So I was watching Mulan the other day ( I was babysitting my mom's friend's kids) and suddenly I thought: what if Mulan had really been a boy named Ping? And so, this happened. I daydreamed about it fr a while, wrote down a draft, typed it on here. If you are against Shang being with another boy, don't read this. Later chapters would upset you greatly ;P
For the rest of you who like a little Shang on Ping action...there isn't much in this chapter. I just wanted you to get a feel for Ping's character. Shang's development will come later.
Sorry to waste so much of your time. Cough, (review) cough!
I must have meant to be a woman, Ping realized one day as he was helping his father feed the chickens. At the time he was only twelve; no child's body had developed yet, and boys and girls were distinguishable only by the length of their hair.
But even then, his family knew he was not the normal little boy. His skin was too soft, as well as his hands. His black eyes were wide and his lips too pouty to look as though they belonged on a boy's face. And as he grew, the only thing that changed was his height and his voice, though it wasn't rough or commanding like most 18-year-old boys'; it was strong yet quiet at the same time.
His father spoke very little of him to strangers and acquaintances, only mentioning him if they happened to see Ping walk by or appear at the door. Fa was kind to his son, usually—he inquired about his studies and friends (though he had few), and often asked Ping to help him with a farming task or household chore. Even to go to the market with him (although Ping wandered off and got into trouble so often now that the offer had declined a bit). But Fa Zhou did not brag about his son; for what was there to brag about?
He was the poorest in his Kung Fu classes, so much so that Zhou had removed him after a year of training. Instead of studying the art of war, Ping preferred Chinese checkers and puzzles. When other boys wrestled in the dust and held contests of strength to win admiring glances from the girls, Ping laid in the grass and daydreamed. He read books on far away countries and learned about medicine. He was slim and soft, with a full-moon face and gently rounded chin. He was shorter than any other boy his age. He preferred the company of animals to people. Peers called him a weakling, a reject of the Fa lineage.
And so Zhou did not brag.
His mother and grandmother now—that's a different story. Though he'd rather spend time alone with his dog (Little Brother) and horse (Khan), Ping found it soothing to sit with his mother and grandmother and help them pick beans while listening-not listening to their quiet talk of gossip and weather and fabric. He helped cook (when his father wasn't looking) and even helped his mother in the garden.
His life was somewhat normal, a normal routine that he could count on. It wasn't a life he wanted, but it wasn't horrible either.
And then the drums sounded.
Their beat reverberated over the river and trees, creating a pulse of alarm throughout the village. People gathered at the town gates as imperial horses galloped in magnificently, groomed pelts shining. One man, mounted on a pure white stallion, raked his eyes over the people like they were ants and unrolled the scroll clutched in his jeweled fingers.
"Citizens!" He bellowed out, "I bring a proclamation from the Imperial City! The Huns have invaded China!" Woman gasped and moaned, children, sensing the danger, backed into the shadows, silent as death. Ping stood against a wall beside his father, heart beating rapidly.
Huns? In China?
"By order of the emperor, one man from each family must serve in the imperial army!"
He started reading names off.
"The Shau family!"
A thin man walked up to him and bowed, taking the outstretched scroll handed for him. Ping closed his eyes and shook his head. No, no...
"The Yee family!"
Ping saw an elder man start heading towards him like a snail when a younger man stopped him and walked briskly up to the rider. "I will serve in my father's place." He announced, bowing and accepting the scroll.
No, not father...
"The Fa family!"
Ping's eyes flew open and he instantly grabbed out at his father's arm. He'd stop him, and take the draft himself, save his father from an awful death...
When his hand was slapped away. He looked up and Zhou turned away from him and laboriously made his way to the rider after freezing Ping with a glare.
He took the scroll.
The rider might as well just behead him now and save his father the trouble of marching halfway across China for it. It was more than a drafting letter.
It was a death sentence.
Ping, holding back tears of anger and humiliation, ran into the garden to hide.
Rain had always soothed Ping; he had thought of it as cleansing of the world by the gods' tears. Or perhaps it was just ordinary water from the gray clouds above. Either way, the rain now seemed to mock him somehow, taunt him about his weakness, his spineless voice, his failures.
He couldn't even save his own father.
His father would leave in the morning; Ping was sure he'd never return. Why couldn't he had stopped him? But Ping knew the answer.
Because he was powerless.
Ping looked up and saw the silhouettes of his parents in their bedroom; his mother appeared to be crying, his father placing his hands on her shoulders. She shook him off and his father watched after her, blowing out the candle as she went.
Ping watched with dark eyes that, slowly, gained a glint of light in them. He got up from the stone he had been sitting on for nearly the entire day and walked to the ancestral shrine.
He was going to save his father, whether Zhou liked it or not.
Upon entering the shrine Ping diligently sparked the candles into life and bowed down to the floor to pray when he heard something. Pausing his breath and listening, he found it to be...snoring?
Ping stealthily stood up and balanced on tip-toe to peer behind a tombstone to see a small red lizard laying on the floor, sleeping, a tiny jet of smoke coming from its nostrils with every exhale.
Ping's brow furrowed. "A lizard?"
Suddenly the lizard stopped snoring and jolted awake, shaking its head and muttering.
"Can't no one get a good nap in here? Old grandpa spirit got me bustin' ass for him all day with polishing and weeding..."
Ping's eyes widened and he watched curiously as the lizard stood up on two hind legs and walked his long, serpent-like body over to where a small gong lay discarded. Upon picking up the gong, the lizard caught Ping's reflection in the shiny surface and whipped its long head around to meet Ping's gaze.
They stood staring at each other for a minute before Ping said, "You can...talk?"
"Well, I don't use many fancy terms like some do, but—" It snapped its mouth shut like a trap door, eyes bulged at what he'd just done. "Uhh..." It scratched its head with claws. "You didn't hear that from me."
Ping smiled. "You're a talking lizard?"
"DRAGON," it almost yelled, pointing at its teeth and tail. "I'm a DRAGON. I breath FIRE and have legs."
"Lizards have legs. You're thinking about snakes." Ping walked around to the other side of the tombstone and knelt down until he was eye-level with it. "So what's a talking lizard doing in my family' shrine?"
"Well, I—DRAGON." Ping stifled a laugh. "I'm...not really here," it started saying, retreating to the shadows and speaking in a ghostly voice. "I'm an illusion, a figment of your imagination...go back to bed and dream of dresses and dolls and...whatever it is girls dream..."
Ping frowned. "I'm not a girl."
The lizard stopped. "Fine. Whatever it is women dream about."
"My name is Ping! I'm the only son of Fa Zhou and a boy! I will not be called a girl by a talking lizard."
"I'M NOT A LIZARD! MUSHU IS A—"
"Mushu?"
The lizard stopped waving its arms.
"Your name is Mushu? Wait a minute..."
Ping studied the names of the family's guardians on the wall until he found what he'd been looking for. "You're a guardian?"
"Well, I..." Mushu paused and his lips pulled back into a smile, showing small needle-sharp teeth, his golden slits flashing. "Yes...yes, I am a guardian! In fact, I am the mightiest guardian of all! I watch after your dreams at night! I whisper the wisdom you think into your head! I have guided the greatest warriors through the greatest battles! I—"
Ping's eyebrows shot up at the last grouping of feats. "You what? You guided them through battle?"
"I watched over their souls and necks—"
"I'm going to battle right now."
Mushu faltered in his powerful speech. "What?"
"I'm gathering my things and heading off tonight to camp and training with the other men. If you're really my guardian," Ping crossed his arms, "come with me."
"I...uh..." Mushu stumbled over his words.
"But of course, you're probably not powerful enough to help me, are you? You'd probably get eaten by a hawk the first hour we're out on the road like most lizards are." Ping put out the incense and started walking away. "Just stay here in your cozy shrine while us real warriors are off claiming names for ourselves—"
"I'LL GO! You should be thankful you have the powerful Mushu with you to save your sorry b-hind!"
Ping smiled humorlessly and entered the house quietly, listening to the sounds of uneasy sleep from his parents and grandmother. He slipped into his room and placed a few changes of clothes in his sack, then snuck into his father's room, taking the draft from his nightstand.
He proceeded to putting on the armor (which was much more tedious than expected) and tied his father's sword around his waist.
Ping opened the doors to the stables as a flash of lightning spooked Khan as much as Ping's fierce appearance did—he managed to calm him down and mounted him, taking one last look at his home. He felt Mushu leap up onto the saddle and settle in a saddlebag comfortably.
"Your family doesn't know?" He guessed.
Ping just nodded. With a "Ya!" he spurred Khan through the gates.
0*o*0
Ping rode through the night, certain he would have a cold after the wonderful run in the cool rain. Khan sensed his urgency and unease and ran faster than he ever had before, though Ping directed him carefully over slick hills and slopes.
Ping stopped only after Khan's breath grew dangerously short and wheezy, letting him lap up water from a nearby pool and grazing a bit before settling into a steady sleep. Ping, too anxious to sleep, sat under a tree and watched the late morning sun play with the light on the leaves. Mushu bothered him for food and Ping nodded absently, giving him a few dumplings.
"Aren't you going to eat?" Mushu asked while scarfing down his food. Ping shook his head. His stomach felt so tight and jumpy he doubted he'd be able to keep any food down.
"What's wrong with you? Teenage hormones got you all moody?"
Ping shot him a glare and sighed. "I just...my father probably knows by now I stole his armor and left...he'll be furious."
Mushu licked his scaled fingers. "'Steal'? Why didn't he give you his armor? Surely he'd be proud of his only son marching into battle for him."
Ping winced and looked down, plucking a few strands of grass from their roots. "...I don't think he's ever been proud of me. Why would he be?"
Mushu opened his mouth and closed it again. He didn't know what to say.
0*o*0
Ping arrived at camp the next day on a tired horse and set up his tent a few yards off from the others. For an hour or more he struggled with the poles and robes used to keep it upright; it ended up tilted on one side with a huge dip in the middle. But it was Ping's first time assembling a tent, and he was somewhat proud he had finished it, no matter how terrible it looked next to the perfectly assembled tents of the others.
He left his sword in his tent and tied Khan up loosely, though he knew he wouldn't roam too far. Mushu nestled in the back of his tunic, behind his head. His scales scraped lightly against Ping's sensitive skin, making him shiver slightly before entering the main camp.
Everywhere he looked there were men; eating, arguing, spitting, toe-picking, shouting, carrying boxes, loading weapons, carting supplies. The air was filled with grunts and grumbles and deep voices, and smelled like food, sweat and unwashed socks.
Ping swallowed his disgust when he saw a large, overly hairy man spit onto a plate and scrub it with a dirty rag to clean it.
He was so busy watching his surroundings he forgot to watch where he was going and ran straight into a towering wall of fat and fell back down. He looked up to see a huge guy with a bald head and a calm face gazing down at him with soft eyes.
He stooped down and effortlessly plucked Ping from the ground and set him upright on both legs like he were a doll. Ping blushed and gave a shallow bow right as another man—short and sturdy, and walking kind of like an ape—came up behind the giant, along with a man that resembled a noodle for his skinny torso and long legs.
"Who's the girl?" The short one asked in a gruff voice. To his horror, Ping felt his blush brighten.
"I'm not a girl!" He squeaked out. He cleared his throat and repeated in a low voice, "I'm not a girl. I'm Fa Ping."
"'Ping'?" The short one asked, nudging the noodle-man roughly. "Ay, Ling, you here that? Her parents named her Ping. Must look like her father."
"Hey," Ling said back, "Don't joke about her father, Yao. You know how sensitive girly-men are." They laughed while the fat guy blinked apologetically at him.
Ping heard Mushu whispering to him.
"They're testing you," Mushu said. "It's what guys do. Punch him."
"What?"
"Just give him a punch in the arm."
Ping shook his head but did as Mushu said and raised his arm back and brought it down, aiming for his arm. But at the last second the man shifted to the side and Ping's fist connected with his rather off-putting face.
He toppled back a bit, and his face turned purple, his eyes narrowed.
Oh, shit.
Ping listened to his screaming instincts as the short man came at him and turned, running away. All three gave chase; Yao, Ling, and the Buddha man. Ling and Buddha probably to try and keep Yao from killing him to violently.
For the second time that day, Ping ran into another person; but this wall was firm, not fat, and warm, and smelled ever so slightly of linen and pine needles. Ping looked up into a pair of fierce, if right now slightly surprised, brown eyes darker than overturned earth. His face was broad and angular, with high cheeks bones and a strong chin. His eyebrows were thick, his neck even thicker. His broad shoulders sported a royal red cape over his armor that was sightly richer than Ping's own. He could only be a year or two older than Ping, but stood almost a foot taller than him. Which meant he had a few inches of height on other men.
The men behind Ping tried to stop; Yao tripped and fell straight against the huge pot of rice the cook had been cooking for the entire camp. Grains of rice flew everywhere and the men got into a fist fight over who had spilled it.
Ping saw a scrawny man in royal clothes stand behind the impressive man and smirk condescendingly at him while writing something on a board with a brush.
"Welcome to your first day, Captain Shang."
Shang glared at him and then shifted it at Ping.
Ping felt like he would have rather been killed by Yao.