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As the days passed, Mulan tried, and tried, and tried to be the honorable daughter who would make her family proud. She dutifully sat by her mother’s side and practiced weaving. She let the asional chicken wander away even though her feet itched to give chase. When the boys of the village gathered in the courtyard to play, she did her best not to kick the wayward ball that stopped in her path.
But despite her best intentions, it was hard to always be good. Sometimes Mulan couldn’t control her impulses. Like when she just had to nudge the ball back toward the boys, and it was not entirely her fault that when she did, the kick was harder than she anticipated and the ball happened to hit the poor phoenix statue, knocking off its head. Or when she rode her horse, Black Wind, in from the fields a little too fast and knocked over the neighbor’s laundry??.??.??. again.
As the days, and then years, passed, Mulan continued to tamp down reckless urges. She worked on making sure her hair was pulled back in a neat bun—at least when the day started. And she stayed far away from the shrine and the chicken coop??.??.??. for the most part. By the time she turned sixteen, she had grown into her long, lanky limbs and was tall, lithe, and beautiful. But every so often, the little girl who had broken the phoenix statue would appear—eager to do something wild and daring.
Arriving home one afternoon from the countryside, where she had been racing with Black Wind, Mulan hastily jumped off the horse’s back and put him in his stall. She could smell dinner and knew that she was late. She groaned. Her mother was not going to be pleased. Quickly, she made her way across the courtyard and into her home.
Her family was sitting at the dinner table. Rushing in, Mulan grabbed a plate and joined them. “Black Wind and I rode alongside two rabbits running side by side,” she said, picking a piece of rice out of the bowl. “I think one was a male and one was female??.??.??.” Her voice trailed off as she realized her family hadn’t moved. They were all looking at her, the room silent except for her own voice. “What?” she asked, growing worried. Had she left grass in her hair? Was there mud smeared on her face?
Li nervously wrung her hands. She opened her mouth and then shut it. Mulan’s eyes narrowed. This couldn’t be good. Her mother was never one to shy from stating what was on her mind. But now she seemed almost??.??.??. scared.
“What is it?” Mulan pressed.
“We have excellent news,” Li said, though her voice betrayed her uncertainty. “The Matchmaker has found you an auspicious match.”
Mulan’s breath caught in her throat. She felt the color drain from her face and reached out a hand to steady herself.
<i>
Matchmaker? Auspicious match?
</i>
Those were the words she had been dreading ever since she had turned a marriageable age. For months, she had heard other girls in the village giggling about their own matches and had secretly been thrilled when another day passed with no news from the cranky old woman who made her living setting up the eligible girls of the village. Her dream had been that perhaps no match would ever be found. That she could continue to live her life the way it was—free.
Her sister was the one who daydreamed of an auspicious match. Whenever she could, Xiu talked about the joys of being a wife. On any given night she would tell Mulan about the recipes she hoped to cook, the clothes she would weave. Xiu rambled for hours about the ways in which she would live to serve the man who would be her husband. How happy she would make him—and her family. To Mulan, that life seemed confining and devoid of adventure.
Mulan knew it would not bring the honor her family wanted, and she would never admit it out loud, but she did not want to get married. She could stay and help her parents instead, she reasoned. Perhaps make them proud of her in other ways. Mulan looked to her father, hoping he might say something to put an end to this conversation.
Seeing her daughter’s desperate look, Li’s expression hardened. “Your father and I have spoken about this,” she stated.
Zhou nodded, though he looked sad. “Yes, Mulan. It is decided.”
“But—” Mulan started to say.
Her father cut her off with a shake of his head. “It is what’s best for our family.”
Mulan lifted her head and met her father’s gaze. In that moment, Mulan felt time pause and then rewind. She remembered being in the shrine, staring at her father in much the same way she did now. She remembered looking down at the broken wing of the phoenix statue. The Phoenix who, her father said, would protect her. She had to believe that the Phoenix was looking after her now and would continue to look after her, even after her marriage. Phoenix or no Phoenix, Mulan had made a vow to her father that she would bring honor to her family. Even if it meant sacrificing her own happiness.
Taking a deep breath, Mulan nodded. “Yes,” she said, her voice soft. “It is best. I will bring honor to us all.”
As her mother sighed with relief, Mulan sank down into her chair. While her family resumed their regular table conversation, Mulan was silent, lost in her own thoughts. In one moment, her life and her fate had been decided. She had never felt more miserable.
Far from the tulou, a different fate was being decided.
The desert air was clear. In the sky above, the sun shone brilliantly, causing the walled trading post on the horizon to shimmer as if it were a mirage. One of the few such spots in the vast, sprawling desert steppe, the garrison trading place was bustling. People from all over the world moved in and out, bringing goods to sell or trade. The crowded marketplace was full of the sounds of merchants haggling over colorful silk swaths, carpets, gems, and fruit. A myriad of languages blended together. asionally, a translator’s voice would rise over the din as he helped a buyer haggle for a better price. Despite the electric feel to the air, order reigned. Officials overseeing the trade marked down transactions, keeping those involved honest.
Sitting astride his large stallion, B??ri Khan looked across the steppe at the trading post. Under his light armor, his muscles rippled, his skin covered with a fine layer of dust. Like most of the men around him, his long hair was dark and disheveled. But B??ri Khan did not care about his appearance. He and his men had traveled a great distance to get there, and while they might have looked tired and worn, they were anything but.