Mulan, page 13
“Make me a fire from wet wood,” Daji ordered. “Now.”
She nodded and scurried away like a mouse to gather the wood. But the memories kept returning. As she held a freshly cut bamboo stalk in her hand, she could see the one from so long ago—that long bamboo stalk falling in a sweeping arch from the coffin. And she could still feel the harsh hands of the Emperor’s soldiers clamping upon her as he barked, “What witchcraft is this? Your mistress still lives, doesn’t she?”
Xianniang piled the wood neatly and then, using a trick Daji taught her, glowered at the hill of wood until a small flame began to flicker in its center. As the first stick began to hiss, Xianniang realized that she had hoped, all those years ago, to remain in the kingdom as herself—without Daji.
“Hurry,” Daji said impatiently. “I need smoke.”
As if prompted, a snake of dark smoke glided from the burning wood.
“More,” Daji commanded. “More!”
The smoke thickened in obedience, swelling into a rising grey cloud that made Xianniang cough. It hung above them, ready to smother the earth.
“Good,” Daji said. “I’ll show them that the ocean is no place to be.”
No place to be. Xianniang shivered, still in a fog of memories. “There is no place for witches in this kingdom!” the chancellor had declared. And they had clustered around her, swords pointing, teeth bared and faces full of malice.
What made it different from Daji’s venom? Xianniang watched as Daji’s teeth jutted out in glinting spikes, her face stretching as she transformed back into the White Fox. Daji glared with that same hostility, but, Xianniang realized, at least it did not have the revulsion the soldiers’ faces had. They had looked at her in disgust, as if she had been a poisonous wart that needed to be cut off.
The White Fox raised her nose toward the gloomy cloud and pursed her lips as if about to bestow a kiss. A gentle breeze blew from her mouth, but the cloud glided quickly away, as though it were trying to flee.
A pleased sound rumbled from the White Fox. Xianniang silently transformed into her Red Fox shape to join her. Xianniang had accepted the truth long ago. Why was she bothering to think about that now? There was no place for her in the kingdom; there was no place for her anywhere, except where she no longer wished to be—by Daji’s side.
MULAN HAD just settled the strange rock in the boat’s stern as they began to float down the river. Black Wind gave a whinny of farewell from the riverbank, and she watched him turn and walk away, growing smaller and smaller as the distance between them grew. Lu Ting-Pin finished raising the sail, the unfurling red silk suspiciously similar to the sash that had been tied to his sword, then joined her.
It was a wooden, flat-bottomed boat with a single sail and a cloth-covered shelter. But though humble in size and shape, the warm wood was polished and glossy and the sail was a vivid crimson, making the boat a striking figure on the water. Still, Mulan had felt doubtful about its traveling the sea. Lu Ting-Pin had seen her face and grinned. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It may be small, but it will ride through the waves.”
“I’m sure,” the Rabbit had replied dryly, “as long as you don’t get distracted by any old ocean friends.”
“No worries,” Lu Ting-Pin had said, giving Mulan a wink. “We’re too busy for visiting right now.”
Mulan had not understood the wink, nor much of their conversation, but Lu Ting-Pin was right about the boat. Because now, as she stood at the bow, she could see it was sailing through the water as easily and as quickly as a grand ship, its pointed hull slicing into the sky.
“So tell me,” Lu Ting-Pin said to Mulan, removing the bottle gourd from his belt and gesturing to the boat’s storage with his chin, “why did you choose that stone?”
Mulan shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “I guess because it is so odd looking.”
“You know, the townspeople don’t like that rock,” Lu Ting-Pin told her. “They think it’s bad luck.”
“They do?” Mulan glanced at the boat’s stern and frowned. Perhaps the stone had not been a good choice. She looked at Lu Ting-Pin, but he did not seem concerned. She walked over to them and asked the Rabbit, who had been resting by Lu Ting-Pin, “What do you think?”
The Rabbit shifted uncomfortably and Lu Ting-Pin answered for him. “Immortals don’t like to tell what they know,” he said, smiling. “Because they don’t like to admit that not only do they not know everything, but that things can change.”
“The Rabbit tells me things,” Mulan protested. “He has told me stories of almost everything.”
“He?” Lu Ting-Pin’s eyebrow rose and he shot a quizzical look at the Rabbit. “Male today?”
“She met me as a male healer,” the Rabbit answered, “so I decided to just keep it that way for now.”
“What?” Mulan said. “The Rabbit is not male?”
“Oh, he is,” Lu Ting-Pin said, “but not always. The Rabbit can change into any kind of being, from a noble healer to an old peasant woman.”
“Not anymore,” the Rabbit said glumly.
Lu Ting-Pin nodded gravely. “Soon, though,” he said, taking a sip from his gourd. “Take heart, Tuzi. The new moon is not far away.”
“It’s not?” Mulan straightened, alarmed. The long days of travel had lulled the urgency from her, and now a sudden fear filled her. “How much time do we have?”
“Next week is the new moon. We should just about make it,” Lu Ting-Pin said with what Mulan realized was his usual confidence. He patted the handle of the yuloh that arched above his head as he sat, the other end disappearing into the water. “As long as this stays intact,” he said, winking at Mulan.
“Did you enchant it?” Mulan asked, leaning in to inspect it. To her, the long wooden yuloh looked like the ordinary kind of oar attached to the back of the boat, though this was the first time she had been on a boat, so she couldn’t be sure.
“The best I could.” Lu Ting-Pin shrugged. “I’m still rather limited. But it should be enough.”
“As long as no one gets in our way,” the Rabbit said darkly. “Don’t forget the White Fox.”
“Nothing we can’t handle,” Lu Ting-Pin said, waving his hand as if to brush the White Fox away. “The two of us together are as good as a full-power Immortal, and Mulan here is a might—”
“What did you say about Immortals not telling their knowledge?” the Rabbit interrupted loudly, looking at Lu Ting-Pin with a pointed stare. Lu Ting-Pin met the Rabbit’s eyes, smiled sheepishly, and took a drink from his gourd. Mulan looked at back and forth between them.
“What are you talking about?” Mulan said, when it was obvious neither would volunteer the answer.
“Oh, nothing, nothing,” Lu Ting-Pin said. He held his gourd out to her. “Have a drink?”
“Now you offer her wine?” the Rabbit objected. “Are you purposely trying to ruin her?”
Lu Ting-Pin threw his head back and laughed. “It’s just tea,” he said, chuckling. “My gourds aren’t allowed to make wine yet, you know.”
He handed the gourd to Mulan. She brought it to her mouth, the delicate aroma of tea wafting into her nose. She sipped the warm liquid, enjoying its fragrant flavor, before asking, “Why aren’t you allowed to make wine?”
He took the gourd from her and passed it to the Rabbit, who with a bit of difficulty angled it to drink as well. “Oh, it’s part of my punishment,” Lu Ting-Pin said, watching the Rabbit with amusement.
“Your punishment?” Mulan said. “What are you being punished for?”
The Rabbit put the gourd down and looked at Lu Ting-Pin, whose face suddenly became somber.
“You didn’t tell her?” Lu Ting-Pin said to the Rabbit.
“It is not my story to tell,” he replied.
A gentle breeze blew over the boat, and as it traveled through the ship’s hold, they could hear the Odd-Shaped Rock make a faint whistling noise.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Mulan said, feeling awkward. “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not a secret,” Lu Ting-Pin said. He took his gourd from the Rabbit and drank again. He grimaced, shook his head at the bottle, and looked out over the water. “And we have time.”
I once fell in love with a mortal woman. Her name was Yellow Peony, and even though she was as beautiful as the flower, it was the light in her eyes that transfixed me. When she smiled at me, her eyes seemed to hold all the innocence and hope of the world, and I could not look away.
While we both knew it was wrong, only I knew it was forbidden. Yet that did not stop me. With a single glance, I had already helplessly fallen, and broke the strict moral code of the Mighty Eight Immortals by doing so.
We married in secret and I used my powers to conceal our relationship, deceiving all that came upon us. But we could not hide forever. My seven fellow Mighty Immortals had already become suspicious of me, as my many lies claiming I was with someone else or in other places had become unbelievable. But it was the lake I had conjured that was my true downfall.
For around the home I had made with Yellow Peony, I placed a lake. It was a lovely lake with jade-green water and orange fish flickering through the gentle waves. But I had not placed it there for beauty. I had placed it there so that none could pass our home. I had thought, naively as well as wrongly, to keep Yellow Peony like a treasure from the world—hidden in a house in the middle of a lake, where only I could fly to her.
But a new and unusual body of water is not something the Immortals would miss. Finally, during one of my questionable disappearances, my seven associates decided to search for me. As they flew in the air, they noticed the lake—the lake they had never seen before and that seemed to have appeared from nowhere. Immediately, they went to investigate, and promptly, my deceptions were revealed.
My seven fellow Mighty Immortals were outraged, but it was their disappointment that truly vanquished me. Their judgment upon me was swift and painful. They circled around me, all with their powerful talismans flashing a lightning that seized and held me helplessly into the air. Many of my powers were painfully extracted from me, my penance was named, and I was forbidden to see Yellow Peony or interfere with her life ever again.
This last requirement was agonizing, yet I was forced to obey. And it was for the best, too. I had no right to interfere in her mortal life, I who had removed her from the world and treated her as if she were a flower or a pet. Yellow Peony was a woman with thoughts and a destiny of her own—a destiny I had injured with my selfishness.
Because over time, I slowly heard bits and pieces of what happened to her. She had our child, a girl, in disgrace, as all were aghast by our marriage. But soon after, the Immortals arranged for Yellow Peony to go to another town and create a different identity for herself. She was able to remarry (the Immortals quickly dissolved our marriage after the baby was born) and start a new family and life. However, Yellow Peony could not bear the sight of her eldest daughter, our child. The child she had with me was a constant reminder of my betrayal, our shameful relationship, and the dishonor it had brought her. The daughter bore the brunt of Yellow Peony’s anger and resentment, an acrimony which should have been placed upon me.
And that is the most terrible of all my transgressions. My actions caused a mother to despise her own innocent child, and I shall always be ashamed. Because, even when I have completed my penance, it will never make up for the pain I have caused my poor daughter, who was so rejected that she became known as the Unwanted Girl.
“THE UNWANTED Girl?” Mulan gasped. “Is she…is she the same…” Mulan stole a quick glance at the Rabbit and whispered, “Is she the same girl that became the Red Fox?”
“Ah.” Lu Ting-Pin also looked at the Rabbit. “You told her that story?”
The Rabbit nodded, and a look of sadness passed between the two.
“I should not have interfered,” the Rabbit said.
“You were only trying to help,” Lu Ting-Pin said. “You wanted to give her a chance to find her way.”
“And I led her to the wrong one,” the Rabbit said, gloomily.
“Tuzi,” Lu Ting-Pin said, “the blame is far from yours. Truly, the fault lies between me and the White Fox.”
And at the mention of the White Fox, a strong wind blew, causing the sail to whip against the sky. An ominous darkness descended, and they stood, a sudden dread creeping upon all of them as the boat stopped moving. Mulan peered over the edge and saw that the water was still and smooth, as if the boat were sitting upon black lacquered wood. And when she looked up, she saw that a thick dark cloud enveloped them. A strange feeling of emptiness overwhelmed her: time, sound, and color had been sucked away. Everything—the sky, the sun, the earth—had disappeared into a haze of grey, swallowed by a demon of mist.
“Fog!” Mulan whispered with awe. Her neck ached of stiffness and Mulan realized that she did not know how long she had been staring. The blanket of sky covering them seemed to have held them still in both place and time. She placed her hand on her neck to rub away the stiffness and then grimaced. It was a vast understatement to call this merely fog, but she had no other word for it.
“The White Fox, again,” the Rabbit said, with disgust. “Anything to try to slow us down.”
Lu Ting-Pin whooped with laughter, his bellows even louder in that muffling cloak of mist. “Really?” he boomed, his voice breaking the heavy hush. “This old trick? Is this really the best she can do?”
“She’s already made a storm,” the Rabbit said. “And a swarm of bees and a canyon. She must be just about out, by now.”
Lu Ting-Pin laughed again. “Even with all her centuries, she’s still so uninspired! Spitting rain and blowing smoke!” he snorted. “Well, I can blow, too.”
And with that, Lu Ting-Pin hopped onto the hull of the boat. He grabbed the mast with one hand and threw his other arm out into the fog. The sail remained still, but his sleeve billowed, flapping from the force of his energy. He opened his mouth and took a loud gulp of air. As he closed his mouth to hold in the sucked air, he looked down at Mulan and gave her a wink. Then, making a circle with his mouth, he blew.
A whistling sound trumpeted through the air. It echoed and roared, resonating like thunder from the heavens. The boat shook. Any awe Mulan felt for the created fog was now dwarfed by her wonder of Lu Ting-Pin. A gale of wind was gusting out of him, filling the sail and thinning the fog. The thick gloom that had enveloped them was ebbing away, and Mulan was beginning to see the sky again.
However, instead of the sun shining, a waning crescent moon hung in the sky. Somehow, time had passed and night had fallen.
THE WANING moon’s pale light made a path on the lapping, inky waves. Mulan glanced around in confusion. Not only was it now night, but the moon was much thinner than she remembered it. Also, they were on the open sea. How long had they been in that fog? She looked at both Lu Ting-Pin and the Rabbit, asking the questions with her eyes.
“It’s an old trick, but effective,” the Rabbit grumbled. “She slowed us down. We lost four days.”
Four days! Mulan’s eyes bulged. Had they been frozen in that fog for that long?
“We still have three days left,” Lu Ting-Pin said reassuringly. “And I got us out to sea. So that makes up for some of it, right?”
The Rabbit grunted, but he nodded. He waved at them both and then slowly hopped into the boat’s shelter, presumably to sleep.
Lu Ting-Pin watched him go. As the door shut, he shook his head.
“He’s right,” he said to Mulan. “She did slow us down, and we can’t afford to lose any more time. The White Fox is nothing if not clever.”
“How do you know the White Fox, Master Lu?” Mulan asked.
“Only by reputation,” he said. “I have never met her.”
“But…” Mulan started and stopped, unsure how to explain that Lu Ting-Pin had already met the White Fox as the Hag.
“But I am very eager to,” Lu Ting-Pin continued, misunderstanding Mulan’s stutters. He sat down and pulled his gourd off his belt. He took a long sip, and when he spoke again, all the lightness had disappeared from his voice. “I am very eager to meet the White Fox,” he repeated. “So that I can kill her.”
“Oh,” Mulan squeaked. She stood awkwardly in front of him, her mouth gaping open. He gazed up at her and gave her a wry smile. He patted the floor next to him, beckoning for her to sit.
“Have you noticed anything unusual about my sword?” he asked, offering her the gourd as she sat down.
Mulan took a sip of tea. “Well, I’ve noticed that your sword can turn into a boat,” she said, returning Lu Ting-Pin’s wry smile. “And it’s made of wood.”
“Peach wood,” Lu Ting-Pin specified, ignoring Mulan’s first comment. “When my Immortal comrades cast their judgment on me, they took away my fly whisk so that I would no longer be able to fly great distances, and they turned my two-edged sword into one of peach wood. Can you guess why?”
Mulan shook her head.
“Because the wood of a peach tree,” Lu Ting-Pin said, “has the special quality of being able to kill noxious beasts and demons. And killing demons is part of my punishment.”
“It is?” Mulan said, sitting up. She felt the hot tea flow through to her toes and fingers, and they tingled as if covered with crawling centipedes.
“When this sword”—Lu Ting-Pin patted the wood floor they were sitting on—“destroys ten thousand demons, I will have completed my penance.”
Mulan remembered the conversation he’d had with the Rabbit.
“And you’ve already killed nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine, right?” she asked. “You only have one more demon left?”
“Yes,” Lu Ting-Pin said, “and I want it to be the White Fox, the demon who now controls my daughter. If I kill the White Fox, my daughter will no longer have to be her servant.”
“I thought no man could kill the White Fox,” Mulan said, faintly.
“Just because it hasn’t happened yet,” Lu Ting-Pin said, “doesn’t mean that is true.”
