A sense of impending doom hung over the Hua household. They had managed to ignore the events of the afternoon for the rest of the day, but now, as they gathered around the dinner table, the tension was thick.
Mulan played with her food. She had no appetite. How could she when there was a rock in the middle of her stomach from the thought of her father fighting the northern invaders? Beside her, Xiu took a half-hearted bite and then put down her food. She wasn’t hungry, either.
Across the way, Mulan’s mother hadn’t even bothered to take a plate. She sat with her eyes locked on Zhou. Unaware, or choosing to ignore the looks from his wife and daughters, Zhou ate with gusto.
“You’re a war hero,” Li said, her words soft as she broke the silence. “You’ve already made many great sacrifices—”
Zhou didn’t let her finish. He knew what she was going to say. “Are you suggesting our family not comply with the Imperial edict?”
The words were out of Mulan’s mouth before she could stop them. “But how can you fight when you can barely—”
Zhou’s fist slammed onto the table, stopping Mulan midsentence. Fury filled his face. His wife and daughters looked at him aghast. He had always been a man who prided himself on restraint and keeping his calm. This outburst was unlike him—and it was frightening.
“I am the father!” he said, his voice booming through the small room. “It is my place to bring honor to our family on the battlefield. You are the daughter.” He paused, his eyes boring into Mulan. “Learn your place!” Pushing himself to his feet, Zhou limped from the room.
At the table, Mulan sat still, her head hung low. Her father’s words stung. Not just because of their tone, but because of the meaning behind them. Her father had always been her biggest supporter. He had always encouraged her to be who she was; even when she was trying to hide her impetuous nature, she had still felt his love and encouragement. She had always believed her father knew that she wanted more, could be more.
But she had been wrong.
And worse still, his stubborn pride was going to put him in mortal danger.
As if reading her thoughts, Li stood up and walked over to her daughter’s side of the table. She grabbed Mulan’s hand and then Xiu’s. “We must be strong,” she said. She paused. And then her eyes welled and her hands shook. Even she could not follow her own orders. “This time he will not return,” she said, letting the tears fall. Her shoulders slumped and she sank to the ground, overcome by emotion. “How will we survive without him?”
Mulan looked at her distraught mother and then at her sister. Both were now openly weeping. Her mother was right. If her father went to fight, he would die. If her father died, he would leave them with nothing. And as Mulan had just destroyed her one chance at a match, there was no hope for a future husband to help their family if Zhou were gone.
The truth was clear. If Zhou went to war, none of them would survive it.
The house had grown quiet. The sounds of her mother’s sobs had faded, and her sister, tears drying on her cheeks, had fallen into a restless sleep as Mulan tiptoed across the living area toward the large cabinet that stood in the corner. The ornate piece was one of the only items of worth in their home. When she was a girl, Mulan had been forbidden to go near it, and even as a young woman she’d kept her distance.
Until tonight.
Mulan took a deep breath. The idea that had come to her as she lay in bed had started as just a flicker of a thought, as she heard her father’s words echo around her head. Learn your place, he had said. Her place, she knew, was clear—to her father, at least. Her place was in the home, taking care of a husband she most likely would never have. But what if her place were different? What if she had been born a boy? It would have been her place to go fight the invaders. And that was when the idea blossomed. Why couldn’t she fight? Who was stopping her? All she needed was a suit of armor, a weapon, and a horse. Well, she had the horse, so that left the weapon and armor.
Which was how she had ended up here, now, standing in front of the family’s cabinet.
Slowly she opened the cabinet doors. They squeaked slightly and Mulan froze. When no candle was lit and no noise came from the family’s rooms, Mulan let out her breath. Then she opened the doors the rest of the way.
Inside was her father’s suit of armor and sword. The very same suit and sword he had worn into battle years ago. They looked brand-new. Her father lovingly cleaned both at least once a week. Mulan’s eyes lingered on the sword. In the light from the lantern at her feet, the metal seemed to burn with an internal fire.
Mulan pulled the sword free from its display. Her hands dropped under the surprising weight and she shifted to keep her balance. She stayed still for a moment, getting used to the heft and feel of the metal in her hands. Her father had, on the rare occasion his leg wasn’t bothering him, taken the sword out and practiced in the yard. He had made the movements seem so fluid that Mulan had always assumed the sword was light as a feather. But in her hand, it was heavy and awkward. As she tried to lift it straight in front of her, her eyes flickered over three words etched into the blade itself. Squinting, she read: LOYAL. BRAVE. TRUE.
As the moon moved from behind a cloud, the room filled with white light. In that moment, Mulan caught her own reflection in the steel of the blade. As she turned the sword this way and that, her features changed. Her cheeks grew sharper, her eyes wider, her lips thinner. She looked like a different version of herself.
What was a hint of an idea began to grow. Why couldn’t she be herself—and someone else—at the same time? Why couldn’t she take her father’s place? She had everything she needed right there in front of her. She could be a soldier. She lowered her arms and stretched the sword out in front of her, her eyes as steely and strong as the weapon itself.
Mulan was no longer going to let others decide her future. She had tried to keep her promise to bring honor to her family by parading in front of the Matchmaker. She had, for years, practiced her weaving. She had learned to be silent and rein in her wildest impulses. She had practiced pouring tea and made countless dinners. Yet no matter how hard she tried, she had always seemed to fall short. So now she would bring honor to her family in another way.
She would become a warrior.
Holding the hilt of the sword in one hand and awkwardly carrying the armor under her other arm, Mulan made her way back across the living room. Passing by her parents’ slightly open bedroom door, she could see her father’s face, stubborn even in sleep. Beside him, Li slept fitfully, worry creasing her forehead. Mulan wished she could wake them and tell them goodbye. She wished she could tell them how much she loved them and how much she wanted to make them proud and keep them safe. But instead, she made her way upstairs.
Throwing a few things in a small satchel, she hesitated in the doorway. In her sleep, Xiu let out a small whimper. A fierce wave of love rushed through Mulan. She knew that the moment she stepped out of their house, she would risk never coming back. Even if she was to survive the army, which she very well might not, her reputation was unlikely to survive what she was about to attempt: pretending to be a man to fight a war she had no place in. She knew the odds were against her, but she also knew she couldn’t let her father go in her stead.
He had been right. She had to learn her place. But that place wasn’t here.
The sound of thunder woke Zhou. Stirring under the covers, he turned his head and looked through the window at the ominous gray sky. Something fluttered in his belly, and his leg, which ached on a good day, pounded with the impending weather. Something was wrong. He knew it.
Pushing off the sheets, he lowered his feet to the floor and tiptoed out of the room. A boom of thunder echoed through the house, and Zhou froze as Li stirred in bed. When she settled, he began to tiptoe once more.
As he entered the living room, the feeling in his stomach worsened. Across the way, he saw the cabinet with its doors slightly ajar. His fear growing, he walked over to the cabinet and swung open the doors.
It was empty.
Zhou gasped. “My sword and armor!” he said. “They’re gone.” The words were loud, the emotion behind them thick. Hearing footsteps behind him, he didn’t even turn as Li entered the room and raced over.
“Who would do such a thing?” Li asked as she, too, took in the empty cabinet and then her husband’s pale face and shaking hands.
Awoken by the commotion, Xiu appeared in the doorway. She rubbed her eyes, still half asleep. She barely registered the empty cabinet. Instead, she noticed something—or rather someone—else that was missing. “Where is Mulan?” she asked.
Mulan
. Zhou took another ragged breath. What did Xiu mean? Mulan was in her bed, where she was supposed to be. But a look at Xiu told him he was wrong. A thought, one that he desperately didn’t want to be thinking, began to take shape. His own words yelled in frustration and anger echoed back to him. Learn your place, he had said. He had seen the hurt on Mulan’s face, but in the moment, he had been too absorbed in his own pain to care. But now . . .
Turning from the cabinet, he searched the small living area. Watching him, Li raised an eyebrow. “My conscription scroll,” he said, answering her unasked question. He had to find it. If he couldn’t, it could only mean one thing. He brushed aside the plates and empty bowls, looking for the paper that he had left there hours earlier.
But it was gone. In its place was Mulan’s lotus comb.
Zhou raised his eyes, his gaze meeting Li’s. The terror he felt was mirrored on his wife’s face. They understood what the missing armor and conscription scroll meant.
“You must stop her,” Li said, holding a trembling hand to her heart. “The northern invaders will kill her!”
Zhou bowed his head. Mulan had never wielded a sword in anything but play, and even then it had been a stick, not a real weapon. She would fall in the first fight. But if he went after her and exposed her lie, her fate would be the same. Her own people, the other soldiers and the leaders of the army, would never let her live if they found out she had betrayed them. He could not stop her. Leaving his wife and daughter weeping, Zhou exited the house and made his way to the phoenix shrine. He didn’t hear the thunder or see the lightning. His head was too full of grief. He had done this. He had pushed Mulan away and sent her to her death.
Entering the small shrine, he kneeled in front of two large tablets. The spirit tablets were said to hold the wisdom and spirits of all the ancestors who had come before. They were supposed to hear and answer prayers. He had to hope that they heard his now. “Ancestors,” he whispered. “I . . . I ask for your help. My daughter has made a terrible mistake. Please protect her.”
His prayer done, he let the tears fall. Behind him the storm arrived. And somewhere out there—alone—was his daughter.
Mulan,
he thought,
I’m so sorry. Please come back.
With his head lowered, Zhou did not see a small, ugly, and misshapen bird emerge from behind the phoenix statue. One wing hung low and its head was bent at an odd angle. The bird eyed Zhou for a moment and then hopped down from the statue and made its way out of the shrine. It shivered as the first rain touched its feathers, and then, with a resigned sigh, it scurried—one good wing flapping while the other dragged—out of the tulou.
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