"But, I… How could it be…―?" Mulan sputtered. Her mind rack havoc with all the thoughts, the consequences, and the implication should she really was... pregnant.
"Well, you tell me," Ling smirked at his own innuendos.
A serious knot appeared to have formed, causing her internal organs to clench in displeasure and she couldn't fathom why. Shouldn't she be happy she was carrying the Fa-Li future heir? Isn't this the child she so desired? Would Shang finally see her as a dutiful wife… more so, his equal? And, assuming if the baby were a boy, she would be extending General Li's and her father's legacy to another generation. She could even hear Grandma Fa cheering, "Ancestor be praised, we have descendant!" chant while dancing around the kitchen. But no… not right now. Disguising herself as a man was hard enough―imagine, trying to hide her pregnant belly would be… well, impossible!
"I…―" She finally registered Ling and Chien-Po who still stood there, wrinkling their brows and tilting their head. They could be the friends whom she conceded just about everthing. Well, almost everything. But at the moment, her mind and emotions were all over the place, and she needed time and space to process… this. "I had to go," she said quickly and disappeared before her friends could stop her.
"I heard what happen," Mushu said from his hiding place inside the collar of her robe. "Your ancestors weren't joking when they said you had a reckless inclination. If you don't want to be pregnant you should…―Hey, you are not listening!" he scoffed grumpily when Mulan completely ignored his existence.
"Are you done?" Mulan sighed.
"I don't see a fuss over a pregnancy if you have a husband and a home."
But what was home without a family if it wasn't just a structure? And what was a family without love and respect? All she could find in her home was a disapproving mother-in-law and her emotionally absent husband.
Mushu had taken her silence as a sign of disapproval, so he went on. "You can't stay here, Mulan. Whether you like it or not. It's impossible! Besides, you don't want these people to mistake you for Chien-Po when they send you home."
If that was a joke, it wasn't at all funny. Not in her current predicament, it wasn't. She couldn't risk losing an innocent soul at the expense of her mission. But could she really afford to abort her plan? In her mind, she imagined Shang's infuriated reaction if she revealed her disguise and the impending doom that awaited her at home when Li Yue, her mother-in-law, found out where she had been.
And yet, these were the easy worries, for neither Shang nor Li-Yue had ever cared about her. Truly. It was her father's disappointed face that would crush her defence to powder.
Even though he'd said he understood her reasons, she felt he had said so out of the kindness of his soul. He had a right to be disappointed, she was a terrible soldier even so terrible daughter! Mulan sighed dejectedly. She wasn't looking forward to having that hard conversation with her father anytime soon.
"Thanks for the cheerful reminder, Mushu."
The next morning came. Golden light diffused through the membrane of mist through the encampment. Mushu rubbed his bleary eyes before realising that almost the entire resident of the tent was gone and all their bed were vacated.
"Mulan, Girl! Wake up!" the Dragon hollered for the umpteenth time.
"Can you give me another five minutes?" came Mulan's sleepy reply.
"You have to wake up! You have Captain Handsome to impress, remember?!"
"Oh!" Her eyes jolted open and with new enthusiasm, she leapt out of her bed like being possessed. She frantically grabbed her training clothes, ignoring his lecture about the importance of breakfast and simply mouthing "I have no time for that".
"Well, you would if you woke up earlier", Mushu grumbled. "Now now… remember, don't overexert yourself. Until you see the midwife… you shouldn't….―"
"Don't worry Mushu; I'm a big girl."
"Yeah yeah… things have been simpler when you were small," he tutted when Mulan found out she had worn her training trousers backwards.
A frigid wind blew from the tent entrance causing her to shiver. "Don't forget to wear one extra layer of clothing, the autumn coming to an end and….―"
"Mushu, I say I'm a big girl."
Mushu bit his lips. "Right you are."
Mushu's first impression of Shang― he stroke as someone who would not tolerate tardiness. But above all, he didn't understand why Mulan was so desperate to impress her husband: both as a man and a woman. Perhaps this was the way they made their relationship worked? Who knows.
Have you heard the phrase "opposites attract"? That was the first thing that came to Mushu's mind when he saw Shang and Mulan. They were like oil and water. Mulan was clever and creative (with a slight maverick inclination to be perfectly honest). She was like fireworks, exciting and unpredictable. While Shang.... he was the most monotonous, dreary creature Mushu had ever seen. The things he said seemed all to be predictable and repetitive, and his reaction whether he was excited, happy or sad seemed to be always...tepid and bland.
And here he was, secretly watching Shang who was condescendingly barking the same order for the hundredth time, yet, Mulan stared at him like he was the answer to all her prayers.
"Girl, you have to stop staring at him and queue for breakfast. Otherwise, you'll be left with none!" chastised the Dragon. Mulan realised she had been caught and immediately tore her eyes from the glimpse of Shang who already started yelling instructions for the recruits to begin their warm-up.
"I'm not staring at him! I'm thinking!"
"I bet you are!" Mushu gave her a look. "One minute you hate him, another minute you like him. One minute you want to punch his face, the other minute you want to kiss him senseless! "
"No, I'm not! I was forced to marry him. I mean, right now, we're clearly just platonic and not…―He doesn't think of me like he lo…―I didn't mean…―"
"You don't?" Mushu called out incredulously; his mouth fell into a dramatic 'o' shape. "And you persisted when you tell me you have a perfectly happy, loving marriage?"
"Our marriage is balanced and harmonious," she defended, slipping into her training robe. "Besides, love isn't an essential ingredient in marriage. Shang and I are always civil to each other," which everyone knew was a big fat lie considering how they spent their first night as a married couple doing a sword fight.
"Right right―I totally believe you," Mushu rebutted sarcastically. He wanted to debate Mulan's stubborn reply, but he decided there was a better time for having a such in-depth discussion.
"Ok, whatever. Now quick, let's go."
She was about to skip her breakfast when her stomach voiced its disapproval, especially after a night with very little food. Thankfully no sign of nausea on the horizon, so she slipped into the kitchen and was greeted with the sight of a deserted breakfast tent―save it for Chef Zhang who was washing the dishes. Just then, from the tent entrance, Mushu caught a glimpse of Shang abandoning his robes before leading the warm-up drill.
"Does he… always take off his shirt on every occasion?" Mushu said, tilting his head conspicuously in Shang's direction, right when he executed a particular movement that enhanced the tension of the fabric around his ass.
"Too hot maybe," Mulan commented nonchalantly, paying extra attention to the hard planes of Shang's chest.
"Oh?" Mushu smiled smugly.
And she seemed to realise the underlying innuendo she implied and corrected. "When I say hot―I mean temperature hot, not figurative hot!"
"I can see that," Mushu smirked, tapping his claw on his chin. "But you did think he is figuratively hot as well, right? I can tell from the way you can't stop calling him hot."
"Not again…" she moaned, but Mushu babbled on. "Mulan, my powers are beyond your mortal imagination. For instance, my eyes can see straight through your armour..―" His eyes moved towards her chest causing her to gasp, pulling whatever material she could find to cover the spot.
"Mushu!" She smacked him. The dragon made a distressed sound of shock.
"Jeez, I mean I can see right through your heart! Not seeing through that thing, ugh! Gag!" he said, rubbing the sore spot.
Mulan glared at him.
"Fine...fine, sorry. I was just teasing you. Ok, now quick, or Captain Shirtless will order you to clean the horses for being late again."
"Don't call him that, you can lose your head," she rebuked, peeking into the big pot and realised it was radish soup, again! Gah!
"Hey, I am a mighty deity. I can call my subject whatever I like," he chuckled. "Oh, this training could be so much fun after all!" he chimed, rubbing his hand together.
"Mushu…" she pleaded. "I know no one else can hear or see you, but, can you stop talking for a minute?" She already sat at the table and was ready to divulge her breakfast as quick as she could but Mushu's constant babbling made her lose track of the situation.
Mushu, of course, ignored Mulan's wish, instead, ran with her bowl and magically presented her with porridge decorated with eggs, chicken and a soya sauce. "I believe the word you are searching for is 'thank' and 'you'."
Chien-Po, can you now go and get some food supplies from the nearby market?" ordered Chef Zhang as he entered the tent where the recruits congregated.
After the initial discussion, Chien-Po and Ling had crafted a plan that discreetly would allow Mulan to go out of the encampment to see a healer for a checkup.
"I'm sorry Chef, I… ―" Chien-Po faked an erratic cough. "I'm not feeling very well. But Ping is willing to take my errands." It was a bad lie, for ailment had almost no place in Chien-Po's overtly-nourished body, but what was important was everyone else believed him.
"May I come with him, Chef?" prompted Ling. "I can help him with some heavy stuff that Ping couldn't carry." Mulan rolled her eyes at him. The plan was for her to go alone but Ling seemed to have a different idea.
"I am quite capable of handling this myself, Sir," she addressed Chef Zhang. Despite her awareness of the lack of benefits in the strength department compared to her male counterparts, Mulan disliked some sexist remarks that suggested that she was a liability to the team.
Ling exhaled at her punctuated answer. "I was only trying to help," he whispered to her. Seemed like his definition of "help" require a significant adjustment.
"Remember...that?" he glared at Mulan's still flat belly and pursed his lips in response to her verbal castigation. "Heavy things aren't good for the…―" he stopped himself when he realised Chef Zhang was closely watching their exchange.
Mulan only replied by breathing loudly through her nose and Chef Zhang guffawed at the innocent banter, oblivious to the hidden meaning of their conversation.
"Appreciate your generous offer, Ling, but Ping won't be carrying those alone. We are feeding a regiment, not a family," he snorted ungracefully between chuckles. "I'd say Khan is more useful than you right now, but if you wish, you can keep Ping accompanied."
"Oh, thank you, Sir!"
Ling grinned at her cockily. Mulan knew the man wouldn't just give up the fight so she could let out another exasperated sigh.
Minutes later, the two recruits descended towards the horse stable to procure Khan and a wagon. Ling jotted down the list that Chien-Po dictated and compiled it into a list of things to buy.
As they turned down one of the winding cobblestone roads and finally into one quiet alleyway far from the main street, standing in front of them was a small opening with a wooden sign plastered across the top. "Ms. Chua, Healer and Herbalist."
There were hardly words between them during the entire journey. Ling figured that Mulan perhaps wanted some quiet time to confront her thoughts, so he told her he'll be back after running the necessary errands.
"I won't take long," he said, taking Khan with him.
"Ling..."
"Yes?" And he saw his friend's afflicted face.
He realised this wasn't the right time to be judgemental. These couple of weeks had laden Mulan with enough duress, and now she was faced with the bitter dilemma of choosing between her baby and her family's honour.
"Hey. It'll be alright. Whatever the outcome. I'm here."
To say she was anxious was an understatement. As soon as Ling left, in the empty waiting room, she felt a wave of anxiety swallow her.
Okay, Ling could be annoying as hell, but he had always been looking out for her the same she did him. And sometimes she would have to thank the gods for a stubborn friend like Ling because, yes, sometimes she needed it. She thought just need to be alone. She wanted to be alone when the midwife delivered the "bad" news, so she could cry or could laugh deliriously, scream or do other unreasonable behaviours without anyone questioning her logic. But right now, she wished Ling was there, holding her hand and whispering calming words.
"What are your symptoms?" asked the old woman presumably Ms. Chua.
Mulan rattled off the things she was feeling while Ms. Chua told her to lie down on the examination table.
"So, you think you might be pregnant?" she asked again after she quizzed Mulan on her symptoms. She had a feel of Mulan's abdomen and recorded her vitals.
It was clear that Mulan was unspeakably tense and that no words seemed to be able to answer a very simple question.
"Oh, unexpected I see," the old woman added to the silence, as he began mixing and grinding herbs in the bowl.
Unwanted may be the right word.
Thankfully, the old woman wasn't nosy enough to ask why she was dressed in a man's outfit.
"Don't you use any form of birth control dear?" she said while busying herself grinding some herbal concoction.
Birth control, if such things weren't a myth in this era, had been largely limited to 'pull out and pray,' which had not boasted the best success rate and depended considerably on the willingness of obviously unwilling men. And of course, there was some horrible-smelling tea that many women believed to prevent procreation which Mulan had seen as nothing but pointless torture.
"No," she answered, not bothering to cover the rueful edge of her tone. She was dreading the consequences. Nine-month from now, she would become a mother. Was she even ready for this? She had just learned to be a wife, which she had failed miserably, and now how was she supposed to be a mother? To raise a child, to know how to protect it and love it?
"I initially thought it was something I ate," Mulan said tremulously. "But, I have been missing my period…so I...―"
Ms. Chua nodded understandingly.
Other women would be joyful, no doubt. Perhaps thinking of a sweet, but an overly complicated way to deliver the delightful message to their husband, and imagining their husband would sweep them into his arms, peppered her face, her abdomen with kisses wet with tears of pure unadulterated joy.
But a child wasn't what Mulan had wished for.
She had wished for peace, so her father would be allowed to retire at home.
She wished her mother was still here. Alive. A mother that had been years becoming her rock. Her mother, with her calm smile and Chinese efficiency, who brew her tea and fetched a warm towel―still, a classic triumph―and sat with her. Her mother with her practical wisdom and her bright smile seemed capable of calming a treacherous sea.
The old woman seemed to read her mind well and when Mulan had calmed enough to hear it, she said, "Not everyone is meant to be a mother, I'll not lie to you." And she took her hand in her own, and continued soothingly, "But be not fearful, Dear. All you have to do is believe that you can do it," she gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "A child is a gift," she said with her warm, wrinkly smile, and wisdom that weaved on her aged skin.
"He or she will make love stronger, days shorter, nights longer, a home happier, the past forgotten….and the future worth living for."
Mulan had stepped out of the examination room to collect her own urine sample that apparently required by Ms. Chua for further testing. She could hear Ms. Chua attending to someone else when she returned, so Mulan propped herself on the bench in the waiting room to wait for her turn. A woman, perhaps the same age as her, cradling something noisy and wriggly between her arms.
It soon became apparent it was a baby, who at the moment waved his angry fist demanding his will to be fulfilled.
"I know, I know," the young woman murmured as her baby's wails started to gain in volume. She settled her baby in her arms, discreetly exposed her breast and pressed the nipple into his mouth. Her son winced first then started to suck hungrily as soon as the first drop of milk touched his tongue.
And a few moments after, a young man in soldier's outfit, burst into the room.
"Here you are," he said, smiling down at the baby who didn't even bother to notice his father's presence. "Oh, Mei here is your lunch," the man told his wife, pulling two warm buns from his sack. "Char siew bun, your favourite."
"Oh thank you! By the way, can you give me his bib? Front pocket," his wife said distractedly. "There is also a white burp cloth somewhere."
The man obligated and carefully placed the small square of fabric underneath his son's chin and then the cloth on his wife's lap. After the few first seconds of rapid suckling, the baby settled to a more leisurely pace, completely oblivious to his attentive parents who were observing him carefully.
"Feeling better?" the young woman cooed to the baby. There was something deeply satisfying to be able to appease your child and know you were giving him exactly what he needed, and it always was a special moment to watch the way a baby would gradually relax, his eyes first staring back at her then slowly drifting closed every now and then in apparent milk bliss.
"I think it's my turn now," her husband stretched his hands.
"It's funny to hear that comes from you, Liu. A couple of weeks ago you were terrified of holding him. You know that he can't even bite you, he doesn't have any teeth yet," she goaded. "A man who can put down a Hun soldier is afraid of a baby. Unbelievable." She waited until her husband's shoulder was covered with the burp cloth before handing him their son.
"Don't try to divert the conversation," the man replied in faux-annoyance, but the smile he had as he welcomed the sleepy baby in his arms was priceless.
"Here, eat your lunch before they get cold," he told his wife between rocking on his toe and humming some lullaby.
"He has to be burped," the young mother warned her husband.
"Yeah well, I'm a guy, I know all about burps!" And he lifted the sleepy baby to his shoulder. "Woah. You're getting heavy, Son!" The young man started to gently pat his son's back, while his wife seemed to stare, mesmerized for a few seconds, drinking the tender moment between the two most important men in her life.
"I'll leave one for you. You haven't eaten since morning," the woman remarked while taking a large bite of her bun. She kept one of the buns back into the sackcloth for her husband. "Crazy how something as simple as having lunch now seemed like a special treat," she added.
"Not that I would change it for anything in the world," her husband beamed to their son. "He's growing up nicely, isn't he? You'll be a strong boy that protects your sister."
"Wait…―what?" the woman paused, her eyebrows reaching her hairline, and a loud burp suddenly erupted from their boy interrupting the moment.
"Atta boy! Way to go!"
The woman laughed at the ridiculous pride her husband was showing before waving apologetically at Mulan who was caught watching in surprise as well.
"He is just five months old and you already think about the next one?" the young woman reprimanded her husband, "I still yet to lose all the baby fat from this pregnancy and I….―" she groaned as her palms rested on the curvy flesh of her lower abdomen. No matter how many pots of slimming tea she would drink, those few extra pounds didn't want to leave. Sometimes a woman just needed a little bit of time to accept that her stomach would never be flawless anymore―a lump of excess skin now clearly visible even though she knew it would eventually shrink. The stretch marks would hopefully follow suit.
"My love, listen. Your curves are there because you carried our child and gave him life. All I see when I look at them is how lucky I am that we get to share that. You and I are finally where we were supposed to be. They're as pretty as you in my eyes. And God knows I find you stunning, more so right now."
It was so stupidly sweet that Mulan's heart ached, which was ridiculous because they were strangers and people have babies every day and there was no reason for her eyes to swell with tears.
"Hold on," the man frowned as he sniffed the air. "Oh, awesome! Your son pooped so… you can have him back."
"Oh great, so now he is my son?" his wife deadpanned, before coming out of the waiting room with their baby, muttering something like. "How can something so small poop so much?"
Mulan's gaze settles upon the young man who stood by the door, his eyes watching the glimpse of his wife and son, and grinning like he was insane. Her heart skips a beat all over again as she wondered:
A child will make love stronger….
A strange kind of fearful euphoria built deep inside of her. Could she hope? Would this child earn her way into Shang's iron heart?
Her own mother told her, her father was cold and distant, to begin with. Until one day in spring when the plum blossom scent was hanging in the air―she was born in the early hours of twilight, entering the world with a loud scream. Fa Mulan weighed not more than a bag of rice, and in her mother's entirely objective opinion and despite her less favourable gender in Chinese society, she was the most perfect child in existence.
She was their gift.
Fa Mulan may not be born of love, but she brought so much love into her parent's life.
And so would her baby.
She felt warm tears cruising down her cheeks, which she hastily swept away with the back of her hand.
"Excuse me," suddenly the young man, with a half-eaten bread bun, reached out his hand with a linen cloth. "It may have milk stains, but I guarantee you it's clean."
Mulan blamed her tears on the pregnancy. And Mr. Liu was kind enough not to correct her.
Ling came to the establishment an hour later to find the place was filled with women and their relatives.
"Ling! Over here!"
Her best friend looked mildly surprised at how composed she was. She went in with a great deal amount of trepidation and came out as calm as a monk after a hundred years of meditation.
"You have to pee on a bag of barley?" Ling commented dumbly after Mulan told him of the procedure and showed him a sack of grain she got to bring home.
"How could a bag of barley tell you if you are pregnant or not?" he whispered with a truly adorably awkward grimace when another patient congratulated him with a zealous handshake and babbled a train of tips for expectant father―completely ignoring the fact that Ms. Chua had told them Mulan's pregnancy wasn't confirmed yet. But no one could blame them for the false assumption. Ling was the man that took someone else's presumably pregnant woman to see a midwife. But he quickly returned to the point he couldn't seem to move past, "But seriously, how could a bag of grain tell you?"
"It apparently could. If it grows, it means there is a baby inside," another patient, a woman carrying a toddler chimed in. She bit her lips to contain her smile when Ling's brows knotted incredulously. "You can try if you want." A trickle of light amusement radiated on her face when Ling's jaw dropped comically as she finished her sentence.
"That's…―no way!"
"You'll be surprised if it grew," Mulan entreated, hiding her smile behind a concealing hand when Ling's eyes bugged out.
Not knowing how to retaliate, Ling only let a long-suffering sigh. "And I wistfully thought you are the one who needed moral support. I guess I was wrong," he said with a great amount of irritation.
"I'm sorry, OK? Old habits die hard," she chuckled.
"Good, I am glad you are feeling better," Ling deadpanned. "Too bad, there is no way this grain told us the gender. I need to know if I'm going to be Uncle Ling, Protector of Dainty Princess, or Uncle Ling, the Kung Fu coach."
Their friendly argument was interrupted when a woman, who was clearly in labour, was ushered into the premises. The wife was cool calm and radiant, a glorious force, even through contraction pain. Her husband, however, was a nervous, anxious, fainting wreck who was about to pass out anytime.
"Now," Ling said, looking like he had seen a ghost. "I would never envy any married men," he said, as the attention shifted and the woman's labour wail started to gain in volume. "I can understand why some men find the job as a eunuch highly appealing."
Mulan smiled indulgently at him. Her child would love Uncle Ling, she thought.
They resumed their shopping trip decoy right after visiting the healer.
As they turned down one of the winding cobblestone roads, they found an open shop that boasts a storefront of fresh fruit and vegetables, an orchestra of colour and rejuvenating fragrance of tangerines.
The Mighty Dragon, the sign proclaims in Mandarin, and then in smaller print, in both Hokkien and Hakka, fruit and vegs supplier.
The bell over the door chimed merrily as they stepped over the threshold, and Mulan found herself and Ling were the only patrons in the store.
"Be with you in just a second!" a female voice shouted from the back of the store, in an accent that sounds extremely classy, muffled slightly by the rustling of something that sounded like boxes being shuffled about, and so Mulan took this time to appraise the store. It's a pleasant place, an array of freshly harvested cherry blossoms on one corner among crates of vegetables, watermelon, tangerine and cherries, with enough light from the sales windows to stop it from becoming dull.
But she couldn't help but notice a stack of empty crates, for all that it did feature a display of abnormally vacant shelves, reflecting the difficult time the country currently had to endure.
"Sorry about that," the voice said from behind her, clearer now, and she and Ling started to turn towards it.
The lady at the desk greeted them with a beatific smile. She was tall and willowy, with long, naturally waving raven hair that was currently cascading down her back. Her skin was porcelain smooth, free from blemishes. She seemed to be what many men often described as a perfect courting material. In short, she was beautiful, definitely way too beautiful to be a vegetable seller in a wet market.
"May I help you, gentleman?" she asked primly. The scent of expensive cologne filled the air making Mulan feel lightheaded. Even worse, Ling looked like he could faint anytime.
"We need a dozen of pumpkins," Mulan said, her eyes briefly jumping on Ling to make sure he wasn't suddenly dropped unconscious.
She swept a cursory glance to the crate behind her. "I'm afraid we are running out of pumpkins."
"What's next to the watermelon, isn't that… pumpkin?" Mulan pointed out.
"This?" the girl pointed at a pile of daffodil bulbs.
"No, next to it," Mulan directed.
She moved her hands before checking for their approval again.
"Yes," Mulan said once her finger hovered on the spoken vegetables. "We need twelve of those." Mulan stuck out her finger and grabbed Ling's hand to show the extra two. "Could you work the best price for us? Every little discount will help."
"I may have to call my uncle," the girl informed them before disappearing behind the door.
"Is it just me, or do I find it creepy that we met a vegetable seller who seems to lack proficiency in identifying the difference between a fruit and a flower?" Mulan whispered suspiciously.
"Never mind that, I am sure the father will be as charming," Ling replied dazedly.
But the man who appeared to greet them was remotely far from a warm grin and gregarious continence. In fact, he had a snappy, irritable attitude that Mulan sure could be damaging to his business.
"What do you want?"
"Twelve...er―pumpkin, Sir," Mulan pointed out.
"Maybe we should've stayed with the usual vendor," Mulan mused when the man seemed to be busy counting his stock and scribbling something on the paper.
"No way, the previous vendor was selling us a pumpkin the size of my thumb! How can that feed the entire regiment?" Ling disapproved, right when the man gruffly shoved the paper in his face. "Here is the bill."
"This hardly fits the budget," Mulan exasperated, looking at the list and comparing all the quoted prices. "Are you sure we can't negotiate a better price, Sir? This is for the soldiers."
"This is already the best offer I can provide. Food is scarce now. If you want to haggle the price just go elsewhere," the man snapped.
The girl who had been entirely silent, cleared her throat, and with her softest voice purred, "Uncle Yin, can I have a word with you for a moment?"
The man steeled, suddenly biting his lips and rubbed the back of his neck. There was a strange, powerful authority that came from the girl as she demurely fiddled with the end of her braids and blinked in faux-innocence, "We'll be right back with you in a moment."
And Mulan wasn't at all surprised when they got a discounted price of what they needed....and more.
"I met a girl today!" announced Ling proudly as they were peeling potatoes and pumpkins.
Chien-Po's mouth fell open, looking back at Mulan for confirmation and she paid him with an approving wink.
"No way…!" he wondered aloud, though he rubbed his hands in excitement and scooted closer. "Tell me about it!"
"She even gave me a discount!" bragged Ling proudly.
"She gave us a discount," Mulan corrected.
"Still, quite an accomplishment."
"I saw heart coming out of his eyes and all sappy," Mulan smirked at him. "Prepare to get jobless Chien-Po."
"With pleasure," he smiled broadly. Chef Zhang entered the tent and asked Fa Ping to help him make the fire, so after excusing herself, Mulan went off.
"So, how's the visit?" Chien-Po asked quietly when Mulan had disappeared from view.
"Apparently not confirmed yet," Ling said carefully after scanning over his shoulder making sure no eavesdropper was around. "The old woman told her to wee on a handful of barley."
"Seriously? Are you sure you've seen a healer and not a dodgy soothsayer…or… witch doctor…―?"
"No," Ling replied. "I am sure she is in good hands. I've asked a few other patients."
"So when will we know?" Chien-Po asked.
"We will have to wait for another two or three weeks. But, I am quite positive. The midwife said all the symptoms were there," Ling explained.
"I bet she won't stop training, not until she knew for sure that she is preg….―," Chien-Po shook his head, gazing over the sight of their captain who was diligently doing a hundred press-up while waiting for dinner time. "I'm just worried something may happen before that. I just can't see Mulan finally came clean."
"You know it is a death sentence for smuggling a woman in here let alone a woman who was pretending to be a man, right?" Ling said in a matter-of-factly tone.
"I know. But...however strict and ruthless, Captain Li is a good man. I doubt he is going to execute a woman with a child, right?" Chien-Po stated his reasoning. "It's just…. I don't see Mulan would ever explain her situation to him."
"Well," Ling said resolutely. "If she won't tell him―Then, I will."Ting Ting camped out in the kitchen, facing the veranda, painting her toenails while Tian was braiding her hair and serenading a tune.
"According to this, I'll marry a warrior," Ting Ting announced, alternating between sweeping the brush of vermillion hue on her nails and turning the page of the latest astrological prediction published by a famous astrologer.
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Poor guy. He would have to cook, wash the dish and work super hard, so you can spend the time doing your nail and shopping," Tian joked. "Not to mention he would have to foot my salary too."
Ignoring Tian's mock, she went on. "It says that this week will be my auspicious week to find lo..―"
"Hold on to that thought," Tian said, jumping to her feet when she heard the familiar chime of the bell indicating someone had entered the front shop. She pushed her head to take a peek between the curtain and said with an excited squeal, "It's the gentleman in armour that came last week! I bet he is coming for you; I swear I saw hearts coming out of his eyes when he...―"
"Shush, Tian!"
The two of them headed towards the front shop. As soon as hearing their footstep, the soldier snapped to attention.
"Morning, Ladies," he said, a little bit breathlessly. And from his stature, he couldn't be more than a few years older than her. He couldn't be categorised as handsome, but still attractive and his smile...well, it was kind of cute.
"Yes, how can we help?" Tian said primly. Next to her, Ting Ting gracefully flicked her hair off her shoulder, inviting all attention towards the pale column of her neck. Tian bit a grin when she saw the soldier's eyes darken as they travelled up her collarbone.
"Do you know how to kill infatuation?" Tian whispered loudly into Ting Ting's ears. "Next time I'll come here with a cannon."
The soldier blinked and rubbed his eyes as though he was just woken up from a serious coma. "I...uh, I come to buy more pumpkin," he said, grinning awkwardly towards them.
"Are you sure you are here for the pumpkin?" Tian said in faux seriousness. "Not...anything else? Or shall I say… anyone… else?"
The soldier gasped, looking flustered and terrified like a little child being caught red-handed for stealing sweets. "I…―"
"Save your breath soldier. We all knew," Tian said between her laugh and batted her eyes towards Ting Ting in a manner she could only describe as suggestive. "I shall leave you two to deal with some…. pumpkin business."
"One more word and you can kiss your payday goodbye," Ting Ting hissed with fake outrage as Tian made her exit with a hysterical laugh.
"Sorry about my friend. By the way, I am Ting Ting," she said politely.
"Oh, uh… I am Ling. Such a...uh… pretty name," he stuttered, standing mesmerised. His eyes glazed over as though he suddenly slipped into a particularly pleasant daydream.
"Very….very pretty nail you have there," he said, twisting the hem of his training robe.
Ting Ting could only smile. Ling was so nervous it was acutely adorable. "Oh, thanks! You are the first one to notice."
"Am I?"
"Yes."
"Well… red is my favourite colour," he said quietly. "It's hard not to notice."
"I like red too."
"Really? What a coincidence!" He was positively beaming up at her as he spoke.
Feeling emboldened, Ting Ting went on and proposed. "I know this kind of forward for a lady to ask this, considering we just met a handful of times. But if you are free, would you like to join me for a cup of tea?"
Although Ling had politely implied that he was more than capable of loading the pumpkin into his cart himself, Ting Ting still made an effort to assist him.
"So, here is the pumpkin. Is your encampment far from here? Because they are quite heavy to car…―"
Their pleasantries were interrupted by a whirlwind of dust, clothes, and dark hair streaking into her shop, missing the garlands of onion and a crate of eggs by only mere centimetres.
"Please tell me if he is gone!" the man―though really, hardly more than a boy―said, thankfully managing to a stop, albeit a little on the tipsy side. He hid behind Ling, as though he was avoiding something… or perhaps someone.
Ling ignored the boy's plea. "Ping, what did I say about…?"
After making sure whoever was in pursuit of him was not in view, the boy went out from behind him, sheepishly smiling. "Uh, sorry… am I interrupting something?"
"What do you think?" Ling said, crossing his arms and tapping one of his feet on the ground.
A trickle of light amusement ran through her at Ling's long-suffering tone. Earlier, Ling had a chance to tell her a story about the brutal training he went through before facing the battlefront. He told her about the food ration, the strict schedule, and the inhumane amount of physical exercise. There was nothing pleasant about it. However, during this time of trial, Ling had a handful of friends who kept him standing on his toes. Chien-Po and Wu to name a few. And there was Ping, his best friend, who accidentally provoked the entire battalion into a fighting frenzy.
"Call me Ting Ting," she offered pleasantly to the boy, and though she already knows the answer, civility is of vital importance in a first impression, "And you are…?"
"...Fa Ping!" he said with an adorable, lopsided grin.
Ping had lost one of his shoes, his man bun half loose, and traces of soot covering part of his face. "People call me Ping," he said between heaving and brushing his soothed forehead, turning to Ling whose eyes comically bugged out from their sockets.
"Sorry, I know I shouldn't run but… there is a very large, burly man and his toes..―" Ping looked around and grinned smugly. "I think he lost me."
"Ping, save it," Ling interrupted with a sigh, and Ting Ting's amusement only grew at Ling's ultra-dramatic eye-roll.
"Pleased to meet you, Ping," she said, smiling. "You seem to be very young to be a soldier. How old are you?"
Ping slapped his own chest, and coughed a few times before producing the most unconvincing masculine falsetto she ever heard. "Fourteen this year, Miss," he said, posture exuding false confidence.
Ling cleared his throat to invite everyone's attention. "As we were discussing, Ping, I am taking Miss Ting Ting out for a drink, just ten minutes…"
"I can handle the rest of the list," the boy chipped in quickly. He might be clumsy but was clever enough to conclude this "tea party" was more than a friendly social call. And most importantly, he wasn't invited.
"Okay, so you need to go and see Mr. Ping, the potter. Please double-check the number of cups and make sure no cracks in each one of them," Ling reminded as he gave the boy some money. "...And try not to burn and crash into anything while I'm gone," he said, sparing a look that Ting Ting could only describe as an exasperated big brother over his shoulder, which the boy returned with a half-apologetic, half-defensive. "Look, Chi-Fu's tent was just the one time!" and he tripped on Ling's shoes, nearly fell back into one of the empty crates if Ling's astounding reflexes didn't catch him.
Ting Ting felt her smile grow only incrementally larger. She rather imagined it had been more than one time.
"You two go have fun," Ping threw a cheeky wink at them. "...And Ling, make sure the lady didn't have to pay," he added cheerfully, slapping a teasing hand down on Ling's shoulder as he exited.
Ting Ting thought she was doing quite well at battling down the laugh that wanted to escape her throat.
Then, there was a crash, and a yelp, followed by an angry yell, and Ling's exasperated, "Ping, what did I just say?!" echoed out from the room.
Ting Ting lost her valiant fight and succumbed to her mirth.
This had become a routine for a couple of weeks to come―Ling and Ping coming to town to do their errands and then Ting Ting would invite them for tea. Ping's answer had always been the same though. He said he hated tea and the smell of chamomile made him feel nauseous.
"See you two later at five," Ping said.
Ting Ting watched until Ping's petite figure swallowed among the mass of people doing their business in the market square and blended in into indistinguishable form. "He is an interesting chap," she said as they head into the tea house.
Ling, in turn, took the opportunity to tear his eyes away from her face, because she just indeed noticed him staring, "The horse cart he totalled certainly disagreed. Our captain even suspected the enemy sent him to jeopardize us from the inside."
"Really?"Ting Ting said, thinking how attractive this lanky soldier weilding a sword. "But what can they do to him? Put him in jail so he stopped harming anyone?"
"D'aww…" Tian said from behind them. She had agreed to join them but preferred to sit by the porch, claiming she liked the scent of cold, fresh air. "Ping is too cute for a jail."
Minutes later, they sat at the tea house, on the corner table, hands cradling matching little ceramic china, the steam of oolong wafted from them.
Then, Ling told a story about his embarrassing experience of losing a couple of teeth during training and his regret for cutting gym. The conversation drifted to the highlight of his rather poor sporting career, joining the village Chinese Football club only to get his shin fractured a week after.
Ting Ting continued to find it endlessly amusing. Ling was a great storyteller.
"So, when you get to know Ping?"
Ling leaned back with a deep exhale and a sentimental smile before he began.
He and Ping were childhood friends. They had quite an age gap, but for the record, Ping always owned the latest gadget from Chang'an. His father would bring him when he returned. It only helped that Ping's house geographically laid right next to his. The last time he saw Ping was when the lad turned ten when he left the village and moved elsewhere with his parents.
They reunited as strangers, as men with stories and secrets of their own. And as a man, Ling's life and concern were remotely different from Ping who was barely a teenager. But the war had a strange ability to make a family out of strangers, brothers out of friends, and after all, they'd been through together these couple of weeks, Ping was probably his best of friends and so he let himself be drawn back into this friendship.
Ling didn't say much about Ping's current family situation other than the reason why the young man had decided to join the battalion in place of his elderly father―a story that she found deeply heart-moving.
Ping didn't come across as how a soldier should look, in fact pretty would be the right word to describe how he looked. Pretty Ping. And for whatever reason, she felt his voice somehow unnaturally low, almost like her after eating too much deep-fried spring roll the night before.
She knew Ling notice it too, but he was too much of a gentleman to mention it.
Then Ling told her about his training days, the endless hikes, the aiming practice, the sword fighting lesson….and what was expected of him when the training ended. It was hard not to think that he, and hundreds of other soldiers alike, were crafted into becoming a weapon of destruction.
And there was silence.
"I hate war," Ting Ting admitted finally. She truly meant every word, but he didn't expect Ling to understand the depth of it. Of course, the man didn't know who she really was. "I wish for peace. I am tired of hearing people killing each other for nothing. Don't get me wrong, I am grateful for soldiers, but I don't see how violence could solve anything."
Ling took a slow swig of his tea as though he was thinking.
"No soldier delight in war," he replied with unexpected seriousness, but there was no ire in his tone. "We were trained for it, yes, it is not wars that had fueled us. It is for protection. Our protection."
And after hearing such wisdom, she has no room for anything in her heart but…admiration.
"You're a good man, Ling. I know that."
And then, Ling twined his fingers together and then, to look up at her, with a pragmatic air, she found no way she could take her hand back.
"Once a great war strategist told me: True soldiers fight not because what they hate is in front of them, but rather because what they love…. is behind them," he said, with the most exquisite smile she couldn't help but to return.
Tian was right, this week's horoscope seemed to be quite accurate. Ting Ting knew she could only hope.
"So….You fancy him?" Tian asked her with a hushed tone when they retreated back into the shop. She definitely noticed the giddy smile on Ting Ting's face as she cradled a small bouquet of osmanthus Ling had shyly given as they parted.
"Who's his name again? Ling...is it not?" Again Ting Ting didn't answer straight away. Her mind was drifted into the tea house where Ling…―"
"Earth to Ting Ting," Tian snapped her finger.
"W―what?"
"Yes, you…―," Tian repeated, jabbing her finger into Ting Ting's chest. "You like that Ling guy. I can tell."
"Who? Me? Fancy him? Ack. No," Ting Ting denied, trying to calm her racing heart that seemed to rebel at every reference to Ling's name.
Tian rolled her eyes. "Your blushing face said otherwise."
"Who is blushing?!" Ting Ting said with faux innocence. "We are…. We are just friends. We just met. I hardly know him!"
"Friends who hold hands and look into each other eyes," Tian snorted.
"He didn't hold my hand! He...he accidentally touched it. He thought it was his chopsticks!" Ting Ting said lamely.
"Oh, come on!" Tian snickered. "You don't use chopsticks to drink tea. I swear I can hear your heart pounding from out there."
Ting Ting shrunk in her seat, and Tian smiled. "But fear not. I think the sentiment is mutual," she said in a hushed tone.
"People have meaningless crushes all the time," Ting Ting replied. The worst feeling in the world was when you liked someone... and turned out he was just having an empty fling―a superficial sense of admiration, nothing more.
Tian smiled and bid Ting Ting follow her into her bedroom and shut the door behind them.
"He can barely speak to you. All he does was staring. And I just can see the stupefied affection spilling from his eyes. It definitely not just a meaningless crush."
"But many men in the court looked at me that way!"
"Many men who tried to betroth you knew you are an affluent royalty, but this guy… all he knew was that you are a daughter of a vegetable seller who couldn't tell the difference between pumpkin and flower bulbs."
"Yes, naming the produce would've been my limit." Ting Ting admitted.
"But I'm surprise none of the guy in court caught your attention... but this skinny guy..."
"I am sure Ling wasn't at all skinny. It's an optical illusion," Ting Ting defended. "Besides, he has a great sense of humour."
"...said the girl who said it was merely a friendly chat," Tian teased. She laughed when Ting Ting turned red from head to toe. "It's hard to believe, really. As I said: you're living among many affluent nobilities, handsome princes, wealthy traders and powerful politicians… why a soldier?"
"Sorry to say that my feelings know no money, status or position. Besides, those royal brats are usually shallow, childish, insubstantial….. and uninteresting."
Tian nodded in contemplative understanding. "And are going to say anything about this to Prince Shao about this…. new friend of yours?"
Ting Ting shrugged noncommittally. "Maybe. When the time is right."
Tian cringed. "There won't ever be a right time for that. You know how insanely protective he is of you since…-" Tian chewed her lips, watching rising sadness and anger brimming on Ting Ting's delicate features. "What I want to say is….―There is no question that he loves you. I mean, he had gone this far to hide you in here, travelled the great length, pulled various connections to make you stay away from the grip of political demands and…―"
"If he loved me as he claimed, then he'll understand," Ting Ting told her firmly. "I'm tired of being men's property."
"I am just saying…―" Tian trailed off. She knew this kind of discussion would never reach conclusive ends. Ting Ting may look like a fragile rose in a glass vessel, but her will and wants were tougher than steel. "Talking of which, we haven't seen Shao for weeks," Tian mentioned, changing the subject.
"Yes. I heard he has a lot on his plate lately."
"Oh no, don't tell me. Is it a girl he took home from the bar two months ago had claimed she is pregnant with the royal heir? Or… he's overshot his weekly allowance in a gambling den?" They both laughed. Shao's irresponsible lifestyle often provided necessary entertainment to them both.
"He cut me off if he heard us bad-mouthing him. Ack. No. I can't survive without my nail polish provision!"
"Relaaax," Tian placated. "We all knew he is perverted and we still love him for it."
They both giggled again.
"So, what's his problem now? Has Chi-Fu been agonising him?"
"No. Much worse," Ting Ting said. "He said he has a personal-space-invasion problem after General Li assigned his son―Captain Li Shang―who had been watching him like an eagle 24/7. General Li was gravely concerned about Shao's safety and commanded Captain Li to follow Shao anywhere around like his shadow."
"Anywhere?"
"Yes. I heard there is no privacy, not even in the toilet!"
"Ugh. No. That's…. That's bad," Tian made a face. "But it may be a good thing. You know how many Huns want his head hanging on their wall?"
"I know," Ting Ting sighed into her tea.
"Hey, I'm sure Shao's plan will work out this time. And things will return to the way it was." Tian soothed.
"No," Ting Ting shook her head. "I don't want things to return to the way it was. Court life is a poison," she said bitterly. "It is not a place to find real laughter or happiness. Everyone pecks everyone else for the slightest scrap of power. It's…. It's a terrible place. I much prefer to be here, leading a peasant life in peace and simplicity," she sighed somberly to herself.
"Although the Palace is as beautiful and opulent as many had heard it recited in novels and poems, it is also a hard, cold place full of ambitions and relentless jealousies. It's nice to be here, to be 'Ting Ting, the daughter of the vegetable seller'. No one dictates where I'd need to go, what I'd need to say, who I'll marry… No one gives a damn about what I...―"
"Hey...hey," Tian rubbed her back comfortingly when Ting Ting's emotions ran high. "You'll get there in the end. It's just...―It takes time."
"You must think there is something wrong with me," Ting Ting told her, leaning with her shoulder slumped. "Freedom. Yes. I am willing to trade it with my wealth…. my privilege or my life! Don't ask me why. Maybe it's the allure of something that I can never have."
"Sorry, I shouldn't…―I shouldn't burden you with my problem," Ting Ting looked over to Tian who was resting her head on her palm, eyes glazed with both burden and sympathy.
"Not at all," Tian replied quickly and rose to her feet. "I think I'd better help my father to write his report back to Prince Shao Wei. I can't let him wonder too long what has happened to his favourite princess," she announced, watching Ting Ting toying with the bouquet of osmanthus Ling had given her earlier.
"Of course," Ting Ting muttered but grabbed Tian by the hand as she walked. "Tian…―"
"Not a word," she promised. "To Prince Shao Wei, to my father. To anyone. On the Emperor's honour, not a word."
"On the Emperor's honour?" Ting Ting said, impressed, tension left her body, and all her worry seemed to melt away. "Tian. I―… I like him."
Ting Ting honestly thought Tian would hoot, squeal, and tease her to no end like she usually did. But instead, Tian only looked over her shoulder, astonished at her frankness, then turned carefully and smiled. "That's wonderful. I am happy for you."
"Thank you. I owe you one. I promise you once I'm free from all this, I will reward you and your father accordingly. You deserve a better title than the Princess's bodyguard."
Tian smiled, squeezing their clasped hand together in a gesture of reassurance. "Family owe nothing," she said simply and left.
This morning a load full of gunpowder and rockets arrived together with an army of the escorted convoy from Imperial City. Shang must've thought that his men were ready for the final stage of their training―learning to use and aim the weaponry at the targets.
Unlike arrows, rockets were dispatched in a limited amount, so the recruits had to learn to use them judiciously and efficiently. Unfortunately, it was easier to be said than done. First, none of his recruits managed to aim the missile at its target, sending it in random directions that caused them more harm than the enemies.
Well, one of his recruits actually hit a target―not the desired target, but still, Ping lit the fuse and Ling, who was too eager to help, accidentally stumbled on it. In his panic moment to restore the position of the rocket, Ping set it upright, firing the missile to the sky and towards their distant encampment and went indiscriminately straight to Chi-Fu's tent, incinerating the whole thing instantly.
Shang couldn't filter his awe. The boy could be both lethal and accurate as much as clumsy and weak. Ping was certainly a very unpredictable soldier.
"He could decimate the entire country," complained Chi-Fu.
"He is still very young. Give him time to…―"
"The time that we don't have," Chi-Fu grumbled. "Captain Li, while I appreciate your long-suffering attitude towards your brother-in-law, I can't see this kind of treatment doing him any good."
Shang threw himself on the makeshift bed, letting "yet another" apocalyptic episode of training replay in his mind. He stretched his arms and grunted, feeling his muscle ache in an unpleasant way, adding towards his already foul mood after seeing the havoc his recruit had caused. Today was not any better than last week.
It would take a dynasty to make a soldier out of this mess. Chi-Fu's disdainful babble echoed in his head. Perhaps the bony councillor was right when he objected to his father's decision to put him on promotion. He was too young, too inexperienced in this field. It wasn't the skill that Shang was lacking. It was the ability to motivate and encourage the recruits that he struggled with.
Then, he remembered Fa Ping. The young man was clearly fallen behind his peer. In the beginning, Shang gave him the benefit of the doubt due to his young age and his comparatively lanky frame. Soon he realized he had singled out and compromised his hard approach.
He spared some of his time to spar with him in private. He let Ping go with only stern words after he was caught cheating in archery. He assisted him when he collapsed during the hike but he wouldn't say he would prepare to do the same should it be Ling or Yao who fell behind. And if Ping's blunder still sounded innocent enough, Shang had allowed the boy to get away after nearly barbecued Chi-Fu alive.
You liked him, that's why―said the voice in his head. You like him like a man to a woman would! You liked him, and you WANTED him.
No! That's...that's absurd! Shang ran both of his hands on his face and groaned frustratedly. He realised that this special treatment had to stop. Not only this behaviour had kindled his feeling for Ping to root deeper, but detrimental to Ping's overall behaviour. The boy needed to learn to fend for himself! Shang wasn't here to babysit; he was here to turn the boy into a man―a soldier worthy of battle. In the real war, there was no playing the-protective-big-brother, there was no mercy, and there was no room for mistakes―and Fa Ping was simply a liability to the team and a danger even to himself.
Perhaps, perhaps I should just dismiss him… sending him home. Shang considered. But in all honesty, there was a part of him that won't let the boy go―a dark part of him that strangely wanted Ping to stay… and to be close to him.
Snap it you pervert! He is your brother-in-law! rebuked the voice in his head. Are you going to let him stay and watch him being butchered by a Hun, can you?
But what would you tell him? You'll tell him that he is hopeless and better to seek a career elsewhere? That's going to crush his soul!
His train of thought was interrupted by a voice in front of his tent. "Captain Li?"
"Chi-Fu," Shang greeted, opening the entrance of his tent. He didn't even bother to mask his irritation at having the old councillor disturbing him this late. "Is there anything I can do for you this late at night?"
"May I come in Captain?" he said, his tone urgent.
"Of course," Shang said. "Please do sit." This is better be important, he muttered under his breath.
"This is about the Prince of Wei," Chi-Fu said quietly and scrupulously, which Shang never thought the prying councillor was ever capable to do. "He wrote me a note, saying he'll be gone for about a week for a meeting in Chang'an." He produced a terse note from inside his pocket that Shang recognised immediately as Shao Wei's―he had never seen such eloquent, formal strokes elsewhere.
Shang took a moment to read. There was no abnormality that perked suspicion in its content. It was just polite information stating the address and purpose of his absence.
"Anything wrong with this?"
"Captain Li, I'd like to point out that we are on strict order to watch Prince Shao Wei's whereabouts," Chi-Fu said, a little vexed. "And that's the responsibility that unfortunately fell on you and me."
Well, perhaps he wants to go to see some street slattern and unwanted to be seen. Shang thought to himself. He is famous for relentless partying, cavorting with women, drinking and smoking, is he not? But Shang didn't say it out loud, knowing it would just raise a heated debate and further lecture.
"I understand. I'll go and catch up with him tomorrow morning," Shang said diplomatically. Chi-Fu nodded and seemed to be pleased with Shang's instantaneous compliance.
"Anything else?" Shang asked when Chi-Fu still parked himself on the mat in front of his bedroll, unmoved. "I have an early drill to run, and if you want me to catch up with the Prince, I might..―"
"Captain Li," Chi-Fu sounded inexplicably grim. "Have you seen Prince of Wei doing something odd lately?"
Shang gave him a blank look. "Odd? Like what?"
"Like sneaking out when you are not watching."
That hit him. The episode of the Prince's encounter with a foreign princess flashed in his mind. But Shang schooled his expression to his usual steely mask and calmly replied, "Why do you ask? Have you caught him doing something he shouldn't?" Shang baited.
"Well, I didn't. But Chien-Po saw him around eight weeks ago. He was in the Xi'an market doing our weekly shopping when he saw him."
"Eight weeks ago? Then why did you just notify me now?!"
Chi-Fu bristled at Shang's accusation. "Because there is a spreading rumour that Princess Wei Ting is still alive!" He snapped, slamming the piece of formal-looking parchment on Shang's table. "I received this yesterday. One of the Imperial Intelligence spotted her at the…—"
"...Xi'an market?" Shang gasped, shocked and aghast as he read the report from the Palace Intelligence. The sixteen years old Princess of Wei had been mysteriously missing since last year. Some had speculated she was kidnapped by anonymous guerillas―Huns or Chinese no one knew, but no ransom demand had ever arrived. Further down the road, to avoid public outcry and abate relentless gossip, the Palace official had announced that the Princess had died of a strange illness.
"Precisely," Chi-Fu took the parchment back and kept it under his sash. "She was talking to one of our soldiers when they did," Chi-Fu added.
Shang ran through his memory. He recalled Chef Zhang had sent two of his recruits to buy their weekly supply. Yes, Ling and Ping. Shang made a mental note to ask the two about this. After all, Xi'an was the closest village to the encampment…―
A look of comprehension crossed Chi-Fu's face, which was immediately overshadowed by fear. "Are you saying that the Prince of Wei is up to something…—something that is related to our missing Princess?" Something in the back of his mind was telling him this wasn't a mere coincidence.
Suddenly everything fell into its place. Shang realized what had brought Shao Wei to join the low-ranking regiment, what had made him willing to endure an uncomfortable lifestyle and pointless training with a bunch of men that never be his match. Because all this nonsense was just a decoy! An illusion that he had been crafting to mislead people from seeing his real motive and intention!
But...why? Why will anyone like a Princess of Wei faked her own kidnapping? Shang's mind begged. Has Father known about this and hence ordered me to follow the Prince closely in the hope he would eventually unravel some clues? Another thought occurred to him.
Just as he thought spiralled into a bottomless pit, another voice echoed in front of his tent and Shang dismissed Chi-Fu in a hurry.
"Ling?"
"Evening Captain. Hope I didn't disturb you."
Shang frowned when he realized the conflicted look on the recruit's face. "No. Is there...anything wrong?"
"Captain Li, I know it's late. But there is something you need to know….―"
"Yes?" Shang turned, watching the hesitation on the recruit's face. "I…―This is….―This is about Fa Ping."
It was a long journey from Xi'an to Kangi, the village on the border of China that the Huns army had used as a base.
Hayabusa had been living in Kangi for the past three years, working together with the huge entourage of Huns warriors and serving as the loyal strategist for the Khan.
He was seven feet tall. His body was covered with hair. His head was part-shaven and his face was decorated with tattoos made with needles dipped in soot. Upon his broad chest were etched suns and moons and faces with writhing snakes for hair, his dusty back adorned with bloody handprints slapped on by their comrades.
Despite his menacing look, Hayabusa was a familiar fixture in the Xi'an ever since the tension between the Chinese and the Huns thickened. But the people of Xi'an itself had never treated the Huns traders and customers differently from the Chinese. To them, they were equally beneficial to the capitalist economy of their little town.
Hunting and herding were the foundation of the Hun economy. Even after his appointment as the Khan's strategist, Hayabusa had been trading his cattle herd and was widely known in Xi'an for his excellent bred horses. In return, he sought cloth, coins, weapons, and alcohol.
The sun slowly crept to the edge of the horizon when Hayabusa and his entourage made it halfway through the journey. Occasionally, he nursed the sore spot on his toe―courtesy of a small, clumsy Chinese soldier who accidentally tipped a heavy clay urn to his feet. And walking nearly a day back into the Hun's encampment did not give his sore foot any favour either. But he knew far better than confronting the timid soldier that stood no chance of in hand-to-hand combat against him.
"Do we need to stop, Master?" one of his soldiers asked conscientiously. For a young seventeen years old warrior, Attila was surprisingly observant and he seemed to have noticed Hayabusa's growing discomfort.
"No," he answered firmly. "I'm fine Attila."
"I can return to the market and capture that little urchin," Attila announced. "And you can have the privilege to watch the life drain out of him."
"No. I know we can capture and kill him―no big deal. But I don't want to shed a vain death without a greater purpose," he said to the young man. Attila tilted his head as though begging for explanations.
"I have a feeling our paths will cross again―and maybe, that little soldier can be of greater use to us."
"But Master, what if that prick reported us to their leader? And I am sure General Shan Yu..."
"Yes, I know, General Shan Yu would just finish that stupid Chinese boy on the spot where he stands. He tends to be light-handed on this kind of thing," Hayabusa clipped him. "He even will flatten the market to the ground if that needed to be."
Attila hummed his agreement. Shan Yu was renowned as a formidable enemy to the Chinese because he possessed massive, possibly even super-human strength that made him a hardened fighter and a lethal combatant, armed or not. He could break down a barricaded door with minimal effort, climb and smash through a rooftop with ease, and simply slice massive pillars to shreds with his sword. Yet even then, it cannot quite do justice to the man whom his trembling Chinese enemies dubbed "The Scourge of God". Shan Yu adopted the nickname with alacrity and a sardonic grin. He relished it, as befitting a man whose military brilliance was matched by a savage sense of humour.
But his strength and brutality sometimes could work against him as he tended to act swiftly without much thinking, and for that, the Khan had appointed Hayabusa―a much calculative and crafty thinker of the two.
"Sometimes we have to consider our move carefully―to lose a small battle and win the war. After all, I am appointed to be Shan Yu's strategist for a reason. Yes?"
Attila fell silent. Hayabusa's leadership was matched by his cunning intellect. In addition to having the idea to scale the seemingly-impenetrable Great Wall with grappling hooks, he was able to infiltrate the Palace of Wei and poisoned the Prince of Wei's most notable and influential consort―the mother of Prince Shao Wei, the only heir to Wei's throne. He did so to instil fear in the people of Wei and to make a point, that to the Huns...losing is never an option.