Mulan, page 11
Another cool breeze brushed her face, and there was a soft thumping noise behind her. When Mulan turned around she saw the Rabbit looking at her. How long had he been watching? She felt the shame fall on her like a heavy boulder. What was he thinking? Did he wonder why she had a bottle of poison? Could he tell she had been with the White Fox? Would he ever trust her again?
The Rabbit’s head cocked to one side and his nose twitched as his eyes went from the bottle in Mulan’s hand to the scorched earth in front of her and then to her face. He looked up into her eyes, and his brow furrowed as if he was confused.
“Your face is clean,” he said.
“YOU COULD not have told me anything while you possessed that honey,” the Rabbit told Mulan. “While you held it, the White Fox was able to keep you from talking about her. It’s an old trick—she was ‘sticking your lips together’ to keep you from speaking unless she wanted you to.”
“That’s why it was always so hard to talk when I was with her!” Mulan exclaimed. It had been a great relief to finally tell the Rabbit everything. As they ate their morning meal, Mulan described all her encounters with the White Fox—from receiving the honey to last night’s turbulent scene. “But wasn’t it poison?”
“It was definitely poison,” the Rabbit said, crunching on a date. “If you had eaten it, yes, it would have killed you eventually. But before it did, not only would you not have been able to speak unless the White Fox wanted you to, you also would have had to do her bidding.”
“Do you think that is what happened to the Unwanted Girl?” Mulan asked, aghast.
The Rabbit stopped midchew and his ears drooped. “I have no doubt,” he said.
Mulan looked down in chagrin. A sadness always came over the Rabbit when she mentioned the Unwanted Girl, and, remembering those two glinting eyes staring at her in the darkness, she could understand why. How different would that girl’s life have been if she had not become the Red Fox?
“And what about the peach that she wanted me to pick?” Mulan said. “Is that poison, too?”
“Oh, no,” the Rabbit said. “That peach is the Queen Mother’s prized Fruit of Longevity. If you eat it, it will fix your ailments and give you up to six thousand years of life—more or less.”
“So Daji was right when she said the peach could save Xiu?” Mulan asked.
“The peach would keep Xiu alive,” the Rabbit said slowly, and then looked directly into Mulan’s eyes. “But at great cost.”
The Rabbit’s words fell like stones in water, and he did not offer more. But he didn’t need to. Just from the way he spoke, Mulan’s heart chilled.
“Daji had it all planned out, then,” Mulan said.
“Yes.” The Rabbit nodded absently. He stared out into the sky, lost in reverie. “Interesting that she still calls herself Daji. I misjudged her.”
“What do you mean?” Mulan asked.
“She must have, in her own way, cared about the emperor,” the Rabbit said. “I thought she only wanted to control him.”
“She controlled the Emperor?” Mulan said, her eyes bulging.
“Not this one,” the Rabbit said quickly. “The emperor of the last dynasty. She’s the one who really caused its downfall.”
“She caused its downfall?” Mulan asked. “How?”
The White Fox has used many names and taken many forms. Her favorite form is that of a beautiful woman. As the centuries have passed, she has perfected her art and is able to make herself into a creature of such surpassing beauty and charm that few are able to resist her.
The last emperor of the previous dynasty, Emperor Zhou, was not one of those few. He succumbed to her immediately and with unmatched passion. As soon as he saw her, he made Daji his royal companion and lavished gifts upon her, sparing nothing to please her and indulge her whims.
The fastest horses were whipped to exhaustion weekly, racing back and forth from the southern part of the kingdom just to fetch fresh, ripe fruit for her. The fuel in the charcoal heaters was broken into pieces and mixed with costly honey to sweeten the smell that offended her delicate nose. And, because Daji enjoyed the sound of silk ripping, rooms were filled with the finest handwrought silk just for her to tear.
However, this was just a tiny drop of Daji’s exorbitant demands. The peasants of four hundred villages were forced into slavery to build her an enormous jewel- and jade-studded palace with a resplendent garden, complete with a hand-dug lake of wine. Servants hung snacks of roasted meat from the branches along that lake just for Daji to pluck and eat while she passed the time upon her three-story boat of gold and marble. And one day, when a leaf fell from a tree in front of her, she insisted that it—and any other fallen leaves—be replaced on its branch by a leaf made of silk. She quickly bankrupted the kingdom.
But it was not just her whims and excess that brought about the downfall of Emperor Zhou; it was also her cruelty. Soon she grew bored of boating on wine and picking delicacies and searched for other entertainment. When she heard that a true sage would have seven holes in his heart, she had all the wisest men of the kingdom killed and their hearts brought to her so she could see. When she saw an ant accidentally cooked after it fell into a frying pan, she had the emperor devise a similar execution for his enemies, delighting in their torture. But she was at her most heartless when she developed the notion to see a battle. Not a theatrical fight, nor one with a few soldiers, no. Daji wanted to see a battle in a real war with hundreds of thousands of soldiers.
So, to please her, Emperor Zhou declared war on a neighboring kingdom. Even though the battle had already begun when she arrived, Emperor Zhou forced his men to stop combat to find a good vantage point for Daji. He commanded his soldiers to build a road up to a cliff’s ledge, and only after Daji was lounging on that ledge in a rosewood chair, comfortably fanned by her handmaid and dining on fruits, did he allow them to continue the fight. Daji watched the carnage below, thrilled, but eventually even the brutal butchery became tiresome to her and she wished to return home. So even though his soldiers were winning, the emperor halted his troops midbattle and retreated.
All were aghast at the meaningless death of so many men. So when a few days later, Daji declared she wanted to see another battle, only bigger and bloodier, the kingdom revolted. A new emperor was declared and troops of all regions rallied to follow him, not to march to battle, but to attack their own capital. The suffering commoners amassed at the city gates, eager to join the rebelling soldiers. As they stormed the palace, the Imperial Guard turned to fight with them, only to see there was no opposition. All demanded the end of this callous reign of blood and extravagance. Trapped and without any supporters, Zhou was easily killed by the new emperor’s son, and Daji, with the help of her handmaid, hanged herself.
Or, at least, pretended to hang herself. A day later, when Daji’s body was retrieved for burial, they found, instead of a body, a stalk of bamboo. The White Fox, leaving behind her usual trail of blood and destruction, had escaped again.
“Emperor Zhou! He was the evil emperor that nearly destroyed the empire!” Mulan said. “My father helped end his reign! I knew Emperor Zhou was bad, but I didn’t know the White Fox was the cause of his wickedness.”
“Emperor Zhou was more foolish than wicked,” the Rabbit said. “Though he didn’t have that much goodness, either. He truly worshipped Daji with the devotion given to a goddess. I suppose that is why she wants revenge.”
“Revenge?” Mulan asked.
“Zhou was killed by our present emperor, establishing his father’s—and now his own—dynasty,” the Rabbit said. “The White Fox wants him to suffer.”
“So that’s why she wants to kill Xiu!” Mulan said, suddenly understanding. “The prophecy said Xiu is going to save the Emperor! The White Fox wants to make sure she doesn’t.”
“The White Fox wants nothing to stand in the way of her vengeance,” the Rabbit said. “I’m sure she has a special death planned for our current emperor.”
“But she couldn’t kill him, could she?” Mulan asked, suddenly envisioning Daji swooping upon the Emperor with a dagger. “I mean, she would be killed if she tried, right?”
“The White Fox has declared that no man can kill her,” the Rabbit said. “And for more than ten thousand years, her claim has been true.”
You will see me again, Daji had said. And you’ll be sorry, too. Mulan shivered, knowing that this was true as well.
“THE CITY of Rushing Water is not a large city, at least not now. Today, it’s really just the size of a village, and a small one at that. The people there are not very well educated,” the Rabbit said. “It’s probably best that we pretend that I am…”—he hesitated here, and Mulan could imagine the Rabbit’s disgusted face—“your pet.”
Mulan grinned. It was safe to do so, as the Rabbit couldn’t see her. He was, as usual, on her back, and she was starting to feel incomplete if she didn’t have him there. The road they were riding on had widened and was lined with thick groves of trees. They were almost to the village.
“All right,” Mulan agreed, trying to keep the snicker out of her voice. “They will probably just think that anyway.”
“Yes,” the Rabbit said, “but I will have to keep silent when we are in the presence of others. I will not be able to talk and should act as much as possible like a normal rabbit. In the city, you will have to make the decisions on your own.”
Mulan felt the joviality leave her. “But what about your friend?” she asked. “How am I going to find him?”
“If I know Lu Ting-Pin,” the Rabbit said, “he’ll find us. If he’s there, that is.”
“What if he’s not?” Mulan asked. The Rabbit was silent. He was quiet for so long that Mulan wondered if he had fallen asleep again. “Rabbit?”
“I don’t know,” the Rabbit said, finally.
Mulan felt as if her insides were turning to ice. “If he’s not,” Mulan said, forcing herself to speak, “how will we save Xiu?”
“I’m not sure,” the Rabbit said. “Perhaps another way will show itself to us.”
Now it was Mulan’s turn to be silent. She was not comforted by the Rabbit’s words. She thought of Daji and how she had mistakenly thought Daji was an Immortal who was helping them.
“Do you still think there is another Immortal helping us?” Mulan asked. “You thought so at the Butterfly Fairy’s house. Maybe they could help.”
“It’s possible,” the Rabbit said. “But it would be more helpful if Lu Ting-Pin is at the City of Rushing Water.”
Black Wind’s hooves clomped against the ground, a lonely sound in the emptiness. The road was broad enough for carts and horses to pass both ways, but the overgrowing brush and fallen branches that Black Wind continued to sidestep told of its lack of use. When one particularly large branch needed to be heaved out of the road, Mulan couldn’t help complaining. “Does no one care for the roads here?” she said.
“Not anymore,” the Rabbit said. “A long time ago, the City of Rushing Water was thriving. Boats often docked there, so it was a bustling port.”
“What happened?” asked Mulan as she hoisted herself back onto Black Wind.
“It was always a fast-moving river,” the Rabbit said. “That is why it was called Rushing Water, of course. But one day, the river turned wild.”
“Wild?” Mulan said, “How can a river turn wild?”
“The fast-moving water became dangerous rapids,” the Rabbit said, “and it began to flood without warning. Any boat that tries to sail the river now is smashed against the rocks and destroyed.”
“What happened to the people?” Mulan asked.
“Well, most of the homes have been ruined by the floods,” the Rabbit said. “Anyone who could left a while ago, and the area has become quite poor with few prospects.”
“Oh,” Mulan said, mentally adjusting her expectations. She hadn’t realized it, but she had imagined Rushing Water as a grand city, with tiled roofs winging out like swallowtails and ornately carved wooden windows. It seemed like the place should be majestic if they were going to meet Lu Ting-Pin, one of the Mighty Eight Immortals. He used to be one, the Rabbit had said.
“Rabbit, why… ?” Mulan started, then stopped, her question evaporating. Because in the distance, the city had come into view. Or at least the city wall had. Looming before them was a long grey stone wall, stained from weather and age. Worn pillars lined the way to the gate, and the road was paved with broken, crumbling bricks of past prosperity.
Black Wind trotted dutifully, his thudding hooves making an uneven melody on the broken road. The gate jutted up from the wall like a turret, with two curved roofs, the corners reaching skyward, layered on top. The large archway entry was echoed by the smaller one above it—a second-floor sentry lookout, Mulan supposed. But it was empty now. Perhaps the sentry had joined the gathering at the gate’s opening. For in front of them, through the curved mouth of the gate, they could see a huge crowd of people that stood inside the city’s entrance, watching Mulan’s approach.
“Rabbit,” Mulan whispered, slowing Black Wind, “I think they are waiting for us.”
He peeked over her shoulder. “I think you are right,” he said.
“What do you think is happening?” Mulan asked.
“I don’t know,” the Rabbit said before ducking back into the pouch. “But you will not be helped if you are seen talking to me.”
“Rabbit!” Mulan hissed. He did not answer, and as Black Wind continued forward, she knew he would not speak again. She felt her heart thud with Black Wind’s every step as the hundreds of eyes stared at her. None of the people waved or beckoned. None smiled or nodded. They all just watched her grimly, as if she were marching to her death.
Mulan gulped. She was almost at the gate now. “Hi!” she called, trying to sound pleasant and lighthearted. “Hello!”
But her friendly greeting might as well have been a battle cry, for as soon as she was through the gate, the people surrounded her with an undercurrent of menacing grumbling. She tried to shy away from the sharp ends of bamboo spears pointed at her. One man, who wore leather armor and seemed like an official soldier, reached up and gripped her arm.
“You’re coming with me,” he growled.
“ALL RIGHT! I’m coming!” Mulan protested as the brandished spears waved at her and the man’s hand tightened on her arm. She slid off the horse and found herself swept up by the mob, Black Wind’s reins ripped from her hands.
“Black Wind! My horse!” Mulan cried out, trying to reach back for him. But the crowd ignored her plea and pushed her. Instead, they muttered to themselves—a low growl from starving wolves. Mulan caught some of the grunts swirling around her as she moved forward helplessly. “It’s her.” “Just like she said.”
“What do you want from me?” Mulan asked, looking around desperately. “Where are you taking me?”
But no one answered or looked directly at her; all were dour and glum, as if determined to finish an unpleasant task. Even the official-looking soldier with the leather armor and metal spear marched her along without meeting her eyes. As he stared ahead stone-faced, she realized his expression reminded her of her own when she was sent to kill a chicken for dinner. Mulan shivered.
As they trudged through the unkempt streets and past ramshackle buildings with tattered paper windows and rotting wooden beams, she kept trying for an explanation. But it was to no avail. None answered her. Soon Mulan could see they were headed for the river. Another crowd, a larger one, waited for them there. The second crowd made a path for her, gawking wide-eyed. “But she’s just a young girl,” Mulan heard a voice say. “Shh!” someone else hissed. “Do you want them to take our daughter instead?”
Mulan could now see that she was headed toward a landing by the river, its water dark and turbid. The waves struck the ancient dock with angry blows, as if punishing it for past misdeeds. That crumbling and creaking platform was almost like a stage, rising slightly above the throngs of people with a large, odd-looking rock—a hulking, twisted white shape that seemed to be cringing from the water—as its usher. Through the weather-carved holes of this misshapen rock, Mulan could see two people waiting for her.
One was a short, rather rotund man. Mulan guessed that he was the magistrate, or at least some sort of official, from the black silk hat that stuck up from his head like a rectangle fan. His fur collar signified his comparative wealth, as did his plump, well-fed face.
His well-off appearance struck a strange contrast to the other figure on the landing. For next to him stood a malevolent hag. She was wrinkled and bent, her white hair hanging around her warty face in grimy clumps and her pale rags drooping to the ground like dirty puddles. But it was her eyes that made her menacing. She glared at Mulan with such viciousness that Mulan flinched.
Mulan felt herself pushed past the strange boulder and onto the landing in front of the Magistrate and the Hag. At a loss, Mulan bowed politely. The Magistrate gaped at her awkwardly, his soft face wearing an uncomfortable expression.
“It was just as she said,” the soldier in the leather armor barked. “A girl on a black horse, riding through the gates.”
“Ahh,” the Magistrate said, tapping his fingers together. His raised eyebrows came down slowly. “Well, I guess the River King,” he said as he bit his lip, “shall have his bride, then.”
A roaring murmur crossed the crowd, and Mulan had to speak loudly to make herself heard.
“What?” she said. “What are you talking about? What is all of this about?”
“You!” screeched the Hag, pointing a gnarled finger at Mulan. “You are the River King’s bride. Without you, he will continue to flood the city and anger the waters. You must join him at the bottom of the river!”
“What?” Mulan gasped. Her thoughts were crashing in her head like the wild waves of the river before her. If she went to the bottom of the river, she would drown! What madness was this?
