shao knew there was only one man… well, woman, with that falsely masculine undertone embedded in her voice.
"Drinking alone ?" Ping merely stated what was obvious.
Putting his bottle aside, Shao glanced up briefly, before rolling his eyes and returning to his drink.
"May I join?"
He sniggered softly, which indicated he wasn't in the mood to have a friendly conversation―If Ping ever thought he was friendly.
Shao Wei didn't reply. He just glared briefly in her direction.
Ping shot him a reluctant smile that he supposed was meant to be a sympathetic greeting.
"What do you want?" he said curtly.
"Er…" Ping was visibly buffeted by the response but seemed to tolerate his insolent treatment, only pulling in a sharp breath and exhaling it slowly. "Nothing. I see you eating or drinking alone every night, I thought I may… ―"
With an arched brow, Shao merely responded with a rather blunt, "I don't want your pity."
"It's not pity!" she exclaimed but quickly realized the sharpness of her voice. "Have you always been… a jerk like this?"
Shao couldn't resist laughing at the words she used. "Jerk? Do you know that you could lose your head calling me that?"
"I know."
"Then what is it?" he demanded, inching closer until he could feel Ping's warm breath. "What do you want?"
"Does everyone who approaches you must have 'wants' ?" she reprobated, pushing him away from her personal space.
"Yes, sort of," Shao sniggered smugly at her disdainful look. "Now," he said in a serious voice. "...state your business before I lose my patience and order Chi-Fu to have you hang from that tree."
Ping's risen eyebrows now drew down into a frustrated scowl. "Listen…" she said, trying to sound patient even when the heat inside her head was visibly rising. "I only want to invite you to sit and have dinner with us."
He snorted, "I hardly know you. And seeing how you acted on the first day we met, how can I be sure you won't poison me or something?"
Her eyes dilated. She took a few calming breaths before continuing, "I see you train every morning. I am sure you are a great fighter, much more experienced than any of us."
Shao scoffed at her impertinence. "Sweet talk doesn't normally work with me."
"So I figure," she deadpanned. "If you think I am one of those sycophant men who wanted to gain your favour, then you are dead wrong, Mister! I would've done that since day one."
"So stop wasting my time and tell me what you want?" Shao snapped.
The girl gritted her teeth to channel her annoyance before muttering a sharp. "Don't you get it? There is strength in unity. You are one of us!"
Shao knew where Ping would drive her argument. One of his mentors in Chang'an, an accomplished general, had told him how a battalion bound by the ties of comradeship and trust fought much harder than one bound by professionalism―in which each soldier merely fought for themselves and not for the common victory.
Without so much a glance, he answered in a bored tone, "So what? I am not part of the team ."
"Then why did you come here? We are here to train to fight together, to function as a single entity against the common enemy, to be part of a team?!"
Shao seethed at that, rising to his feet. "It's none of your business! You are just one incompetent village busybody!"
"What? How dare you!" she shook her head, disbelieving at the mistreatment. "I was only trying to be nice!"
He narrowed his eyes. She said she was just trying to be nice. He couldn't immediately believe what he just heard.
Suddenly he remembered what he learnt the night before and his curiosity peaked. This was his chance to ask her. "Ping..."
But the girl was already gone.
The next morning, a few warriors from Chang'an arrived at the encampment.
Mulan tried to bury whatever apprehension she felt when she saw a familiar black stallion prance its way into the courtyard, causing a cloud of dust to rise in their midst.
With one swift, sure movement, the man dismounted, thudding footfalls advertising his presence. Without further command, the rest of the recruits assembled in a neat line-up.
Mulan stole a glance when she was sure the man wasn't looking, filling the gaps in her memory with his handsome, stern expression that had begun to dissolve into distant memory.
"For the love of dumplings," Chien-Po muttered.
"For the love of dumplings indeed..." Ling's mouth was hanging.
"For a second I wished I can be reborn as a woman..." Chien-Po trailled off. "That excellently executed man bun, that toned biceps....and that rippling abs..." he sighed dreamily.
"Ugh, gag!" Mulan said, pretending to look repulsed.
"You seriously have issues," Ling berated her.
"Or blind," offered Chien-Po.
"He made your crush, Qiang, looked like a crone!"
Mulan rolled her eyes. They clearly hadn't met the real Shang.
The crowd fell silent as their new commander arrived at the clearing.
"Greetings soldiers. I am Captain Li Shang. I am here to train you to be the best warriors in China." His words were laced with conviction, and his charismatic face was filled with concentration as he swept his gaze across his latest recruits. Shang may be one of the youngest captains in the Imperial army; having raised speedily through the ranks; an experienced soldier, and a great warrior.
Mulan prayed that Shang wouldn't recognize her. She was banking on the fact that her feminine face was devoid of makeup and her skin had turned a few shades darker from the prolonged exposure to the sun.
Shang paced in front of them, assessing his latest trainees that, at the moment, looked far from satisfying.
"You will assemble swiftly and silently every morning. Anyone who acts otherwise...will answer to me."
Mulan's heart was trying to punch through her ribcage when their eyes collided. She couldn't deny that the attraction was there. At first, it was all superficial, but that was nothing more than the adolescent crush of a young, naive and inexperienced girl. Obviously, the physical connection that they shared, despite not being based on love, had fueled her feelings into taking root, manifesting and growing into something deeper, something beyond physical attraction. Even when Mulan never openly admitted it with her own lips, her feeling towards him had morphed into something that had intricately become part of her very being…. had she grown to deeply care for him? She didn't want to believe that.
"You are dismissed!"
Mulan quickly tore her gaze away, fixing her sight on the dusty ground. Why would she even think about him? She reprimanded, completely annoyed with herself. She had promised to think of herself as a man, a son and a soldier! But thinking about Shang was something she could not escape, it was as natural as breathing to her. However, it was foolish to brood about something so comparatively meaningless as love and attraction when they were facing the threat of massacre and death.
That evening, Chi-Fu came into Shang's tent for a short briefing. He came in carrying a few notes in his hand, ready to give the full account of the new recruits.
"So they had done nothing these past weeks?"
Chi-Fu grunted, interpreting Shang's statement as a personal attack on his competency. "What do you expect? You should've come weeks earlier! I am the Emperor's counsellor. I am proficient in attending the Emperor's business, not becoming a referee in a brawl among these hopeless idiots!"
Shang took a deep breath. "Apology for my tardiness. My mother-in-law just passed away and I...."
He trailed off when he heard Chi-Fu's displeased snort. "I think you are too young to be a commander."
Shang let a slow breath through his nostril. He knew Chi-Fu was annoying, but this time he was morbidly insufferable! And before he came here he thought his stepmother was terrible!
"That young man," Chi-Fu said as he shot a disapproving glare towards one of their youngest recruits. "He has caused unbelievable havoc since day one. I swear I have never seen anything like it. He might drive me into an early grave," he retorted sourly.
"Fa Ping, is it not?" Shang read out from the list. He read a few detention remarks under the soldier's name just on the first day alone.
"The youngest son of Fa Zhou. Have you placed that dolt here on purpose because he is your brother-in-law, Captain Li?" Shang opened his mouth about to castigate the old chancellor's profanities, but he decided against it. Chi-Fu had a legendary track record for giving harsh assessments and talking negatively on just about anything. He could well be giving bad reports about him to Chang'an. After all, he had no background in transforming a brawling mob into an efficient fighting force, and Chi-Fu was here to assess him.
Chi-Fu ranted, "At first, I thought the Huns had sent the kid as a way to sabotage our army from the inside."
"I see," Shang responded, even when the enthusiastic voice in his head was hoping that the clueless Fa Ping would kill Chi Fu sooner rather than later. "He is still Fa Zhou's successor, I am sure the boy inherited some of his father's strength of mind, tenacity and ingenious thinking. Perhaps he is a late bloomer."
"Or perhaps simply clumsiness and insanity," mocked Chi-Fu.
"Leave it to me to deal with him."
"I want to see you try. I am sure that soon enough you will be asking your ancestors just what you have done in your previous life to deserve leading this regiment."
I already did. Shang deadpanned in his head, paying Chi-Fu a long-suffering look. A tap on the screen interrupted their exchange.
"Captain Li Shang! Honourable Chi-Fu!" The man outside said in a quick, anxiety-ridden whisper.
"Yes?" Shang responded, feeling terrible foreboding about this.
"It's the Prince of Wei… " the man heaved, wiping his sweaty brow with the back of his hand.
"Someone tried to poison him!"
After consulting with the physician, Shang concluded it was a confined case of food poisoning. After some quick detective work, all the evidence led him to one culprit―the chef's assistant, Fa Ping.
"He mistook the pig's food for bean bun paste," clarified Chef Zhang, looking somewhat amused rather than devastated. "Not only that, he nearly burnt down our makeshift kitchen in the process."
The Chef's entertained smirk somehow erased Shang's initial suspicion that the boy might be an arsonist. It suggested that Fa Ping regularly performed such accidental stunts on regular basis.
The boy tried not to flinch under Shang's grilling glare.
So this must be the infamous Fa Zhou's son and his brother-in-law. Shang realized feeling his curiosity suddenly stir. The boy was nothing like he had been expecting, not that Shang had a great impression of him from the handful of times they had met. But skinny, with no Adam's apple and a teenager―over whom Chi-Fu was now fussing-was certainly not it. The boy had a petite frame, non-existent muscles, narrow shoulders and feminine eyebrows whose ends had a definite singed look to them. He didn't look much like Fa Zhou. He looked like... well, a bit like a clumsy lunatic.
And that nervous smile he was giving him, reminded him a lot of the unfortunate events during his wedding night... because that smile was an uncanny semblance to his new wife, Mulan.
The next morning the training ensued. As circulating rumour had suggested, Shang's training regime proved to be brutal and exhausting, though effective in the grand scheme of things; showing an efficient leader hid behind the harsh exterior.
"Keep your hands on your sword and your heart to your country!" Shang proclaimed. Then he approached a tall wooden mast, dragging two metal weights with him.
"This represents discipline, and this represents strength," he appended as he selected a recruit and attached a metal weight to each hand. Yao, the unfortunate volunteer, could hardly stand with them and the ruthless captain was expecting him to climb with them.
"By the end of this training, each of you has to be able to retrieve the arrow," came Shang's commanding voice, goading the soldiers into the challenge. "Consider it to be my seal of approval and a sign of graduation into the Imperial Army."
Mulan always had a short-attention-span problem. Her father had addressed this a few times when he caught her yawning while droning on certain battle techniques. But right now, her focus-ineptitude problem seemed to miraculously cease the moment Shang abandoned his shirt.
Mulan stole several glances when her husband wasn't looking. Shang was bare-chested, pacing about the courtyard glaring with a predatory stare that made her weak at the knees, for an entirely different reason.
She watched as Yao began to climb. The task was proving to be harder than it looked. With no firm grip available, Yao futilely fought the gravitational force that pulled him down. In his desperation, the guy even attempted to bite the mast to gain footing. They were there, taking turns to be tortured until sundown.
"Enough for today."
Shang's announcement was welcomed with a congregational sigh of relief.
That evening, Shang sat despondently on the far end of the encampment, seeking to clear his mind after another fruitless day of training. He saw the post where he had planted his arrow mutely mocking him. He sighed heavily. From where he sat, he saw Chien-Po and a few guys his size trading punches and kicks. They were like oversized boys playing with dangerous weapons rather than efficient warriors with real fighting skills. Chi-Fu's objection over his father's promotion echoed in his head. "He is too young to be a Captain."
No, no… he admonished himself. The Emperor's Advisor's sharp tongue was the last thing he needed, but it was like an inescapable force. What if Chi-Fu was right? What if he was too young and inexperienced to lead a regiment? What if he was right about his hopeless trainees―that no matter how hard he trained them, they would remain a bunch of goons with mediocre fighting instincts?
Shang was here for other purposes too, but his first line of duty was to transform these men into lethal war weapons.
"Before the battle of the fist come the battle of the mind." The wise voice of his father resonated in his memory, and Shang immediately felt comforted. I have to have more faith in my men...
And... in myself.
"Your soup is here, Your Honor." Chef Zhang from the threshold of the tent.
"Just put it on the table. Who made it this time?" Shao asked.
"Myself, Your Grace," the man supplied. "I've already pre-tested it to make sure there are no unpleasant surprises."
You bet. Shao bristled, pushing his body up from the bed, which felt like a dead weight. Dismissing Chef Zhang, he propped himself against the wall.
Before falling despicably ill, the last few weeks of training were a mundane business for him, mainly because he had known, even mastered, whatever Li Shang was teaching the rest of the recruits. Now he was weak, bedridden, and physically incapacitated to perform any strenuous activity, he had no choice but to fill his time with nothing but reading and thinking.
All because of that dimwit Fa Ping, Shao thought ruefully. That harmless, delicate-looking man in disguise. The revelation that there was a girl infiltrating the camp kept plaguing him and filling his mind with atrocious scenarios of why she was there.
At first, he suspected that Fa Ping must have attempted a vendetta on him because of the bath time travesty a fortnight ago. She must have deciphered that he knew her secret, hence voluntarily decided to eliminate him to keep his mouth shut. But after seeing how much she tripped for no reason, spilt stuff, caused some random kitchen explosion...(and later....hearing her clumsy attempt to catch a fish where she ended up catching Yao's toe instead, and her amazing canon aiming ability that had turned Chi-Fu's tent to dust)―her blunder of mistaking pig feed for bean bun paste wasn't that far fetched.
Perhaps she is just plain stupid. Shao ran a palm down over his face. He wished he had never discovered the information about Fa Ping being a woman, but it was something that he couldn't un-see.
If that girl in disguise isn't Fa Ping, then… who is she? Shao wondered, cogs and wheels turning over in his mind.
From his peripheral vision, he saw her. He took a mental note when the girl gawked openly the moment Captain Li abandoned his robe. She was turning bright red and looking positively abashed when the Captain touched her hand to correct her stance. It was no news that Captain Li was a fine-looking man. It was kind of natural for any girl to be irrepressibly flustered around him. Perhaps, if Shao was a woman, he would find Shang equally irresistible, especially knowing that he was married. Who disliked a man who was experienced in bed? He nearly burst out laughing at his own ridiculous thoughts.
Suddenly, a revelation dawned upon him. His eyes darted towards a bunch of recruits who were still grunting and groaning under Shang's ruthless training regime. From his vantage point, Ping was there, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. Despite her struggle to follow Shang's order, there was an undeniable longing look in her eyes… she knew him.
Yes, she knew him.
As soon as their business was done, the throng of Imperial Army soldiers left the camp. Mulan watched them as they were hoisted onto their war horses, with sashes and crests decorating their military uniforms, marching gallantly while holding their banner and ensigns. Mulan wondered if they would be that imposing by the end of their training. But, at the moment, she wasn't worried about training…
"You summoned me, Captain?" Beyond his calm, collected voice, Shang could see the recruit's tense shoulders and chagrined expression lurking underneath. Was he even breathing?
Mulan cringed mentally, preparing for impact. What she had learned in the past week of her husband's inhumane training was that he would not thrift mercy for punishment. While she had no idea why Shang may have invited her presence, she was certain her demise was near.
"At ease, Soldier!" Shang saw his brother-in-law's poised stature relax slightly, and a relieved sigh expelled lightly from his lips.
"Yes, Fa Ping. I wish to discuss something privately with you," he said tonelessly, visage grave and serious.
Ping looked apprehensive again until he reassured him. "Don't worry. You are not in any kind of trouble." The lines around his eyes eased when he saw how much the boy reminded him of his wife but then returned when he began to speak.
"You must have remembered me. I am Li Shang, your brother-in-law." He paused, giving him some time to assess his memory of the boy that he had met briefly on his wedding day and during Fa Li's illness.
Out of nowhere, suddenly Ping behaved rather strangely.
"Oh, of course, I remember you, Captain." Ping jutted his chest out, flashing what was supposed to be a cavalier smile before expectorating to his side. Shang's eyes widened, he didn't know whether he should laugh, cry or rebuke the young man for vulgarly spitting inside his makeshift office, burlesquing what he supposed was a display of masculinity. Boy, Chi-Fu was right. This boy is… odd.
Mulan immediately realized that the Captain was less than convinced by her false bravado of manliness. Clearing her throat, she feigned a low, husky voice. "And you were saying?" Tentatively, she shifted her weight from one foot to another, finding his very close, penetrating gaze very unnerving. "Captain?"
"Ah yes," Shang immediately sobered. "I received a report from Chi-Fu about your… difficulty in blending with the residents here, especially the Prince of Wei."
Mulan knew which incident Chi-Fu had reported her for, not to mention she had accidentally caused that spoilt-royal-brat to miss his training because of severe food poisoning.
Ping's face hardened. "I will accept any punishment, Captain. But I refuse to apologize for the altercation with the Prince of Wei on my first day. I had not done any wrong for advocating what is right."
This time, there was no masculine exaggeration nor feigned haughtiness, only a genuine conviction in his bearing as he drove those words home. Shang allowed himself to nod in acquiescence. He was aware of Chi-Fu's visceral inclination to entertain influential people even when it meant embracing unfairness, corruption, and nepotism. So far there was hardly anyone inferior who dared to defy his command. Ping was the first, and Shang applauded him for that.
"Ok, points taken," Shang nodded. "However, aren't you a little too young to join the army? I remember your sister told me you are about eight years younger than her. That makes you… eleven?"
"She must have mentioned it wrong, Captain. I am fourteen this year. I am aware that the summon was for my father. However, he is disabled and still grieving over the untimely departure of my mother. I am sure you are aware of this."
Shang squinted his eyes and rubbed his chin as he appraised Ping's figure from head to toe. Mulan's mind swam with panic as hundreds of voices practically screamed at her in her head. "I have a few childhood friends here who can confirm my age," she asserted further.
"There is no need to," Shang waved his hand.
Perhaps the saying "blood is thicker than water" was true, Ping was like Mulan's bespoke twin. He didn't just share an astonishing degree of likeness to his wife, but the boy's defiance and unyielding personality matched her to the dot as well.
"However, inside this tent, I am your brother-in-law, so if you encounter any difficulties, please do not hesitate to come to me."
Mulan wanted a moment longer listening to his rich baritone voice that seemed to echo in her head. Alas, their meeting was cut off by a polite cough from outside the tent. Chi Fu, a man with a well-established reputation as the destroyer of a critically romantic moment, Mulan berated mentally.
"I'm afraid I have other matters to attend to," Shang said, closing the meeting.
"Of course, Captain."
Mulan stood up and prepared to leave, only to stop at the sensation of sudden warmth as a hand pressed into her lower back. She quickly turned and was face to face with an earnest expression and dark brown eyes that she had almost never seen of him. That was almost more startling. Shang offered a soft smile.
"I won't give up on you, Ping. So, don't give up on me."
His words stung her heart, and although Mulan knew Shang didn't mean the words quite the way she thought of them, it didn't make the reality harder to accept. Mulan shrugged him off, feeling overwhelmed by their proximity. She knew, if she stared at those kind eyes one second too long, she would've melted in his arms.
The dose of fresh air outside the tent seemed to clear Mulan's clouded mind. Once she had a firm hold on her emotions, she quickly replied.
"Captain, I appreciate your concern. I will try my best and do you proud."
"If you want extra training, I will be by the lake after sundown."
It wasn't as though the training every day was not tiring and strenuous enough for both of them, but she'd be lying if the thought of having extra time alone with Shang wasn't appealing. But this was why she wanted to distance herself from the captain during the course of her training! It didn't take long for her to find herself completely at his mercy, yet again. Mulan had hoped that her physical transformation to a man in disguise would mean she would finally be free of the mental baggage that consumed her. She could deal with this at home, back when she played the role of subservient wife. Yet, here she was, feeling as though she were falling all over again. She needed to stop this nonsense, it was so unfitting in the nuance of war and death.
"Thank you, Commander, but I think at the moment I can do nicely on my own," Mulan replied, bowing her head down and forcing the words out her mouth. Mulan dared not show her face as it would probably betray whatever confusing emotion that was currently tugging at her heart.
Shang rewarded her with the kindest smile she ever saw from him, and she was a new bride once again, feeling him embracing her with his strong, protective arms.
Darn it. Why do you have to be so charming?! Mulan cursed herself as she dusted her hands off on her trousers as he gave her leave to join her friends.
If Mulan thought she could deceive her own father, a famous war strategist, long enough to eventually allow her to complete her training, then she was wrong.
Two weeks after her ploy to leave her home without suspicion, Fa Zhou was preparing to fulfil his duty and represent his household on the frontline. He tidied the Emperor's conscription and went about retrieving his armour from the storage cabinet―it was then he discovered that the key was missing.
After spending many hours digging through the mess in the desk drawers and other places he knew he might have put it, his young son, Ping came forward and timidly admitted he had the key. Fa Zhou nearly had a cardiac arrest when he discovered his armour and sword were both gone. At first Fa Ping went on to say someone claiming to be an old colleague of his, had borrowed them forcefully while he was out. It took Fa Zhou another two weeks of research trying to locate the bogus vigilante before he realized that it was a decoy, a distraction that caused him to waste more of his time.
Then, his next finding confirmed his suspicion. After inspecting his summon letter, despite the impeccable strokes and the same emblem imprinted on the letterhead, he noticed the wax sealant bore a slightly crooked insignia. Other than that, he applauded the forged work that could even have riddled him into believing it was the original summons out of the Emperor's office.
And he knew just who, in his household, was capable of creating such a masterpiece. Sometimes, he wondered whether his decision to let Mulan pursue higher education and martial arts had actually been a wise decision after all.
After putting his eleven-year-old boy on the line of interrogation, Ping admitted, his sister had crafted the plan so that he didn't have to go to war. Fa Zhou swore he should've been more well-acclimated to his daughter's conspiracies, especially one that involved her rather gullible, naive little brother. Perhaps age and prolonged absence from the war had turned his brain soft.
But now, Mulan had been with the regiment for more than a month…
He asked the walls around him. "Oh ancestors, what have I done wrong to raise her."
He had been indulgent in his own way to Mulan, and his mother had encouraged that. He had paved the way for her to become the woman she was today; a woman who actively sought independence, questioned her place in society, challenged for fairness and would not hesitate to verbalize her opinions. Mulan's life would've been very different had she been born a man. But right now, as a woman, she had repeatedly created a scene and unwanted controversy.
But isn't that what people say? That the world is always filled with mysteries―conundrums of life, that eventually would teach them a lesson in due time? Failure and opposition are what make us stronger. He remembered imparting those exact words to Mulan when she fell on her first horse ride. But, how could he honestly expect his daughter, an inexperienced young woman, to pull off the deception she had undertaken for the duration of a war? What if her real identity was discovered? What if her body was left on a battlefield, what would people say? A woman impersonating a soldier was a grave offence, and death would never erase that stigma.
"Stop borrowing trouble from the future, foolish old man," he rebuked himself and set to practising his rusty martial art form to distract his mind. He grabbed his old bo staff.
Outside the window, the land looked deceptively tranquil under the light of the silver moon above. A thin mist had rolled up from the valley but had begun to dissipate as the night deepened. He remembered how he spent another moonlit night after an exhausting day―in the arms of his beloved, and his sight lingered on the sentimental memorabilia sitting in the alcove of his room. The picture of his wife smiled serenely back from the parchment, post amid a burst of soft lilac and pink background and dressed in a vivid yellow qipao, her favourite colour. And a fond conversation surfaced in his memory.
It was a lovely autumn day and their little family together with Grandma Fa had just returned home from the temple. Mulan turned five that day, and their family had given their homage at the nearby temple. Grandma Fa was still at the family shrine, praying to their ancestor for her granddaughter's prosperous life and future full of blessings ahead.
Fa Li sat under the plum tree, watching her daughter exuberantly play about the courtyard. Mulan pranced into her favourite training spot, kicking her shoes from her soles, straight away before picking up the wooden sword and making all sorts of dramatic battle cries against some invisible enemy.
"I can't believe she is five and she... ― "
"...can hold her sword better than her chopsticks?" Fa Zhou supplied, depositing himself beside her.
"That has me worried," she exasperated. "What kind of man would want to marry her?"
Her unmistakably worried expression made the entire scene funnier than it already was.
"Fa Li…." He shook his head, biting his lips to curb the rising laughter. "Mulan is just five. Don't you think it's a little early to think about the right suitor?"
That got her smiling,"You are right," she said, snaking her arm around his and leaning on his broad shoulder. "Funny though, I have a feeling she will marry well."
"Even better than you?"
He heard her forging a fake noise of annoyance. "I don't know what you are talking about."
In between their dialogue, another small voice was heard.
"Now! Say you forfeit or I chop off your head!" Mulan declared in a pretentious, booming tone. She stood, wielding her sword menacingly at one of the apple trees. Fa Zhou recognized his old robe among the branches, and a faint trace of chalk on the bark made it look like a wounded man.
"Oh please spare me, General Fa Mulan!" Mulan announced again with a squeaky, fearful voice.
"Good! Now you better eat your green vegetables so you can grow to be as strong as me! HIYA!"
At that moment he couldn't control himself and burst out laughing. Fa Li slapped his shoulder lightly to remind him that his boisterous laugh had invited Mulan's attention. After the awkward episode of Mulan asking, "What's so funny, Baba?" and him trying to give her a vague answer without lying or hurting his daughter's warrior pride, Mulan returned to weave another fictitious tale of glory against the army of fruit trees.
"She is just like you, Zhou. Same stubborn look in her eyes, same fiery spirit." He feigned an eye-rolling deadpan at the mention of the word 'stubborn.'
"And I say this as a compliment," she amended, nudging him a little with her elbow.
"I think your definition of compliment needs a little revisit," he countered, still donning a mirthless face despite the rising desire to laugh.
She chuckled. "No, I mean it. You are the best man I ever married. Not that I ever married anyone else."
"Not even that handsome bachelor that your mother said had nice abs? What was his name again, Hong-Wei? Hong-Hei?"
"No…" She laughed harder before returning her attention to their daughter, who was still deeply embroiled in her own fantasy. "I managed to convince my parents I don't need a husband with delicious abs."
"I need to thank you for that," he grinned. They both sat like that in silence, breathing together, feeling each other's hands while watching their daughter in the distance. Yes, Mulan was the personification of their love, proof that their ancestors were well-pleased with their union... if only she was a boy…
"Thank you for refusing to take another wife who would give you a son," Fa Li suddenly said, breaking the silence.
He laced his fingers with hers, letting the warmth filter through his heart.
"Thank you for giving me a daughter, Fa Li-Juan. Somehow, I know… I can feel right here," he said, putting their entwined hands atop his heart. "That she will make us prouder than any sons could."
His wife beamed at that.
"However, I do worry about… about our family, our future…" he added after a pause.
Fa Li disentangled her hands from his. "What do you mean?"
"I am constantly involved in battles. Facing death and uncertainty is my daily meal. What if, one day I… ― "
A touch of her soft lips on his halted his words.
"Don't let fear stop you from living, Zhou. I know how much you love what you do," she whispered. "And you are very good at it. Not to mention that this country and its people have benefited from your skill and bravery."
He looked at her, and at that point he knew, he was an extremely lucky man. Her dedication had transcended their loveless beginning. Her devotion and patience had covered so many flaws and bridged so much brokenness. Her love surged beyond his expectation. She had created for him a place he could call home ― a sanctuary, a place where his soul found solace.
"Do you know why I fell in love with you?" He could see his wife turning pink to the tips of her ears and swiftly averted her sight back to their daughter who was just winning another imaginary battle.
"You always know the right string to pull, the right words to say at the right time. And that's how you've made a passageway through my heart."
His heart mellowed at once. Fa Li-Juan. Her smile was like a warm wave lapping and wrapping around his tired soul. Her voice had soothed his aches and pains from war. But she was no longer here, her memory was.
"Fa Li, help me to keep our daughter safe."
After a moment of retrospection, Fa Zhou stood up in front of the altar. Anger would do little to repair whatever blunder his son had unknowingly embroiled himself in.
"Ping…" he called. The young boy emerged from behind the door, wringing his hands and biting his lips. His heart was softened considerbly.
"Why don't you help me to prepare the horse tomorrow?"
With a reticent nod, the young boy departed with a regretful glance in his direction. But he stopped at the threshold of the door.
"Baba…" he said, sucking in a breath before meeting his father's eyes. "I hope you understand. It's not like Mulan is a rebellious delinquent. She had her reasons. And believe me, she was scared to death to do this."
Something stirred deep within him. Fa Zhou smiled. "I know, Son."
The next day, Fa Zhou's departure was at hand. By the moon gate of their property, he bid farewell to his son and mother. Surprisingly, their exchange was a lot easier than he thought it would be. There were hardly any tears, perhaps because everyone was more concerned about Mulan's situation than thinking of the war itself.
"I'll go to her encampment and pass a message to Shang," he said. "I promise you that I will do everything to keep her safe," he appended as he mounted his white steed.
A year ago, Fa Zhou might have been downright angry at Mulan's reckless resolution. But with his wife's death, having touched the fabric of the veil…he had finally come to the understanding that there was so much more out there than just duty and survival. The death of a loved one could make even the most renowned hero humble and willing to accept the thoughtful sacrifice of others.
"Please tell her we love her," Grandma Fa's voice was almost breaking. Next to her, Ping held her hand tighter.
Fa Zhou kissed the old woman's cheek, reassuring her. "Don't worry, she'll be back."
Now the real training begins!" Shang proclaimed from the top of his lungs. The recruits stiffened at his words.
"Let's start with a warm-up. Run the lap to the edge of the forest and back―ten times," he emphasized. There was an incongruous groan from the crowd, but no one dared to verbalize their protest.
"Today we will learn how to use a bow," Shang told them, gesturing towards a series of white circles on the trees he had prepared before the exercise. "The bow may be a weapon that appears trivial and easy to master, but it will reveal what kind of fighter you are."
"It will teach you to control your strength. It will help you to focus. It will train you to concentrate!" Shang explained the lyrical philosophy behind the art. "To master archery requires discipline, precision, and devotion―which can only be achieved by relentless training."
He abandoned his robe, revealing his athletic figure. Mulan couldn't resist the urge to gawk.
"Observe!" Picking up his bow, he prepared his stance and notched an arrow in one fluid movement; before notching two others as well.
She watched in amazement as Shang stepped up to three fruits precisely balanced on a tilted board. He stamped on the end of the contraption, sending his three targets into the air. Concurrently, he shot the three arrows towards the airborne fruits, spearing each one of them right at the centre, pinning them against the circled targets on the tree. Shang's impeccable performance was applauded by a collective gasp of awe with a hint of envy.
"Start with one target, " he instructed, pointing towards the direction of a stash of bows and quivers for his trainees to try. For the benefit of the trainees, Shang repeated the demonstration and fired another perfectly executed thrust. The three arrows sang through the air before meeting their targets, again, flawless and accurate. Shang made it look easy. Heck, so damn attractive too!
The trainees picked their weapons and loaded them with ammunition, ready to strike.
"Now, focus!" came Shang's patronizing command. "...And let your intuition guide you."
Mulan followed his instruction and let her best warrior instinct guide her. Unfortunately, the only intuition she had right now was to eat. It was well past noontime.
Despite her best attempt, Mulan was still unable to hit the target circle (She even missed the tree! Duh!)―let alone hit both the fruit and the target circle with a single aim. After countless disappointing tries, Mulan began to grow worried about failing the exercise and being sent home.
Her desperate situation led to desperate measures.
She speared the fruit on the tip of her arrow before firing, making it look like she, at least, managed to hit the fruit, even when she was certain of missing the targets. She was so pleased with her cunning idea that she didn't feel a critical presence looming.
"Ahem!" a displeased throaty sound alerted her attention. Looking over her shoulder, she met Shang's rebuking glare. Mulan winced as she avoided his eyes.
"It's not me you're cheating. It's yourself," came Shang's acid retort. Mulan wished the earth below her would split and swallow her whole. "It's your life that is at stake when you can't defend yourself," he pointed out, and Mulan curled in remorse―she knew Shang was right.
"I...I'm sorry, Captain."
"Sorry won't make you hit the target, Ping," Shang's expression hardened. Mulan felt sudden chills travelling her spine. The expression and the voice brought back bitter nostalgia of their first quarrel.
"I guess hand-eye-coordination isn't my thing," Mulan said quietly.
He gritted his teeth, and Mulan braced herself for another blunt rebuke. But his admonishment never came. Instead, he touched her arm to move her hand upward.
"I've heard you duelled with your sister and you beat her a couple of times. I am sure there is nothing wrong with your hand-eye coordination. Besides, it was your stance that was messing you up," he explained, hooking the toe of his shoe on the front of her ankle and tugging it backwards. "First thing, stagger your feet." His voice was still stern, but there was a gentle nuance to it. He carefully placed his hands on her hips, and Mulan's heart jumped to her throat before throbbing violently. "And square your hips."
Mulan swallowed hard. "Like this?"
Shang nodded.
He was so close to her that she could feel his breath on her neck. Mulan took a deep breath to calm herself, but her pulse continued to quicken as Shang held her hand in his, helping her to pull the string.
"Concentrate on your target, and then release the bow."
But how could she concentrate when Shang's bare chest was pressing against her back? Mulan felt her breath hitch with both apprehension and excitement. She released the arrow only to miss the target….again. Shang visibly resisted an urge to groan, and Mulan stiffened at his disappointed frown.
Thankfully someone came to her rescue and broke the tension. Chi-Fu, entirely oblivious to the impasse, marched towards them―ignoring Shang's half-frustrated, half-dismayed countenance. Mulan had never been happier to see the bony counsellor.
"Captain Li!" Chi-Fu beckoned Shang away from Mulan. She could see Shang's dejected sigh when the perpetual thorn in his side flashed his usual smug, toothy grin. "The Prince wants to see you."
"Keep on practising, Ping," Shang instructed, half scathingly.
Mulan expelled a loud, heavy breath as she watched Shang's disappearing figure together with the babbling old man next to him.
"Your Honor, Captain Li Shang's here. May I come in?"
It was three days after the incident, Shao Wei felt he was finally resurrected from the dead. Thanks to Fa Ping and her apocalyptic bean bun―he had completely missed the entire Imperial Army visitation.
"Please, do sit, Captain Li." Shao gestured towards the empty seat inside his tent. "Thank you for volunteering in doing this, even though I still feel your father's worry is a bit unwarranted," he said evenly. "I am a big boy. I can take care of myself."
While Shang couldn't deny the first sentence, he wasn't at all convinced by the second. Especially after seeing the state of Shao's tent. Robes, shoes, and underwear… sprawled across the floor. Atop his bureau, a stack of scrolls piled haphazardly. A few bowls and alcohol bottles littered the far corner of his bed. And from where he sat, he could see diverse flora and fauna had begun inhabiting them as their permanent home.
"Please, just call me Shang, Your Honor," Shang requested politely, resisting letting his eyes excavate through the Prince's bachelor sanctuary.
"Nice to meet you, Shang," Shao grinned and sunk comfortably into his seat. "I understand you will be my escort during the course of the training."
Shang's eyes rested on Shao's battle armour that was perched against his makeshift bed. Assessing how shiny and undefiled it was, Shang concluded that the young noble hadn't seen much of the battlefront.
"Indeed Your Honor. Your safety is my father's priority and the epitome of my responsibility," Shang replied sensibly, keeping his tone as respectful as possible "...and the fact that you refused to..―"
"Li Shang, people are dying in war, there is no running away from it―whether you are with an elite regime or a crappy one―it makes no difference. Anyway, you are more than welcome to perch your tent across from mine―if it will make you feel better."
"Thank you, Your Honor."
"...And please, just Shao Wei," he said, wringing his hands. "This is war―you and I are just men―we are equal," he said, pouring a bit of strong drink and offering it to Shang. Shang received it out of respect, even when he thought it was preposterous to get drunk before the sun was even halfway across the sky.
"If we are going to be joined at the hip, I would much rather we forget about palace etiquette," he admitted, tipping his cup. "Speaking formally tends to choke me."
"Right, Shao Wei." He lifted her glass and Shao Wei let the ceramic touch in a silent salute.
Shao smiled as Shang tested his name. Then they both drank deeply.
"I take it you'll be tailing me everywhere from now on."
"Yes, Your―...Shao Wei," Shang immediately revised. "But if my intrusion begins to feel like an invasion of personal space, please alert me. I shall withdraw."
"Don't worry, if you start to put a permanent dent on my mat," he said, looking pointedly at where Shang was seated. "I won't hesitate to kick you out," he said in jest.
"I understand," Shang nodded compliantly.
Considering Shao Wei had spent five years under General Li's tutelage, Shang knew very little about the young Prince of Wei. Shang's knowledge was limited to rumour across the Imperial Army's circle, which the Prince had joined immediately after completing his training. And just like many other privileged bachelors, Shao Wei was well-known to be a party animal, a seasoned playboy, and an opportunist gambler. However, encased inside his debonair, suave persona, Shao Wei was a character full of mystery. For example, Shang had no idea why Shao Wei relinquished his position in the prestigious Imperial Army and requested to join a low-ranked regiment and bear himself under an anonymous title.
The two engaged in a light repartee, introducing their circle of friends and relatives. It was then Shao Wei revealed some minor details of his mission.
"I hope you are good at keeping secrets," Shao said enigmatically. "Because there is one―in fact, two sacred places of rendezvous that I don't want you to breathe a word about to others." His tone was detached and sterile. It was impossible for Shang to deduce anything.
"First, is my exclusive toilet spot―where I have a moment alone with my conscience," he revealed. "The second one is the vegetable stall in the village nearby."
Shang had a question, but he held it back, feeling it wasn't his place to prod around someone else's private life.
Why the vegetable stall?
Maybe the Prince has an unexplainable fetish for cucumbers?
He immediately banished his inappropriate thoughts.
"As you wish."
Shao grinned. "Then, you are dismissed."
"Your soup."
A bowl made it onto Mulan's tray.
"Thanks, Chien-Po." She slowly tipped the contents into her mouth, mimicking the ravenous chewing from the male residents around her. Her ears tuned into the hustle and bustle, hearing snippets of conversation and smelling a whiff of someone's foul-smelling feet. Good grief, she had no idea when she would ever get used to this. She forced herself not to gag.
It was the usual dinner havoc around the encampment. As usual Mulan, Ling, and Chien-Po had tucked themselves into the table in the far corner of the clearing. Mulan watched as the crowd of recruits drifted from the table like shifts.
It was then someone entered her field of vision. Seated just opposite her on the far end of the table was the Prince of Wei, who for once for some unknown reason, had agreed to join the rest of the troop for dinner. Perhaps her pep-talk with him a couple of nights ago did strike a nerve, or perhaps Shang lectured him on the importance of team bonding.
Mulan pried furtively, lowering her bowl to get a better view. Shang and the Prince of Wei were listening to Chi-Fu talk while waiting for their dinner to be served.
Mulan noticed the Prince's impressive build and physical contrast were stark among them. He sat a few inches taller than most of the men at the table. Next to him and visibly following him like a shadow was her charming knight, Shang, who tried his best to hide his bored expression at Chi-Fu's monologue. The creases in his brows deepened every time Chi-Fu said "what would the Emperor do without me" line. Nevertheless, Shang still remained inexplicably attractive. His robes barely concealed the taut muscles underneath―the evidence of years of training―and gleaming light from the hearth exposed the uneven blemishes on his naked arm―his battle scar. Briefly, Mulan entertained the thought of how much more handsome he would be without the frown on his face.
Shang thanked the chef as he was handed his portion. Meanwhile, the young aristocrat pretended to look interested in the bland liquid inside his bowl, but his eyes travelled in her direction with poorly hidden interest. No pun intended.
"Well done with the soup tonight," praised Ling from behind her, snapping her out of her thoughts. "This is what I call improvement," he added to the commendation.
Mulan stood up, collecting the dirty bowls from their table and stacking them up on her tray. Unfortunately, she was concentrating so much on balancing them that she failed to notice Chien-Po's leg in her way. Thankfully, her reflexes counterbalanced her misstep, and no bowls ended up on the floor.
"Oops, sorry," mouthed Chien-Po as he retracted his leg.
"Hey, no worry," Mulan said, rubbing the soup's spillage on her robe. This time no man dared to comment or ridicule her epic clumsiness. "Chef Zhang is off today. So, I asked Chien-Po to teach me a simple soup dish."
"Ah, this is nothing," Chien-Po dismissed humbly. "You did most of it by yourself."
"It's almost criminal how easily cooking comes for you," Mulan said absently.
Chien-Po put his bowl back on the table, beaming. "Well, I am a man with a hungry belly and a vision. It couldn't work any other way."
Then, Chien-Po narrated his ongoing chef's training raptly. Both Mulan and Ling listen amusedly at how Chien-Po seemed to find a fragment of bone left in a fish apocalyptic in nature. He even made his voice dwindle to a dark crescendo when he said his teacher found a piece of burnt garlic in his stir fry.
"He would have died of shock to hear you mistook the pig's pallet for bean bun filling," Ling teased Mulan.
"...But, perhaps this should happen more often," he supplied before lowering his voice. "Even the victim of your food poisoning seems to be a little keen on your cooking since he joins us tonight." He cocked his head subtly towards the Prince.
"I doubt that's the case," Mulan replied. "Perhaps Captain Li threatened to decapitate him if he remained a social recluse."
"True, our Captain can be unbelievably creative when it comes to punishment," Ling muttered, recollecting that last week the entire battalion was asked to pick up the rice grains from the ground after Mulan mistakenly hit someone, which led to a chain of outrageous punching frenzy.
To be perfectly honest, the Prince was equally fascinating to her. He was full of secrets and mysteries, and gods knew how much she loved mysteries. Well, solving them. His handsome face was wearing a polite mask with a princely smile that looked so fake even Chi-Fu could have known. His dark, haunting eyes occasionally darted in her direction as he listened to some war veteran that had joined their dinner party that night droning (or bragging?) on and on about their first victory.
But suddenly her self-awareness alerted her to an intrusion. She cut her glance to the side and briefly caught Yao who seemed to share her focus on the same object of interest―but for an entirely different reason. It was something she couldn't exactly decode, but it wasn't an intrigued or appraising stare. It was more like a scheming glare with an unhealthy hint of antipathy. Yao quickly donned an inscrutable face and pretended to nod to the guy next to him curtly to top up his tea.
Mulan bounced her sight to the Prince again, she still wondered why he was there.
General Li dubbed the Prince of Wei as one of the most well-equipped royalty to bear arms. Mulan knew, from experience, that men from her household were hard to impress. And after one solid month of observing him from afar, Mulan concluded that the Prince was not here just to do business with Chi-Fu nor to be trained by Shang. He avoided the Emperor Councillor and spent his day's training or meditating alone. Reading him was not easy, but she was certain that he had other reasons for being here―a reason he was very clearly keeping to himself and a reason she wanted to know because whatever this man was, he could be dangerous.
Mulan entertained various ideas in her head. She could try to extrapolate it from someone else who may know the Prince back in Chang'an. She inconspicuously looked around, seeing who was where. Chi-Fu was sitting alone with a quill in one hand, and the other absently creating a monotonous drumming sound.
Ok, here goes nothing.
"Sir? May I speak with you?" Mulan asked politely.
The man in question glanced up to identify where the question came from. When he recognized the source was Fa Ping, he fixed the young man with his trademark austere glare.
"Yes?" Chi-Fu sounded less than willing.
"Writing an important letter I see," Mulan said as a way of pleasantries.
"This is none of your business, Soldier," the man seethed. "What do you want?"
"Nothing," Mulan replied. "I just...I was just wondering what kind of important job an important man like you would do all night," she said, sugar-coating her words with a smile.
Chi-Fu processed that, and one particularly cavalier smirk pulled across his lips. "Yes, as you can see… I am here to give the Emperor a personally tailored report of the recruits' training progress."
"Ah, I am sure you are one of the most valuable assets in the Imperial Court," Mulan went on, bolstering Chi-Fu's swollen pride. She needed to tactfully extract the information without causing much suspicion.
"So you knew the Prince of Wei before he…―?"
"Of course," Chi-Fu hollered enthusiastically when he saw the opportunity to share the story of his shining political career. "He invited me regularly for tea!" and he grinned smugly at her, and Mulan mentally cringed at the uneven, crooked exhibit inside his mouth. He definitely could do with a visit to the dentist.
"I even know his favourite food, his favourite tea… and -oh-," Chi-Fu continued to blabber. "...He loved to play Mahjong with beautiful ladies in the court and..―"
"Isn't the royalty supposed to be joining the Imperial Army?" Mulan interjected, she wasn't interested in the details of the Prince's private life. "What exactly is he doing here?"
Everyone knew this. Shao Wei was exempted to join the training, and it was quite clear the reason why. He was far more qualified than the entire regiment combined. But, if he wasn't here to train or to be trained, then….why was he here at all?
Right after the question left her mouth, Mulan detected Chi-Fu's mood instantaneously swing to its polar opposite―and the inhospitable frown returned to his face.
"I don't know," he shrugged uncaringly, folding his scroll and tidying up his quill.
Somehow, Mulan could sense an unexplainable trepidation beneath his mask, especially the way he rushed to tidy up his scroll; it suggested he didn't wish to talk to her anymore.
"But… what if he knew some secret? Like the enemy's plans or some crucial location? Or other strategic political information?"
"And that's exactly why we shouldn't know!" came Chi-Fu's incensed reply, Mulan jerked back in surprise. The man managed to compose himself when he realized a few recruits had flicked their heads to tune into the debate.
"Look," the old hissed. "The aristocrats, the Emperor, and the Generals are the ones who decide the when and what we do. We are just the vessel of their wishes, the device in their hands. Whatever they will use us for―it is irrelevant to us."
Why is it irrelevant? Won't we perform better as a team if we're all like-minded and share the same goal?
She wanted to argue but decided to repress her combative desire and clamp her mouth shut.
"It's dangerous to know too many things, Fa Ping. You are still young and foolish," Chi-Fu rebuked. "And for the love of the ancestors!―even when you and your antics annoy me like hell―I would hate to see your father mourn just because you poked your head around the wrong hole."
Mulan frowned, not understanding what he meant. "Forgive me, Sir. I don't mean to imply any disrespect," Mulan said, feeling as though perhaps she'd done more damage than she had good, considering the old man's scowl was still frozen on his face.
Before she could ask him though, the Emperor Councillor left, abandoning her with a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Although their adversarial nature, this time, Chi-Fu's warning tone sounded more sincere and he never was. In fact, there was an undertone of fearfulness as he left.
If the Prince was not a dangerous person, why would Chi-Fu warn her off him?
"Captain, someone is looking for you. He is waiting by the northern entrance," relayed one of the recruits who were on patrol that day. "He told me to give this to you," the man reported, passing over a cloth parchment.
Shang deftly opened the message, a familiar signature and family emblem imprinted on its surface. He waved his hand, dismissing the man before marching out of his tent to the main entrance of the encampment. Approximately two weeks ago Shang had received a messenger who had informed him of Fa Zhou's forthcoming arrival.
He strode towards the point of rendezvous, wondering what kind of important matter had brought his father-in-law all the way here to discuss it with him.
At first glance, he saw the veteran standing without his battle armour. Fa Zhou was wrapped in his woollen robe because temperatures had gotten unseasonably cool as autumn approached.
The man led without any introduction or formalities as he addressed, "Li Shang."
"Father Zhou," Shang reciprocated in likewise manner. "Is there something you wish to discuss with me?"
"Only a family matter," Fa Zhou replied vaguely. "I heard the news from Chang'an. Congratulation on your promotion, Shang," he balled his fist and pressed it against his palm in a congratulatory way.
"Thank you, Father Zhou," Shang replied humbly, mimicking the action.
They went on to exchange a few pleasantries before Fa Zhou inserted,"I come here to send a letter to Fa Ping."
From under his satchel, he produced a scroll and a small linen sack. "Nothing urgent inside," Fa Zhou supplied. "Just a little paraphernalia I want him to have," he said. "Also, I've been meaning to pass this on to you, Li Shang."
The man produced a necklace from inside his sack. It was a simple stone locket strung onto braided leather. The stone's surface was dulled with age, but Shang could see a 'yang' symbol engraved neatly on its surface. While on the opposite side, there was a fading depiction of a red dragon with a little drum on his hand, painted meticulously with exceptional attention to detail. It struck Shang as oddly peculiar for the dragon to hold an instrument, but he didn't want to break the atmosphere by asking silly, random questions.
"This is our family heirloom. My mother passed this down to me and my late wife, Fa Li. Now, it's yours. I've given the other half to Mulan." Fa Zhou's hand wrapped his warmly as he passed the token.
"A happy marriage is about three things: Memories of togetherness, the forgiveness of mistakes and a promise to never give up on each other." His voice was thick with melancholy. "Every soldier needs a place of rest, a place to call home. And I hope you will find those in Mulan, Li Shang….just like I found mine."
Shang was no novice in angst-ridden drama considering Mei Lan's obsession with romantic poetry. But hearing the words said somberly by a soldier who had weathered war and faced numerous deaths―gave love a new perspective.
"Thank you," Li Shang smiled gratefully and looped the necklace around his neck, tucking it carefully inside his armour. And while its monetary worth might have been minimal, Shang knew he was holding a great treasure.
Fa Zhou invited him to sit under the trees as they chatted lightly about various training techniques and quoted some of the best battle strategies. It was when he mentioned the word 'progress' Fa Zhou brought up the subject of his son.
"How's Fa Ping's training going? And how are you acclimating to teaching your recruits?"
"Ping is...fine. He is making progress... slowly," Shang inserted the words cautiously. "And teaching has been going...well, though..." Shang struggled to select the right words to describe the gruelling weeks spent just trying to motivate his disinterested trainees.
After a few weeks of hardcore drilling, Shang did not expect many of his recruits to succeed. Not that he gave these bunch of clueless men the sort of bewitched trials that forced them to fail. He wanted every single one of them to be the country's finest soldiers. But in his years of relentless training, he had never seen a bunch of men as hopeless as these. With every trial and failure, he had grown more and more resigned to making generalizations and assumptions about certain types of men who would make it to being well-seasoned warriors and efficient fighters on the battlefield―unfortunately, most men in his regiment didn't fall into this category.
There must've been something on his face that spelt out desperation because he felt Fa Zhou's sympathetic hand on his shoulder.
"Li Shang. There is no bravery without fear. There is no success without failure," he said wisely. Shang nodded in agreement as he let Fa Zhou's judicious words sink in.
"Do you think Fa Ping will be fit in time for battle?"
Shang was frozen on his spot. For weeks he had been trying to answer the same question. To be perfectly honest, he could see nothing of the famous Fa Zhou in him. Shang felt an ultimate chagrin on the old general's behalf that such a great man had the misfortune of having such a son. Fa Ping couldn't seem to do the most menial task correctly. He was graced with the hand-eye coordination of a drunken horse and phenomenal clumsiness that could cause devastation on a monstrous scale. Off the top of his head, he could mention a few times, such as when yesterday, he distributed a bunch of bamboo staffs for weapon practice. Shang discovered that Ping was absolutely terrible at remaining stationary when he suddenly decided to go on a sweeping frenzy and nearly decapitated dozens of men around him because a bug accidentally crawled into his robe.
"I think he eventually will," Shang replied unconvincingly. A silent voice in his head didn't elaborate that 'eventually' could be a year, a decade...or a millennium.
For a son of a famous war veteran, Fa Ping had surprisingly delicate features, smooth hands with infuriatingly womanish mannerisms with a soft and timid cast that belonged nowhere near a battlefield. 'Pretty' would have been a better word to describe him. The boy was impossible to teach! Shang could see that Ping was trying hard, but the boy clearly had no talent whatsoever for soldiering and would be a liability to the rest of the troop if Shang allowed him to remain….worse, he might even be killed at war.
The war veteran stood mutely. Shang blamed himself for not being a better actor―he could sense Fa Zhou's scepticism radiating from his posture.
"I'll train him harder," Shang promised. "Just give him a couple more weeks."
Fa Zhou was silent for a while, trying to reconcile the complicated matter that was ramming in his head, a tug-of-war between his logic and his heart. With a loud huff, he articulated his resolve. "I trust your judgment that you know when to send him home."
"Of course," Shang replied quickly. "I promise to keep him safe."
"Very well," Fa Zhou smiled complacently. But, within seconds his expression inexplicably hardened. "Shang, please keep my visit and this conversation a secret between both of us. No one, not even Fa Ping, should know that I was here."
When the context of the situation was understood, both men bade their farewell and parted in their respective way.