The First Battalion encampment was ghostly and quiet, bathed in the soft blue of the oncoming morning. Li Jiang tossed aside his covers and the cold hit him like a kick in the chest. It was the penetrating cold of early January, which crept like a hungry ghost into his aching muscle.
Nevertheless, rise he did. He carefully arranged himself on the meditation mat in the middle of his small tent, directly facing his makeshift desk, where an old hairpin was placed neatly among the rest of paraphernalia.
The image of her smile was what brought him peace, he thought. And true enough, most mornings he would expand past his body into a peaceful void of nothingness. But recently, there was particular doubt that had been assailing him. This particular guilt was gaining persistence after the Emperor's assassination attempt.
You should admit what you've done. How could you claim absolute loyalty to someone while sleeping with his concubine? That's the biggest hypocrisy in history! The voice in his head said.
She was mine first! He tried to justify. When her disapproving father found out one of his daughters had her heart enraptured by a low-rank soldier, he deliberately sent her away to the Court and straight onto the lap of the Emperor! How could a father do that to his own daughter? The universe ought to abhor such a cruel, demeaning action! There were no words sharp enough to describe his revulsion towards that old man.
He wanted the best for his daughter, the patricial part of him reasoned. And you… you have made a promise to accept this for Xia's sake.
But life in court wasn't all gold and glitter, there was plenty of demeaning ruse, vicious competition and dirty politics among all the courtesans to win the Emperor's favor. Refusing to participate wasn't even an option. This was the way of life, the only way to survive!
Such great stress of living life against her will finally took its toll on her body. Even after he took her out of that damning place, eventually she died, and she took his heart and his world with her.
But then came Shang. That little boy had turned his disappointment and bitterness into forgiveness. Shang had brought him peace, and through him, Jiang had learnt that he had not been wrong to trust Xia's judgement and accepted the harsh truth that they were not meant to be together―not in this life.
I'll mark time by you forever, Xia.
He turned to the map on the table, marked with pins, flags and scribbles of him and his fellow fighters. Last night, they had learnt that a large number of Huns warriors were moving towards the border, possibly heading towards the capital. He suspected the death of one of their key warriors might have triggered this sudden act of revenge.
Li Jiang sighed. When would this vengeful cycle end?
There was a voice from the front of his tent. "General Li. Someone is here to see you."
"Are you sure about this, Your Highness?" Li Jiang clasped his hands, addressing the women in plain ruqun concealed under muted coloured cloaks. Unlike the usual official royal visit, this one was clearly done without the knowledge of others. It was quite clear from the size of the entourage and unusual modest way she both dressed. "I mean, sneaking into the Hun encampment to kill the Great Khan is not going to be an easy feat for an experienced fighter. This kind of plan needs long, meticulous devising."
"Of course, General Li. Don't you think I've thought through it many times over before coming here, miles away from home, just to see you?" Princess Zetian countered, removing her hood and dismissing her footman.
Li Jiang saluted her, apologising. "I beg your pardon, My Princess. I don't mean to insult you." He glanced up, catching the glimpse of the Imperial cart outside his tent with its curtain tightly drawn.
When it was left just the two of them, Zetian finally let down her guard.
"How's the Emperor?" Li Jiang began.
Zetian let a slow breath. "No improvement so far. He is still very weak."
"Di-Tan is the best physician in the entire Chang'an. He is in a good hand," he placated. "Does he know you are here?"
"No. I can't burden him further. Which is why I ask you to do this for me."
"My Princess," he said patiently. "In all due respect….I am due to lead this very important mission to stop Shan-Yu and his army to…―"
"Uncle Li," she said pleadingly. "You are the only one who can help me. All Huns best warriors are marching to the frontline, leaving their Khan sparsely defended. This is quite a unique opportunity."
"Princess," he pleaded again. "If anyone found out, this potentially could propel bitter war in both countries. Don't you think we should consult..."
"The war will happen sooner or later. Have you not heard how many villages the Huns had destroyed? If we don't retaliate now, they'll destroy us! They'll leave the bone of our kingdom to bleach in the sun!"
She paused, taking a deep breath before resuming. "I won't lie to you...that this mission could… bring fatality. But I have an immediate concern that I can't share with anyone," and she lowered her voice. "I know who is the assassin, it was the Huns Princess! I think…her plan was so secretive that she had to go and do the job herself."
"That makes sense," Li Jiang nodded thoughtfully.
"But even if she were successful in removing the Son of Heaven, she wouldn't be benefitted from this, not directly... " Her eyes flashed and Li Jiang saw unmistakable hatred embedded there. "Except... she was working together with..."
"An insider, " Li Jiang concluded. He had heard this rumour before, a while ago, whispered among the Palace Intelligence, but no one could confirm the ultimate truth of the allegation.
"The Forbidden Palace was a veritable rabbit's warren of hallways and hall," Zetian said. "And the secret passage interwoven into it was so complex it took anyone years to explore! Well, except she was given… a map."
And who else in the entire Wei could possibly have had access to the Palace map complete with its secret passageway?
"Shao Wei..." Li Jiang said in disbelief, staring at the Princess. "Your Highness, I've sent my son, Shang, to personally accompany Prince Shao Wei while he was in Wuzong, and so far Li Shang hasn't reported any tangible evidence that suggested he was a threat to the throne. But, of course... I never thought that he…"
"Oh... you better believe it," Zetian balled her fist. "He promised to kill the Great Mongol Khan, and Princess Altan did the same in return," she hissed. "But of course, after killing my father he had no plan of killing the Khan. I can tell. That clever bastard. He just wanted the throne and let the country raged in war!"
"Princess, this...this is a very serious allegation. Are you sure?"
"I've never been so sure in my life."
"But..." Li Jiang struggled to get his head around it. Shao Wei might be a master of deception, but he couldn't imagine he was capable of this level of crime. "He could've just asked a few of councillor and generals to put on a good word about him to the Emperor. Your father had always fond of him of anyway. Shao would own the throne sooner or later. "
Though angry tears threatened to fall, she still stared at him defiantly. "Uncle Li, tell me, are there any generals, civil servant or advisor that would stick his head out to fulfil my brother's whims? Just name me a name."
It was a rhetorical question. Everyone knew, despite his title, Prince Shao Wei would never receive any support except if it was directly approved by Prince Wei Zhang or the Emperor. So yes, perhaps it was just a sweet talk on Shao Wei's part in manipulating the poor Huns Princess who was clearly thinking more with her heart than her head. Perhaps, Shao Wei just couldn't wait any longer.
"So you planned to execute his side of the deal and assassinate the Khan?"
"Not just the Khan, but also the Princess," Zetian laid out. "You shouldn't wound what you can't kill, Uncle Li. She might pose as a threat if she plotted to avenge his father's death in the future."
Li Jiang thought he knew this too well. He knew exactly how it felt to have his loved ones ripped out of him. The wound, oh… it never healed, in fact it had driven him to commit a few despicable acts too shameful to mention. So, what could be a worse enemy than a heart-broken princess who knew where they all sleep at night?"
"As for Shan-Yu, we might win his good side by helping him to rise to the throne a bit earlier. This, in itself, might end the war. And...we all get what we want!" she added.
It seemed like Zetian had thought long and hard about this. It's probably nothing that could change her mind, so Li Jiang clasped his hand. "I'll try my best, My Princess."
She let a small, nervous smile as if suddenly she had a second thought about what she just planned out. "Uncle Li, I've thought of leverage so that you can approach the Great Khan. But before you disapprove, hear me out. I will..."
And suddenly someone burst in. Li Jiang jumped into stance, brandishing his sword.
"Gen….General, I apologise for my lack of mannerism," said the figure, who clearly didn't expect such brutal welcome.
"Cousin Wei Ting!" Zetain exclaimed. "We've agreed that I..."
"Cousin Zetian, please…let me finish," she said firmly, pulling her hood to reveal herself before saluting him.
"The Honorable General, I heard you are the hero that singlehandedly had slain countless enemies and saved the Emperor in the process. I entrust you with my life with the conviction that these stories about your fabled fighting skill are but a fraction of your actual ability." And she turned to look at Zetian, who stared at her wide-eyed.
"You must take me to the Great Khan... my husband to be."
Shao stormed into the Golden Lotus quarter where Ting Ting had been spending her weeks in solitude. Plenty of guards and maidservant guarded the establishment to ensure the Princess remained comfortable albeit being confined in her room.
"What do you mean you don't know where she went?!" Shao thundered. The rows of maidservants fell to their knees, face to the floor to avoid his vindictive glare.
"Tell me or I..!"
"Your HIghness!" beckoned a voice from the far end of the room. Shao saw the unmistakably effeminate gait of a man who emerged from behind the bowing servants. Baoxi, the head of the Harem.
"It's not the maid servant's fault that they can't say where she is," he explained.
"So, you have something to tell me?" Shao shifted his sharp gaze.
Baoxi bowed deeply, clasping his hand. "Princess Wei Ting….she went early this morning with Princess Zetian." That explains it. Some random kidnapper or outsider wouldn't be able to just sneak in unscathed. But, Why's Zetian?
"To where?" Shao demanded, voice trembling with fear and anger.
"I…" Baoxi lifted up his face only to meet his spiteful gaze.
"Tell me! Or you and all these maids' lives would end on the gallows!"
Baoxi fell on his face again, begging his mercy. "To see Gen….I mean...someone who is with the First Battalion. That's...that's all we know Your Honor!"
"What? Who?" His roar was only met by nervous silence.
Frantically he zipped into Ting Ting's room, looking into her writing desk, her drawer, her closet for any clues. All of her stuff was still neatly folded, but her travel pack was missing, including her comb, her make up case and the cashmere blanket that belongs to their late mother. It was almost like… she had planned for this! Yes, perhaps Zetian lured her, but Ting Ting wasn't a brainless damsel who's going to just believe every manipulative word she said. So she had gone willingly!
Damn it!
He ran through the courtyard, ignoring the curious gaze of his uncle's consorts and their maidservants. In usual situations, he would catch up with Zetian himself, but now he was unofficially under house arrest, he won't be allowed to leave the Harem let alone the city. He needed someone. But who would help him? Due to his own absurd, immature behaviour and life choices, none of the Generals, Lieutenants or Admiral would be that enthusiastic in assisting him.
Shao balled his fist, swallowing his pride as he hurried towards the guard's barrack.
He cursed under his breath when the only one he found was Admiral Zhi, the youngest and most ambitious inner circle soldier he knew. It was common knowledge that to climb the rank one must either possess the necessary prowess in combat skill, or avidness in manoeuvring one's seat in the political arena. He had seen how the Admiral claimed all the credit of whatever positive outcome that might win him the good side of the Emperor. It was ironic really, but the man was as much a manipulative snake as he was!
"Admiral Zhi!" he said as he stepped into the courtyard.
"Your Highness," the man halted his sword training, clasped his hand and saluted him.
"Admiral, I believe you have a few people great in combat-ready at your disposal?" Shao said, straight to the point.
The man ended all the empty formality and straightened his back as they exchanged glances. "I know that your humble servant is beneath your pavilion to enquire." Shao could see the corner of Admiral's mouth threatening to tick upwards into a wry smile. "But it must be something that the Young Prince of Wei came to my humble abode and asked for….help?"
Shao ran through all the diplomatic replies he prepared while attempting not to be mentally riled. "That's right, Admiral Zhi. I need your help," Shao replied neutrally. It was a commendable effort on his part to limit the sarcastic edge on his statement. "Princess Wei Ting had left the premises this morning. I want you to find her and take her home!"
"She left?" he asked incredulously. "But His Majesty had given personal order for tightest security around her living quarter."
Fine. Shao sighed, revealing his cards. "She has…. run away, with...with someone."
Shao watched as the wheels turned in Admiral's mind before he tilted his chin and gave a bemused laugh. "And isn't that karmic retribution has fallen upon you, My Prince? Now, someone has avenged you your own ruse. Now tell me, has she fallen in love with some street scoundrel that you disapproved of and elope with him?"
"Admiral, I get it that you despise me!" Shao seethed. "But let me remind you: I am still above your station!"
Admiral Zhi ran his fingers on his beard in faux-thinking. "Considering your precarious position in this palace after your deceitful stunt faking the death of Princess Wei Ting, I suspect that you have no options. Otherwise, you would've run to your dear father and begged him to send battalions of the Imperial Army to seek her. "
Shao refrained from the urge to slap the man insolent mouth. "What are you getting at?"
The Amiral cleared his throat, smiling at him. "Considering the risk of this mission. It is only fair if your humble servant would like to ask for a favour in return. Your Majesty is our future Emperor after all."
Shao crossed his arms, knowing the man owned the better end of the bargain. When he became Emperor he said? Ha! If he ever became the Emperor! His father, who's still strong and healthy, was the second in line. And even if he was the third, he would need to need a candidate for a wife suitable to be an empress before eligible to rule as an emperor.
"Name me your price."
"A General of the highest rank would suffice," he stated.
Shao narrowed his eyes. "I can't possibly give you a title that would overstep other Generals with longer years of service," he debated.
"Well," the man shrugged, delicately placing his sword back into its cover. "That's up to your own creativity in crafting excuses. I heard of your fabled creativity in this department."
Shao breathed slowly through his nostril. "Fine," he relented. "Kill whoever resists your mission and take the Princesses home. But leave no trace nor evidence."
"Understood, Your Honor," he bowed, Shao swore he could hear victorious smirk in his voice.
"Good." He departed, but couldn't shake the foreboding that he had just sold his soul to the devil.
Mulan's wound had healed nicely by the time she had to return to Wuzong camp. The regiment was divided into smaller groups, each with their own task. To her own delight, Ling, Chien-Po, and Yao were in her team. But the best news was before they were all under the leadership of the hottest Captain in her most biased opinion, Shang.
Inexplicably after months of secretive crossdressing, Mulan found life as a man was a breath of fresh air. It certainly had its benefits and perks.
"You've got what?!"
"Shhh," she shushed the Dragon. "A tattoo," she whispered as they continued to march. Ling, Yao and Chien-Po were a few paces away in front of her, busy bantering something about women and food. "Stop being so dramatic. It's only small, and I hid it under my arm, safely covered under my clothing, no one will ever see that," she added when Mushu voiced his worries about everyone's disapproving reaction.
"Does your father know?"
"Uh-huh," she shook her head proudly. "I'm a grown woman, I don't have to get a man's approval on everything." She pulled her sleeve just enough for him to see something peeking under her chest binding. "It's a dragon," she said. "A homage to you," and there came the derivative cackle. No, it wasn't any sort of homage because Ling and Chien-Po were getting one too, albeit in more respectable locations. "I suppose it's a manly thing to do, y'know, getting a tattoo?"
Mushu snorted incredulously. "And you expect me to be proud of having the image of myself tattooed on your armpit? Whose idea was it?"
"It's under my arm!" she argued. Mushu rolled his eyes to another dimension. "But I did ask the counsel of my two significant others." Mushu raised his nearly non-existent brows. He nearly burned his own tongue when Mulan candidly said they were Khan and her beloved dog, Little Brother.
"Right you are," Mushu said in the most sarcastic way possible.
"They have good taste!"
"I won't ask the opinion of a creature who licks his own butt."
Mulan grinned. "At least we know his butt is clean!"
That morning, they received a message that a large group of Huns warriors was heading towards China via Tung Shao Pass. A battalion of Imperial Soldiers was sent to intercept, but no news had been heard since, so Shang's team was sent to find out why.
"I can't sleep, I miss Su already," Chien-Po muttered as four of them sat on the back of a horse-driven cart, courtesy of one of the linen traders that insist his transport will help them get to the next town faster. In the background, Yao was snoring loudly.
"You'll see her soon enough for the Lunar Festival," Mulan placated, "I bet she'll make you moon cake."
"Oh! The one with double egg yolk is my favourite," Chien-Po brightened. "She told me I can have the whole box of mooncake next time I return…." and his mood suddenly changed. "But I still need to watch my weight."
"For the love of moon-cake, count your blessings! You don't have a pseudo-erudite cretin posh boy to please," Ling berated.
Chien-Po clicked his tongue, praising Ling's serious attempt in improving his vocabulary to match his sophisticated royal acquaintance. "That's my friend, giving insult a whole new meaning!"
Mulan patted Ling's back in faux pity. "But your brother-in-law-to-be is filthy rich. You know that love can't buy money, but it'll buy a hell of a lot of moon cake…."
"And a large kitchen….a large kitchen full of food," Chien-Po said dreamily.
"Speaking of which, did you get a chance to see Ting Ting at all?"
Ling's face turned sour at that. He said nothing.
"She is in unofficial house arrest together with Prince Shao Wei," Chien-Po leaned closer to her, whispering. "Apparently no visitors are allowed."
"Really?" Mulan was surprised, turning to Ling. "But you still can write her a letter, right?"
Chien-Po shook his head. "No, apparently no contact with the outside world. No. Nada."
"Ugh, Ling, I'm sorry I don't know tha…"
"Well, that's because you were spending hell a lot of time with our hot Captain. Wait… scrap that, your hot captain. As if going home and sharing a bed with him is not enough," Ling said curtly.
"Wait, what?" Mulan was consciously lowering her voice. "Ling, he is my husband. Of course I will have to spend most of my time with him when I'm..."
"No… not in this encampment he is not," Ling cut his glance to the side, crossing his arms, pretending to look at the dark landscape that was zipping by. "And if you didn't get injured, when are you planning to tell us about your relationship to him exactly?"
Mulan's mouth fell open. Ling's resentment was not entirely baseless considering he was her best friend first and foremost. There should be no secret between them. And Ling, bless his heart, had been entirely accommodating in playing an accomplice role in her deception. The smallest act of gratitude she could do was at least being totally honest with him.
"Ling, I was planning to tell you!"
Ling pursed his lips in the most theatrical way. "No, I get it. You only care about Captain Li."
After the incident that sent her sleeping in Shang's tent, she must admit she had her life all circling around Shang and nobody else. She was eating, training, sleeping with him! Although Ling's antics sounded incredibly childish, it was understandable he would react this way. "Wait, Ling… are you… jealous?"
When Ling remained quiet, Chien-Po jumped to lighten the mood. "Jealous? Why should he?" Chien-Po slapped Ling's back, nearly sending him out of the cart. "I mean, Ling isn't the shiniest Yuan in the bank, but look at him! He is kind, has a great sense of humour, a big heart and…. a cute ass! Of course there's no competition!"
Usually, Ling would reciprocate with a crazier rebuttal by saying 'Thank you, my obese-punk friend'. But apparently, he wasn't in the mood for usual ludicrous banter. "Whatevs guys, I'm going to bed," he scooted to the back of the cart where Yao already curled up among their belongings. Mulan exhaled slowly as she watched him go.
"Don't worry, he'll come around," Chien-Po soothed, patting the empty spot next to him. "Here. We might not get any more sleep after tonight."
Mulan obeyed, laying her head next to Chien-Po's ample bosom for warmth.
On the back of the cart, Ling crawled onto his spot, back to back with Yao. He pulled his blanket, but the conversation he had with Mulan still spinning in his head.
"Something in your head," Yao mumbled sleepily, obviously was awakened by the commotion.
Ling couldn't help but to admit. "...Yao?"
"Yes?"
"Do you think I have a cute ass?"
Yao froze, before suddenly turning around, repressing a loud whisper of "WHAT?"
Ling shushed him before repeating, quieter this time. "Do you think I have a cute ass?"
Yao's left eye twitched. He groaned and flopped back into his sleeping spot. "Ling, go to sleep."
"But Yao, you haven't…"
"Let me rephrase: you go to sleep before I smother you with your own bag."
"Ack, alright then."
The next morning Ling was positively in a better mood, perhaps good rest had quelled his frayed nerves. Mulan was swift to apologise, and Ling reciprocated by telling her his regret of being a little bit testy. Afterall, Mulan was not the only one who had been hiding some secret from everyone. So Ling told her what had been burdening his mind all these weeks.
"So I was…..pregnant?" It sort of explained all her fatigue and nausea. Now she knew it wasn't down to bad dumpling or Shang's unspeakably ruthless training.
"And after you were stabbed...I'm sorry, I'm just… I don't know how to tell you!" Ling said sullenly. "I know you'll be broken-hearted!"
Mulan couldn't blame him, she knew exactly how hard to confide this kind of secret even though it was even a greater torment to keep it under wraps.
"I understand, Ling," she said with a forced smile. A few months ago, a child wasn't what Mulan had wished for. She had wished for peace, so her father would be allowed to retire at home. She wished her mother was still here. Alive. A mother that had been years becoming her rock. But now, some part of her had dreamt about this―about having a bit of her and Shang to make their household complete. However, now wasn't a time to mourn.
"Well, my sister and I were rowdy hellions when we were little. I saw my long-suffering mother growing more white hair every day, and she only has two! Imagine my aunt who had seven! Seven!" Yao clicked his tongue. "It amazes me that people want that kind of responsibility."
"You should ask my mother," Chien-Po said. "There are only four of us, and we eat more than the entire village combined! I swore she spent her life in the kitchen."
Mulan smiled, as callous as it sounded, her friends were only trying to cheer her up.
"So, is this what you've been talking about all night?" Yao turned to Ling. He was still curious about what kind of conversation he had missed that led to the discussion of the level of attractiveness of Ling's posterior. Chien-Po gladly brought him up to speed.
"Are you saying Ling's butt is more attractive than Captain Li's?" Yao questioned Chien-Po's crude insinuation. "Wait, does that mean... Chien-Po you have…? How? When?"
Chien-Po gave him a look. "Ack, are you kidding me? I've never seen the Captain's…―ugh, gag! But I have a general idea from the look of his abs."
"Rrrright…" Yao tapped his chin. "No wonder Ping was always distracted when he was around."
"Hey!" Mulan gave him a punch on the shoulder.
"I wondered how it felt to be that… hot?" Chien-Po drifted.
"It must have been exhausting. I mean look at his mood! No offence, Mulan," Ling did the best imitation of Shang's stern demeanour. "Pretty boy who is pretty good at granting your death wish!"
"Thank you Ling for making me sound like a suicidal fool for marrying him," Mulan deadpanned, and stared at the rest of the men.
Chien-Po cleared his throat. "You'll be like that too if everyone was talking behind your back about your ass…"
Suddenly, the cart slowed down. They could hear Li Shang's commanding voice informing the entourage to stop, sounds of his footsteps approaching.
Chien-Po gasped. "Please tell me he didn't hear us. I haven't saved any money for my wedding let alone for the funeral bill."
"Guys!" Ling alerted them as he stuck his head out of the window.
Within a moment, the entire mood had changed. The light banter was over when they approached the entrance of the village that was nothing but a mast.
The stench of brimstone was the only thing that overpowered the smoke of the burning field in front of them. The bodies of the entire Imperial soldier laid dead, faces contorted into agony, eyes staring soullessly into heaven―a grotesque fate of those unlucky ones to have suffered such a horrible end. Bonfire peppered the field, and with absolute horror, the new trainee saw their war ensign was torn into two―a sign of defeat. For days, that was no news about the battalion now they knew why.
There was no survivor.
Mulan glanced to his right, to the line of soldiers who shared the same terrified expression as she was. Ling was right beside her, his hands and lips trembled, whether it was from fear or anger.
"They were outnumbered…" Yao said as he checked the corpses. "...but still trying to save every villager here."
On closer look, Mulan noticed there were almost no remains of ordinary citizens at the scene. Yao was right, the battalion must have let them escape with their horses.
"Captain… captain," came Chien-Po's urgent call. "I found this," he handed a bloodied helmet with the General emblem engraved on it. There was no mistaking who the helmet belonged to.
"...but the deceased…'
"We are unable to identify the body, Captain," Wu interjected. It was bad enough to see the dismembered remnant of one's comrade, but reimagining the horrible death of your own father would be a nightmare that one would carry to the grave.
Shang was silent, but by the clenching of his fist, and the quivering of his lips, Mulan knew the emotional battle brimming underneath.
"Captain?" she called him quietly, approaching him.
She watched his figure automatically straighten up to his usual soldier stance, the iron mask fell on to his face even though his eyes were still focusing on the bloodied helmet on the ground.
"I'm sorry," she could only say.
Shang said nothing. Wu jerked his head inviting the rest of the recruit to give their captain the time and space to be alone. Mulan was the last to leave.
She watched Shang prayed from afar while her heart wrestled with an adversarial force that demanded her to hug and comfort him.
They soon regrouped. Wu led them through a shortcut through one of the caves, which had bought them a chance to catch up with the Huns who, by the look of the trail of footprints in the snow, were circling the mountain ridges. Even though the odds of them surviving (let alone winning) this battle was non-existent, Shang didn't look nervous at all. Mulan wondered whether he had prepared himself for this.
How about her? To be honest, after escaping death a few times, Mulan didn't really care what was going to happen to her. Hell, she would be perfectly content to die in the battle―not having to return home and providing everyone with a complicated answer about her prolonged disappearance.
But what disturbed her the most was the possibility of losing the one standing beside her.
They arrived in Xi'an that night. The soldier morale was undoubtedly shattered after the fatal defeat of the First Battalion, and they were a team of the best, well-trained soldiers. To enlighten their dampened spirit, Shang had given them the night off and allowed them to visit the bar, brothel or whatever else they'd like.
Mulan spotted the glimpse of her husband and a few of his comrades entering the bar later that evening.
She waited for at least an hour to make sure no one spotted her. Then, she sneaked through the backdoor, which thankfully left slightly ajar. The loud sound of music, feminine giggles drowned with baritone yell leaked through the gap. Setting her heart at will, she knocked the leaf of the door firmly.
A woman, the same age as her mother, peeked her head. She was wearing a putrid green ruqun with a neckline lower than appropriate, while the rest of the fabric clung loosely unto her body to hide her nonexistent curve. Her makeup was so thick and her lipstick so red made her lips look like she'd been punched. Mulan grimaced at the sight, but quickly wore her dispassionate soldier face.
"Mister, the front door is that way," the woman indicated, "The back door is for workers only!"
Mulan pulled her helmet and set her bun loose and removed her armour. The woman gasped.
"I am not here to work, Ma'am. I just want to meet someone, he is among the crowd, but I don't have a suitable outfit," she explained.
The woman looked puzzled but pulled her in nonetheless. "How much would you offer for…―"
"Here," Mulan placed a few yuan. Since it was far more than a soldier would pay for one of her girls, the woman grinned contentedly before shepherding Mulan to one of the rooms to change.
They walked through a dark, dingy corridor that fanned out into numbers of rooms. All sort of lustful moan, rhythmical grunting, panting and groaning could be heard, which expected considering they lived in shared commodity with walls and doors quite literally made from paper.
A soldier was pinning a young woman onto the wall of the corridor. The girl giggling profusely as his curious hand undressing her in earnest and his lips worked zealously kissing her neck.
Mulan cringed.
"There is no room for modesty in the brothel, Dear," the woman said, responding to Mulan's expression. "But not everyone here for sex, you know. Some of them just want a companion after a stressful day at work. And you can imagine, all these soldiers needed some rejuvenating after months of being dictated by ruthless discipline, hard work and cruelty. This is the only way we―women, could contribute to help our soldiers win the war. The world is not a kind place," she added. "So, what's your name… and what a chaste lady like you doing here? Brothel and battlefront are no place for a woman like you. You seemed far too naive and clueless," she said bluntly.
"Li Mulan," she said crisply, but Mulan couldn't answer the other half of the question, thankfully the older woman wasn't interested in digging the truth out of her.
The woman, who introduced herself as Mrs. Tang, acted as the mamasan and the owner of the place. She handed Mulan a stack of purple and crimson ruqun, which thankfully despite such a morbid colour combination, it was not as vulgar nor sacrilegious to the eyes. Well, not except for the terribly high slit on the side as though the tailor had overshoot while cutting it.
Mulan slipped into the dress, true to her prediction the outfit fit nicely except for the sidecut, which exposed her flesh more than mandated - that if her mother-in-law saw her, she would have a heart attack.
Mrs. Tang even placed a box of makeup for her to use. Mulan doubted she could do much with them, she was as femininely illiterate in make upfront without her mother-in-law's help.
"Ready?" Mrs. Tang prompted from behind the changing screen. Mulan exposed herself.
"You can't look plain if you were going to seduce your husband from the grip of my girls," she commented. The woman didn't say anything else, but the distasteful scowl on her face implied that she disapproved of Mulan's overall look.
"Will you help me to…―"
"Of course, Dear. Here, let me." The woman sauntered eloquently and snatched the makeup box before Mulan voiced her preference. "Now, just close your eyes." And Mulan felt a generous amount of powder, eyeshadow and lip paint being applied. Suddenly Mulan regretted ever asking the woman for help.
Thankfully her hairdo and makeup didn't appear as shocking as she had imagined. The woman grinned proudly at her work. She marched out the room, but whirled around to say something.
"Oh yes, since you've paid me this much, this is the key to the room on the outbuilding. It is a bit old but quiet and…―"
"No, thank you," Mulan clipped her answer, but tried to sound as polite as she could. But the woman still nonchalantly passed her the key.
"You never know," she said with a lecherous wink as she disappeared behind the curtain. "Good luck!"
A thick cloud of smoke welcomed her as Mulan stepped into a large room. A morbid mixture of the smell of alcohol, musk and cheap perfume lingered in the air, choking her lungs. It took her a minute or two to adjust her vision and got used to all assortment of repulsing odours.
On stage, a few women with revealing clothes danced and sang vigorously. It was a very poor rendition of a classic romance song that she sang off-key, but no one seemed to mind.
Their costumes were covered in gold beads, entwined tightly around their body, leaving their midriff unconcealed for men's wonderful advantage. Their skirt flipping and flashing, they taunted the crowds with the suggestive gait and the irresistible cleavage of their bosom. The crowds of men, clearly under the strong influence of alcohol and testosterone―howled, laughed and cheered eagerly every time the women made eye contact and flashed her coquettish smile. Mulan didn't find any of the lyrics funny, even though the words seemed to be innocuous enough. One time, a man pulled the tip of the dancer's skirt―nearly disrobed her on the spot, but she just smirked, tugging it back casually and continued her writhing dance undisturbed.
Her eyes meandered through the horde of drunk people and immediately located where her husband was.
Even from a distance, Mulan recognised Shang's profile, sitting at one corner with a few promiscuous women regaling him with drinks, stroking his face and leering irresistibly all over him.
Although Mulan had lost faith in a marriage full of love, she still believed in her husband's loyalty and the innocence of their relationship. After spending a few months knowing him, she believed within her heart that Shang was here to find a wrong sort of comfort from his grief.
She squared her shoulder and began making her way towards him. Suddenly, her clothing felt a little too tight, too revealing, and her makeup a little too bold. She tucked down the hem of her dress to bring the slit down while telling herself the discomfort likely meant her looks were perfect for the night. A few men began hooting, touching and pulling her sleeve. Mulan tried to be unconcerned about the havoc all around her.
Shang was bedraggled. His man bun twisted haphazardly and sagging dark circles underneath his eyes looked far more prominent than before. Perhaps nights of sleep deprivation, endless training and worrying after the fate of his troops finally caught on with him. He was expressionless―didn't look pleased nor bothered with his company that kept chattering around him, who tried luring him to spend his money for one night of lustful passion. His eyes were distant and soulless, his mind was clearly elsewhere. It broke her heart to see Shang sitting in dismay, wrapping his hand firmly around the glass of alcohol to seek refuge from his sorrow.
Stepping closer full of confidence, Mulan deposited herself right opposite him. The other girls gawked unpleasantly and tried to provoke her for trespassing their territory. Unexpectedly, Shang immediately sobered and recognised her.
"Mu-Mulan?" he stuttered, shaking his head from the cloud of alcohol daze.
Despite the blazing music, Mulan could hear him clear as day. Dried tears crusted on his cheeks, his hair had seen a better day, and he looked pale like a ghost. Shang was not just broken. He was destroyed.
She wanted to give him a hug. He needed a hug. She needed a hug. But she settled with a smile.
Shang rubbed his eyes convulsively thinking that combination of strong drink and sadness had made him delusional. But she was still there, wearing her warm smile, sitting next to him. Mulan his wife! How did this happen? How did she find him? But he didn't care, he really wished to speak to someone right now, to pour and share his sadness, having his wife here was just the very thing he needed.
Shang gave his head a sobering shake and wrestled against adversarial gravity that nearly toppled him from his feet as he tried to approach her.
"Mulan, what are you doing here?" The question wasn't fired sharply or accusingly, more like bewildered and pleasantly astonished to find her there.
"Shang…" Mulan swiftly clasped his cold, frigid hand, insinuating him to stay on his seat. They were silent for a moment, indulging the moment―a strange reunion they had never expected.
"He's… he's gone," he said suddenly, out of nowhere and in a timbre she'd never heard come from him before. It sent a chill up her spine because his voice had been void of all emotion.
"I know," Mulan said with a low, hurtful voice, reaching his hands with sympathy.
"I… I don't know what to do.."
With her heart in her throat, she listened as he continued. "I… I didn't even have a chance to bid him goodbye," he stuttered with shaking tremor wrapped his voice, and then choking sobs began to shake his lips. It was odd and painful at the same time to see her husband whom she saw as an unbreakable warrior, sit broken-hearted and wept sore for the loss of the most influential man in his life. Mulan felt her heart tore to pieces.
"He is gone, but never forgotten," she said, voice hardly audible, drowning amidst the loud music. "He is a hero."
Mulan reluctantly pulled it back when Shang began rubbing his rough fingers against her thickened palm, she was worried Shang noticed how much her hands had evolved from the dainty, smooth piece of silk into rough, blemished and callous hands. But her husband seemed to be engrossed with his anguish to be able to notice, so Mulan curled her finger, letting him caress it gently, letting her presence fill the devoid pit in his soul where his father had left him.
"If I trained them harder, if I came sooner, none of this would happen," Shang continued his self-deprecating rant. He clenched his first and she could see silent desperation behind his anger. "This is all my fault."
As much as she wanted to disagree, she was holding her peace. Shang didn't need a pep talk. He didn't need a long lecture about positivity. Right now, he just needed a listening ear.
And as she reached her hands to his shoulder to express her condolences for his loss, his composure finally wore down to nothing. His eyes narrowed with rage, spilling angry tears. The charismatic, stoic captain wept his heart out into his palm, snorted and sobbed like a child.
She sat there, quietly, placing her caring hand on his shoulder showing her unconditional support without uttering a word. Having lost her mother without a chance to say goodbye, Mulan could very well empathize with Shang's predicament.
A few people began to stare at them with a confused look in their eyes, it was then Mulan thought of the key.
Mulan propped Shang, carrying one of his arms on her shoulder. She tried to direct him outside, thinking that a dose of fresh air would clear his clouded mind and lessen the alcohol daze that currently clouded his consciousness. The stiff and heavy metal part of the armour he was wearing didn't help to make the task any easier.
They stepped outside, filling their lungs with the cold fresh air of early winter. The moon was bright, illuminating the path in front of them splendidly. They hobbled up the solitary hill, where Mulan was sure they would have some privacy. She carefully helped Shang to sit against a tree, letting his limped frame leaned slightly against hers as she regulated her clipping breaths from the exertion.
Shang's arms relaxed around her, offering a lazy smile as her gratitude.
"Is that the usual place you normally…"
"Yes," Shang replied to her quickly. "No, I mean, I don't usually find… girls. It's just the usual place I took the soldier. I knew they did a decent drink, and despite the battered-looking establishment it was surprisingly clean."
Mulan wondered whether other soldiers would come to appreciate a brothel with good hygiene considering most of them were either too intoxicated or distracted with other more interesting things.
"I swear. I'm...I'm not usually like this," he said with a blush she thought was extremely adorable. "I don't normally completely neglect my work and… and you could've been a stranger with sexually transmitted disease."
Mulan repressed her grin. Surely, after Meihui, she could find this type of joke nothing but amusing. She was grateful to her husband's stout loyalty.
"Mulan," Shang called her quietly, his face suddenly turned serious. "I….I'm sorry." His voice was unmistakably broken as he unconsciously rubbed the callous knuckles of his hand. "I should've been more understanding around your wish for me to represent the Fa instead of your father."
Mulan gazed at the man that charisma had charmed her to no end, and yes… Shang had taken full advantage of that, establishing his dominance over her and demanding her unconditional obedience. But at the moment, despite what he had done, the thought of them together was strangely comforting.
Instinctively she placed her head on his chest, hearing his heart plodding steadily in comforting rhythms, and both of them drifted into a comfortable silence.
"Mulan?"
She looked up. He was still watching her, concern apparent in his frown, though his eyes flickered with wry amusement. "Aren't you cold?" his eyes glazed at the unpractically high slit on her dress.
Mulan shook her head, but he ignored her, abandoning his battle armour and his robe. Before she could even verbalize her protest, he wrapped his oversized material around her shoulders. There was a flash of unhindered masculine pride as he took part to contribute towards this little protective gesture.
"I was about to say no," she said, slipping her arms through the large holes. Her hands were nowhere near the edges, with at least half a foot of extra material hanging off her arms. "You'll freeze," she pointed out, looking at him only dressed in a thin layer of training clothes. He ignored her protest.
"Better?" he said, helping her readjust the robe. He grinned when she looked at him. And it's the kind of smile she had seen so rarely on his face. It lights up his features, makes him look younger and innocent and soft. Like a man who knew nothing about violence and everything about love.
Love.
Because that's what they should be, even if neither of them had the guts to say the actual word.
Tucking her arms into her torso, she requited his kind smile. "Yes, thank you."
Mulan felt her body uncontrollably pliant as his leftover warmth enveloped her and his masculine scent riddled her senses. It felt almost therapeutic. She didn't know how to explain it, but Shang's scent reminded her of comfort and safety, he smelt like the most fragrant birch in the winter mingled with smoky hearth and manly musk all blended together.
"I hope the war will end soon," he said. "And...I'll be home."
I'll be home… to you.
Mulan woke up slowly, feeling a gush of cold winds touch her naked shoulder. She twisted uncomfortably, pulling the blanket up to her neck and enjoyed the warm sensation that travelled up her sore muscle.
Yes, her muscle ache, but a good sort of ache.
Especially when it involved an athletic figure in battle armour. Mulan rubbed her eyes, adjusting her vision. Wait, she wasn't in her tent, she was in a room with a wooden ceiling. The mattress was too plush and Ling and Chien-Po were mysteriously absent. And the pair of shoes next to the bed was decidedly a few sizes too large.
Mulan froze, suddenly her skin alerting of a human presence next to her and the event from the night before transpired hazily in her mind.
She was sneaking into the bar where Shang took the remaining of his battalion for the night. Perhaps it was the lousy singing voice from the brothel serenaded them with a cheesy rendition of 'Come Home, My Soldier' that finally unhinged something in her. Because, a few minutes later, they were outside, making out intensely and before she knew it, they rushed into the room and zealously peeled each other's clothes. And that's about the last chronology she remembered.
She clutched the blanket and surveyed the room. Her notoriously coloured ruqun, Shang's battle armour, and his shirt was strewn around the area immediately to the bed. She saw one large half drunk alcohol bottle and cold bean bun littering the table. So, that's why she remembered nothing.
Her eyes jumped back to the clothes, her satin panties balled up beside one lonely velvet sandal.
She held her breath and ever so slowly turned her head to the right, her eyes moving over the sheet covered male body beside her.
It was Shang alright.
Her vision was still foggy and her head felt like she was lobbed by Chien-Po's sausage arms repeatedly. But even her bleary eyesight can make out the hickeys, scratches and bruises that litter his upper body.
She wondered just how many of them she's responsible for.
She really did get drunk enough to sleep with him. And contrary to her wedding night, this one looked like it was a lot of fun. It felt like it was a lot of fun. She's sure the real thing was ten times better and now she'll never know.
This sucked. If she was going to get drunk enough to sleep with him the world should at least have left her with a few memories.
She shook her head and tried to return to things that matter at hand. Knowing Shang, he would question how did she know where to look for him?
Mulan sighed. She must've been too tired and drunk and fell asleep, abandoning her plan to abscond before Shang even realised anything that rated 'mature content' had happened between them.
"Are you decent?" A small voice came from one corner of the room. Mushu jumped out of his hiding spot and went on inspecting the scene as though there was a crime the night before.
"No, not really," Mulan answered with a huff.
"Was this really necessary?" he glared, claws hovering up and down Shang's half-naked presence. Mulan ignored Mushu's cry of purity and quickly slipped into her undergarments and robes.
"I didn't plan it," she admitted honestly. "Things just led one thing into another and…―"
"Okay, okay…spare me the graphic detail, I want to keep my breakfast," Mushu shook his head while rubbing his temple. "Quick, you must pack your stuff and go now."
When Mulan didn't immediately respond, Mushu jumped to her shoulder, voice becoming urgent. "Baby girl, he could wake up any second! You don't want him to find you here, don't you?"
Deep down, Mulan always wondered how Shang's reaction would be if he found out who Ping really was. And perhaps, this was a good chance.
"Uh-huh," came Mushu's disapproving call as if he knew what she was thinking.
"You always told me that I need to come clean at some point!"
"Yes… yes, but not now, Baby Girl. Look, he is grieving over his father's death. You are all going to face the big bad wolf tomorrow. This… this is not a good time," Mushu cleared his throat and came up with the best impersonation of Shang's authoritative voice. "You...You disguise yourself as a man?! You stole your father's armour and joined my regiment and nearly got killed….twice! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!"
Yes, that could be Shang, the solid and rational Shang. If Mulan were honest, she enjoyed the wild and romantic Shang last night better than the one that undoubtedly would meet her that morning.
"Wait… you mean the one where you get shot and I got to play a doctor with you?" Mulan said evenly to the Dragon. "It's called 'occupational hazard', Shang. You, out of everybody else, should know this."
Mushu dropped theatrics. "You missed the point. Have you forgotten what you've promised before he left?" Mushu said, frowning.
"You told me you'll be my perfect bride―the obedient wife I wanted you to be. And now… THIS?" She could just hear Shang growled in repressed exclamation. "And I already told you that I have taken your father's place. Is that not en…"
"Also, you lied to him. You lied to him big time!"
"Fine!" Mulan said, her body suddenly felt limp. Mushu was right, she wasn't ready for this soul-draining conversation. She glanced over Shang who was still snoring lightly.
For several hours yesterday Shang wanted her more than anything else in the world. But if he knew the truth, he wouldn't be able to even look at her.
Mulan huffed as she quietly swept the room clean from any incriminating evidence of her presence. Mushu was being ultra helpful as he reminded her to impede the urge of tidying Shang's stuff liked she was programmed to do.
She glanced towards Shang's sleeping figure one last time before she left. And she thought, perhaps... just perhaps, someday he might be ready to accept her for who she was.
Shang woke up to the noise of a rooster outside where he slept. His headache returned with a vengeance and he fell asleep again not long after. The next time he opened his eyes, the sun was already up and he could hear the voice of a few of his recruits packing their belongings ready to set off. He turned to his own belonging that still strewn all over the place.
He thought he had seen Mulan last night. That's explained how he had slept so well despite all the grief and anxiety around him. He realised spending time with her always did that to him–a moment of brightness in the constant fear and hopelessness that his life currently was. She never judged him, just offered him listening ears when he needed it.
But he didn't remember much. As if he had been drugged with some kind of memory altering compound. Ah, yes that, he shook his head as he collected an empty bottle, regretting his poor life choices. There were no traces of her, confirming that she was―in fact―just a figment of his angst-driven imagination.
What a dream, he smiled to himself.
Although nobody knew this, her presence had been the only thing preventing him from spiralling even more out of control after knowing his father, the person that mattered to him the most, had died.
He stood up, gathering up his belongings and tidying up the bed with the usual military speed. He took a quick glance one last time at the room.
Mulan, thank you for saving me.
And he shut the door behind him.
Nearing the sunset, their entourage reached the Tung Shao Pass. The blizzard howls around them, an effacing tempest of white. Shang cast his eyes over the horizon, all he could see was the sea of white.
But before long, a contrasting speck of black emerging. In hundred… in thousand… in ten of thousand.
The Huns had come.
Shang had expected it, but seeing the enormity of what's coming their way always shook him to the core. Forget about winning, would any of them survive this?
"I'll go in front," he told his army of a few dozen soldiers. "If we shall perish, this will be our honourable death," he said unfazed.
"Yao," he turned to his soldier who was holding the canon. "Aim the cannon at Shan Yu."
"Captain! Wait!" Ping stopped him on his track. "I have an idea."
The boy told them about his plan to create an avalanche. Shang blinked incredulously while the rest...well the rest was as astounded as him. Ping may never surpass his strength, encyclopedic technique or defensive reflexes as a result of years of regimented training, but the boy had employed his limited fighting ability in a way he had never seen it before.
And somehow this half crazy, half genius boy managed to convince everyone that his plan was the best plan with the highest rate of success and the lowest rate of mortality.
"I stay here," Ping announced. "You guys go and warn the Capital."
"What about you?" Ling said almost immediately. When Ping didn't answer straight away, everyone knew what his plan entailed. Ling drew a sharp breath. Shang's eyes dilated.
"Ping, you can't possibly… No!" he objected.
"Agree!" Ling added. To his left Chien-Po hummed his agreement. "There had to be a better way."
Once upon a time, Ping had been this klutzy recruit who held them all back. Ping had been the odd one out, the outsider… the misfit. But now, well… he was still a bit clumsy (Shang had resigned to the fact that this was incurable), but he was part of the team now―an important part. While Ping initially lacked the strict regimented discipline that he tried to instil into all of them, he had something they all lacked: Ingenuity. A sense of positivity. And most importantly, he had become the group's heart, he had become their hope and source of encouragement. He had shown them―but mostly him―true courage and kindness, and without him, all these men were likely to be a lean, brutal, fighting machine.
And now, the thought of losing him….
"I can't let you do this," Shang emphasized. "I make a promise to your father...―"
"Everyone, listen," Ping drew their attention to him. "We don't have much time to argue here. I don't want to cause unnecessary death! And for this plan to work, we need…"
"Ping…! Listen to me," Shang grabbed him by the shoulder, holding his temper by an effort.
"No, you listen!" Shang was surprised by the ferocity coming out of the young man who was barely his shoulder high.
"I know every one of us has an obligation to our country, but why risk everyone's life when we can afford to spare most of you?" Ping said.
"But at what cost?!" Ling retorted sharply, trying to get hold of different kinds of emotion that Shang couldn't identify. The two exchanged glances and suddenly there was a shift of vibe.
"I…." Ping sputtered, looking at his friend with a mixture of grief and gratitude.
"There is a battle to be won. I am sure you understand," Ping said and turned to each of his friends, giving them a sad smile. Ping had never made such a face before, even when he was about to be executed. It was a resignation of sorts―an acceptance that for every battle to be won there would be a sacrifice needed to be made.
"I'm the smallest. I am not as fast as you all and perhaps won't be… "
"Are you trying to say that you are… expendable?" Ling interjected.
Ping sighed. "Guys, listen. This is not just my battle. This is our battle, and in order for us to win, we have to work together. We all have a part to play. So, let me do my part….and you do yours."
And there was silence. No one else could say anything. Ping lived his life a certain way and there was no convincing him otherwise, Shang realised. Ping was fully aware that he would perish, but it would be worth the sacrifice knowing his friends were safe.
It made Shang more determined to try. To risk it all.
"Then, I'm going with you," Shang said, and everyone including Ping gasped, but he didn't leave any room for argument.
His training moment with Ping had taught him balance in a new way. He learned to trust Ping's instinct, to listen to him, to rely on him the same way Ping trusted, listened and relied on him too. They discussed a lot of battle tactics, exchanging thoughts about the team's strengths and weaknesses. Ping grounded him, and yet made his job lighter. It was an enlightening moment, an eye-opening revelation. He realised that he was far better with Ping than he had ever been alone.
"Ling," Shang turned to the man that was still half dazed in shock, watching the plot twist unfolding in front of his eyes. "I entrust the team to you. Lead them ten miles away to the southern Jinan, there is a safe house there for you to regroup with the Imperial Soldiers. Wu, you help Ling to navigate, you are one of the best at reading maps. Yao, you walked ahead of them to warn the team if there is a threat ahead. Chien-Po, I need your help to carry the remaining ammunition and the rest of you… please take care of each other and work together."
And Shang thought Ping and his hereditary stubbornness was going to throw a fit over his one-sided decision.
But the boy smiled at him.
Not one of those sheepish, awkward smiles that Shang had seen of him from time to time. Or even one of his smiles of admiration whenever he permitted himself to show off his skill (and perhaps tad bit of his abs) although those smiles certainly had their appeal. But no, as much as Ping wore his emotion on his sleeve, he could tell this smile was different.
They were facing death as real as they ever had. And as his usual noble self, Ping had volunteered to meet his end head-on in order to save his comrades. Ping had steeled himself, Shang realised. The boy had prepared to face death alone.
And now he would not have to.
The glaze of gratitude in his eyes was whole and unmistakable. It was the smile that he could actually feel deep into his soul. It was alien…. and familiar all at once, like he had seen that smile many times before.
All his life, Shang had taught himself not to feel, not to be overly attached to anything or anyone. But how could this boy make his heart stir with just a smile?
Breaking the moment, Ling stepped forward and placed his hand on Ping's shoulder. "May the spirit of our ancestor be with you, Warrior. For our home! For China!" he said, although his voice trembled but he offered the best smile he could. Man, he was proud to call this valiant soldier… no this courageous woman―his best friend.
Ping smiled back, embedding Ling's hand in his. "For China."
Yao stepped forward, removing his necklace and laced it around Ping's neck. "My mother gave me this. It is for good luck," he said with a mixture of brokeness and admiration.
"Soldier Ping, you've done your family proud!"