Walk like a man, talk like a man
In hindsight, Mulan wasn't quite sure what Mushu had to offer in the way of mastering the Manly Walk. He was a dragon, after all, and surely all his advice pertained to more Dragonly natures – this "shoulders back, chest high, feet apart, head up and strut" thing just wasn't working out for her. People were starting to stare, and Yao, being Yao, never once let her walk past without remarking on it.
"Are you trying to smuggle rice there, or are you just hiding girl parts?"
For the family honour, she would think and bite her tongue. She needed to be Ping, not Mulan, the Girl Who Always Spoke Her Mind. Every time this happened, she found herself reining in her performance a little: shoulders shifting forward, legs no longer being propped at an awkward angle, and her head down. Whether it was because she finally walked around like a normal human being, or because keeping her head down meant she could stay low-key and not meet anyone in the eye, the laughter over her movements finally stopped.
There were always other things she got picked on for, though. (In many cases, it wasn't a conscious kind of bullying, just good-hearted needling whenever there are large groups of men – boys, in some cases – and they sometimes got carried away. Ping was one of the most well educated and just stood out amongst the rest, for reasons unknown to them, and thus, he was the obvious target.)
The way she spoke, all honourifics and formalities, while she didn't exactly quote Confucius at every turn (she could never remember the Three Obediences and Four Virtues), it was different enough to the 'common man' that the soldiers in training would tease her endlessly for her qings and xie xies. Honestly, it wasn't her fault – Mulan was her father's daughter, but she was also trained by her mother; she embroidered (badly), she brewed tea (passably), and she didn't swear.
Such was the way of life here, though, that she quickly learnt. Functionally, she knew the words, but she could never bring herself to say anything out loud. It was in the third month of training, when she finally let one slip.
"Cao ni ma de gou tou si sheng zi!" she cursed in pain at Ling, who had just socked her in the jaw so hard she spat blood. As soon as she said it, she clamped her hands over her mouth. That was one of the most offensive string of insults she could have said.
She half-expected Ling to punch her in the face again, but the soldier just laughed uproariously and gave her a rough pat on the back. It was one of those moments, she later understood, that indicated his non-verbal acceptance. From then on, Ling never made fun of her girly handwriting, or the way she pronounced things (properly), and he never once raised an eyebrow when he found out that she could sew, and mend their clothes.
She's a rule breaker, dream maker, love taker
"Don't tell Shang."
They were in a small city, on their way to the Tung Shao Pass. Well, maybe 'city' was too strong of a word, but it was the first town they came to that wasn't mostly crop fields and simply-built houses. This place had a tavern, it had more than one restaurant, it had people wearing colours other than brown, and their clothes were sometimes made from fabrics fancier than cotton or muslin. It had, to the visible excitement of a few of the men, a brothel.
Fraternising with prostitutes were strictly forbidden within the army, of course, and there were always the few who disobeyed orders, of course. Most leaders turned a blind eye to the more outrageous activities of their soldiers, but somehow this team doubted Li Shang would be one of them.
This was why, then, as Yao and Ling were sneaking out – dragging a somewhat reluctant Mulan with them – they told Chien-Po to keep his eyes open and his mouth shut. The former monk did not have the same appetite for women, nor the libido, and opted to remain behind while his friends went on this particular misadventure. Mulan- no, Ping, cursed Ping, gave in too easily to coercion and peer pressure.
They scaled the walls of their rest stop, forgoing doors, although Mulan, forever practical, thought that they were being overly dramatic. They snuck along the street, Ling bent comically in half, placing his steps as quietly as he could.
"This was such a good idea, Ping," he said in an exaggerated whisper, even though the night was young, the lamps were lit, and all they did was draw unnecessary attention to themselves from passerbys.
Mulan, her blush having only just faded from that afternoon, turned red again. She opened her mouth to protest, but what came out was just incoherent babble that sounded more like high-pitched squeaking than anything else.
An interlude, or, how Mulan convinced everyone it was a good idea to go to a brothel
The markets were a good idea originally, she was sure of it. She couldn't quite remember the reason she had, now, with the small stack of silk handkerchiefs in her hand. They were vended to her by a shady-looking merchant (at the time, she just thought it was desperation for a sale), expensive for handkerchiefs, certainly, but she needed some, and the seller had disappeared with her money before she could get a good look.
Well, she was getting a good look at them now, and she wished she hadn't.
If wishes were horses, she'd now have a Khan for every single soldier in her battalion. Yao had noticed the dumbstruck Ping – she wished he hadn't. He took the silk scraps from her before she could react – she wished he hadn't, or that she had been able to throw them away instead of standing there blushing like a girl. A lewd grin soon surfaced on Yao's face, and he called Ling over, sniggering – she wished the earth would just open up and swallow her whole.
"Well, well, Ping," Ling said, now wearing an expression Mulan hoped never to see again during her natural born life, "I didn't think you had it in you."
Yao seemed to have noticed how red she had gone, right into her neck. "You know, I still don't think he does."
"I- I do, I'll prove it to you." Stupid Ping, Mulan thought as soon as she spoke. Stupid boy.
Yao raised an eyebrow, only he never learnt how to do that, so the effect was him raising both eyebrows, and a flaring of the nostrils.
"Yeah," Mulan continued weakly and a little lamely, "I'll- I'll keep them. I bought them, and I'll keep them."
"I don't know," Ling was still unable to keep his eyes off the handkerchiefs. It had been a long time. "It'll take more than some sutra prints to prove it to us."
"Hey guys," Chien-Po finally caught up to them. He smelt strongly of powder and perfume, and there was a red scarf stuck to his collar. "I just got attacked by some girls – they wanted me to come into this place, The Golden Lily Pavilion? They were really giving me the hard sell."
There was a glint in Yao's eyes that Mulan did not much like.
"Come on, you know brothels are against army regulations," she thought she was being clever and bold, striking preemptively. She hardly even balked at the word 'brothel'.
Ling, he of selective hearing, only seemed to catch the part most relevant to him. "Going to a brothel? Ping, you cad!"
He shoved the handkerchiefs back at Mulan, who almost dropped them before pocketing the whole bunch quickly. "Who needs sutra prints when you can have the real thing? Yao, Ping, Chien-Po, we are getting some girls tonight."
The girls were dressed colourfully, lit by the lanterns at the Golden Lily Pavilion, waving their scarves and handkerchiefs, trying to entice the unhappy, the lustful, or just the passing-by. Yao and Ling quickly found themselves suitable matches, and each retired to a room in a haze of tobacco smoke, leaving Mulan standing uncomfortably in the foyer, not entirely sure what to do with herself.
She was quickly surrounded by a gaggle of girls. Their madam was determined to pick the perfect one for this young, shy-looking boy.
"What's your name, soldier?" Madam's smile – more of a leer, really – didn't reach her eyes. Mulan could feel the worth of her wallet being estimated.
"How do you know I'm a soldier?" She asked meekly, her eyes watering from wanting to sneeze.
Ignoring the question, Madam waved a hand to beckon someone, and the perfume on her sleeve was so strong that Mulan did sneeze, a little on the dainty side. She did remember to wipe her nose roughly with the back of her hand, though.
"Hua Hua, take good care of this patron here. Sir?"
Hua Hua was leading the way to one of the rooms, and Mulan had no choice but to follow. She snuck glances at the girl as they walked – Hua Hua wasn't particularly pretty, simply average-looking, but her hair was clean, she was wearing less rouge than the other prostitutes, and so far, she had not uttered a word.
"My name's Ping," Mulan found herself saying, despite herself.
Hua Hua just nodded, letting Mulan into the room before closing the door behind them. Still silent, she began to untie her belt.
Mulan gulped. "No, stop. Stop."
Her eyes are so big, Mulan thought, as Hua Hua stared at her with intimidation evident in her face.
"Shall I serve sir some other way?"
"No, no," Mulan shook her head and waved her hands, because speech wasn't sufficient enough by itself to get the message across. "There'll be no serving anyone anything today."
"Oh. Shall I fetch someone else more to your liking, then, sir?"
"Really, no-" Mulan scratched her head, exasperated. "You know what? Stay here. You can serve me tea."
To emphasise her point, Mulan sat down at the table, assuming a manly sort of stance, all sprawled and knees apart. Hua Hua paused for a moment, before busying herself with the tea set on the table.
"Is Longjing tea acceptable, sir?"
"That's fine," Mulan smiled encouragingly, surprised that they even had Longjing.
Silence fell, Mulan flashing back to the times she had to serve tea to guests, and keep quiet. Sometimes, she enjoyed being Ping, if only for the brief power that she had. (Brief because she'd quickly feel guilty, and not be able to enjoy it properly.)
"Why don't you sit down?" Mulan suggested after she was handed the small porcelain cup. Blowing on the tea to cool it down, she hooked a foot behind a stool and pulled it out from beneath the table. "Sit."
Clearly uncomfortable, Hua Hua made to sit down, but instead hovered on the edge of her seat. Mulan took a sip of her Longjing, then, feeling awkward, reached for the pot and poured out another cup.
Wide-eyed, Hua Hua stared at the tea that was now being offered to her. Her look of shock was so exaggerated that Mulan couldn't help herself – she started to laugh.
It would've been easy for the night to go downhill from there, but it didn't. They started to talk – talk! Hua Hua would later tell her friends, but none of them would believe her. They didn't think there existed a man in the world so disinterested in sex – until eventually, the candle wore down, and Hua Hua fell asleep on the bed. Mulan threw the blanket over her, before going to sleep herself, drooling all over the table.
Close to dawn, Yao and Ling emerged almost simultaneously from their rooms, and shared a sly grin: training today was going to be hell on Earth, because of their lack of sleep, but neither of them much cared. Knocking on the door to Mulan's room, their grins only became wider when she appeared, bleary-eyed and yawning.
"Long night?" Ling asked, elbowing a sniggering Yao in the ribs.
"Yeah," she answered, taking a fraction of a second too long to remember where she was, and why her friends were wearing those expressions on their faces. "I mean, no! No, we just-"
Yao's booming laugh cut her off. Turning to leave, he cuffed Mulan on the back of the head proudly. "Ping, you dog."
Shang and the little Chinese seamstress
This was getting totally out of control.
Shang didn't have to be straight-laced all the time. He could be lenient, he could let things slide. The last time they passed through a big town, he even turned a blind eye to some of his men's visits to the brothel, when it was clearly against army regulations, as well as his personal moral code. He was turning into a pretty good leader, he thought, but even he couldn't ignore the fact that his men were looking more like beggars than soldiers, so long have they gone without someone with deft fingers to mend their clothes. Shang himself still had back-ups in his trunk, but they were his own; the army simply couldn't afford to provide new uniforms for soldiers-in-training, not when there was a war going on.
Their training, all rough and tumbling, did nothing to help. Demonstrating a modified form of the arhat fist, Shang felt the seams around his shoulder rip. Hastily, he relaxed his stance, and indicated for the men to pair up and practice. Supervising them, Shang wandered the rows, correcting a position here and there, until the figures of Yao and Ping distracted him so much that he almost got knocked over by Chien-Po.
After bouncing off the man's belly, Shang continued to stare. "Soldiers!" He stopped their spar, and walked over briskly.
"Yao, are you aware that there is a hole in your trousers?"
Yao straightened. "Yes, sir."
"And you are aware, then, that it is positioned over your backside?"
He glanced over to Ping, who was keeping a straight face, but couldn't seem to meet Shang in the eye. Ping's uniform, Shang noted with a little surprise, were well-worn, but completely devoid of rips and tears that marked the others'.
"Ping." He didn't realise he'd spoken out loud until the soldier answered.
"Captain?"
"Do you know how to sew?"
;;;
They were never going to let her live it down. The moment Mulan brought out her sewing kit from her bags, Yao burst into a fit of derisive laughter, while Ling tried very hard to hold it in.
"I learnt from my sister," Mulan said defensively.
"Did she also teach you how to give birth to a child?" Yao snorted, clearly forgetting that she was doing them all a favour by patching up their clothes.
It was a chore and a half, now that the camp knew she could sew. Partly on orders from Shang, partly just out of helpfulness and responsibility and all of that, Mulan became the unofficial tailor and launderer. She washed everything before she started on mending them – if she had to fix up these men's clothes, she'd rather not do it when they were still sweaty and smelly.
Mushu, as usual, was very little help, strutting around and giving her instructions that she'd do better not to follow. The dragon had to dive into a pair of Chien-Po's pants when someone lifted the flap of her tent and poked their head in.
"Er," Shang said, beckoning for her to come outside. "And bring your sewing kit with you, please," he added, when she was about to put everything aside to follow him.
He led Mulan to the main camp, ducking into his own tent. Mulan had never been inside before – it was spacious and bright, very sparse and completely clean, apart from his table, which was covered with papers. A small pile of clothes were laid besides the table, all folded neatly.
"I'm starting to run out of things that don't have holes in them," Shang said, by way of explanation. He seemed incredibly embarrassed by the fact that his clothes had any wear and tear; Mulan had to hide a smile. "If you don't mind- I've washed them-"
Normally, she wouldn't have interrupted her commanding officer, but she felt this was an acceptable exception. "It's fine, Captain. That's more than I usually get."
Mulan smiled in what she hoped was an encouraging sort of way, and she was glad to see Shang return it after a beat.
"Thank you, Ping," and he sounded like he meant it. "I really appreciate it. I'll- leave you to it, then."
She waited until Shang exited the tent and sat down, giving his garments a quick flip through. They were clean – and smelt faintly of peonies, she noted – Shang no doubt as meticulous in this as he was in everything else, but it was still a pile.
"Well," Mulan found herself quoting her Captain, "let's get down to business, eh?"