rain1
THE LONG SPELL OF RAIN
By Lian-hua aka Pook
~ I corrected it and made small changes. This is rated PG-13 for violence,
off-screen sex. Mulan, Shang and the Gang belong to Disney, the rest of
the folks either belong to themselves or to me. This story is based on
careful research of historical facts. This story remains dedicated to Doraemon,
who doesn't need a man for much of anything ~
Chapter One:
The full moon hung like a silver talisman in the
late night sky, shining across the tree tops of cypress and cassia, renting
glowing paths through the wispy grasses, painting them with silver as well.
By the lush landscape the moon would seem a good omen, guarding those who
dared to traverse out there in the dark. Among the common folk stories
of ghosts and unappeased spirits abounded, among the wealthy intrigue and
danger. For them, there was enough in the real world to fear, without the
mind's worst imaginings.
Li Shang brought his gaze back to the paper before
him, scratching another line of hasty characters with his ink brush before
looking at the fire. It was burning low, but radiating enough light for
him to see what he was writing. The number of reports after the battle
at the Wall seemed endless, and he had to oversee each one before it could
be given to the Emperor. Records of who had served, who had died, supplies
and expenditures. It was close to midnight and he still was perhaps an
hour from being done. They would reach Ch'ang-an tomorrow, with much to
tell His Majesty. Shang tried not to be too concerned with that, he had
done his duty, there was nothing he had done to displease his uncle. Still,
who would wager anything on an Emperor's whim?
"I'm done!" Mulan announced suddenly, holding
out her pile of papers for proof. She was smiling at him smugly, the same
way she smiled every time she bested him at something. He gave her a half
hearted smile back, thankful for her help and her presence as always, but
in no real mood for games.
Taking the stack from her, he began to leaf through
them. "Were you careful?" He asked without looking up. "How did you get
done so fast?" There was no need to ask really. The truth was women always
did things faster than men, even five things at once with their full concentration.
He had learned this early, growing up in a house with three mothers and
countless servants.
"Out of eight thousand men," Mulan began without
even answering the question herself. "One thousand six hundred and eighty-seven
casualties, two thousand four hundred and three wounded, seven hundred
and thirty-two of those still critical." She sighed, pushing a strand of
hair back from her face, only to end up smudging ink across her cheek.
"And there are still sixty-four men unaccounted for."
"That's too many." Shang put the papers down trustingly,
too tired to look through them.
She looked up at him in confusion. "Too many what?
I counted right," she insisted defensively. "Each lieutenant gave Tai-shan
his figures. They're right there, check for yourself."
"That's not what I mean," he said more gently.
Sometimes she could be touchy when she thought her abilities were in question.
"I mean none of it ever had to happen." Folding his arms over his knees
he sighed, she looked startled at his vehemence. For more than a thousand
years the Chinese had fought senseless wars with the northern tribes and
had nothing but a few miles of land to show for it.
Not knowing what to say, Mulan started to inch
closer to him. He put a hand out to tell her to stay where she was when
he heard footsteps approaching on the grass. The last thing he needed was
people and their filthy thoughts, especially for Mulan's sake.
"General Li," A tall shadow stepped into the moonlight,
becoming just another of his soldiers, a few years younger than he, and
tired, helmet in hands. Most of his troops had been left behind at headquarters
in Louyang, but two hundred had come in his entourage. It was a shame Marshal
Yu could not come back with him, the man had never seen the capital, but
he always knew the right thing to do. "General Fa," he added another hasty
salute.
"News?" Shang asked tiredly. "Don't tell me it's
something that'll make me write these all over again."
The soldier smiled at a little, then straightened.
"No, it's your father, sir," Shang fought a hundred emotions at once at
the name, anger, pain, sadness. One never dominated the other. "He's awake
for once. He asked me to find you."
All of a sudden Shang found himself looking down
at the ground, too ashamed to lift his head, as if he himself had been
the traitor. Instead he glanced towards Mulan as covertly as he could,
mildly amused and irritated to find that she had edged her way closer despite
his warning. She had placed herself just behind his shoulder as though
ready to protect him in a fight. With what, he had no idea.
"Well," Shang collected his papers and rose to
his feet, handing the pile to the soldier. "I suppose I should see what
he wants, he might deserve that much." He was good at showing anger, hiding
behind it, and coldness and apathy. Real pain he could never do justice
by means of expression. The pain his father had made him feel ran deep,
so deep he wondered if he would ever be rid of it. It was not easy to be
spurned, cast aside and unwanted. It was not easy simply not being loved.
He isn't capable of love, Mulan's eyes seemed to be saying. How did she
know what he was thinking?
Without thinking of what the soldier thought,
Shang motioned for Mulan to follow him as he tread across the grass to
where the tents were lined. His father's tent had been kept near the center,
where it was easy for the camp to keep an eye on him. Only this elite group
knew of the prisoner's identity, though Shang had had to be harsh in preventing
them to speak of it. Secrecy was a part of the game, mystifying officers,
keeping his men in the dark until the last moment. Yet at the same time
General Li Shengli was an example. Even a once beloved father was not above
harsh punishment, and even a seemingly loyal general was not above the
corruption of his own desires. So Shang had been hard, when speaking of
him, when dealing with him, showing no emotion, no pity, and it had just
about torn him up inside.
Shang struggled to preserve that guise as he entered
the small tent, dismissing his escort to retake his place of vigilance
outside the door. The candles were lit, revealing the propped up form against
the pillow, his face darkened by bruises, his body wrapped everywhere with
bandages. Yet his eyes were the same, small and round in that sturdy round
face, framed by neatly bound dark hair brushed with gray at the temples.
It did not look like a traitor's face, save for the eyes, on fire with
hatred, hatred for the whole world. Even one small facet of remorse might
have been enough to gain his forgiveness, one spark of regret, but there
was none and Shang's heart sank once more.
"Why did you leave me alive?" The voice was hoarse,
rasping in pain, but sharp as a sword. "I know it wasn't mercy," he nearly
spat the word like an obscenity.
"Accident." Shang heard his voice shake and swallowed.
One word, out of all the things he felt, all the things he wanted to say,
and all he could manage was that one word, as if he had never hurt, or
felt betrayed by the other man's actions.
Li Shengli drew a labored breath and turned his
head back against the pillow, twisting it weakly in anguish. His eyes closed
a moment, lips drawn until they were white at the edges. He let out a groan
in a feeble attempt to writhe against the bedclothes, but his many broken
bones would not allow it.
Before Shang realized what he was doing he turned
to the guards outside. "Bring him more opium!" he ordered quickly, answered
by the sound of swift running feet.
"I curse you," Li Shengli whispered as Shang turned
back to him.
Ignoring him, Shang called out again. "Hurry!"
"No," this time the general's growl had force
behind it. "I want to remember the pain. So I won't forget you when I escape
the gods of hell!"
"Shang," Mulan grabbed ahold of his arm. "He has
nothing to say to you, but to torture you." But pulling away gently he
freed his arm and stepped closer to his father.
Li Shengli chuckled as Shang's uncertainty, seeming
to forget his pain for the moment. "I will have a son," he spoke aloud
like a prophet, "He will grow up strong and he will avenge me. He will
conquer the weak in my name."
"Then I will have a son," Shang answered quietly,
his father seemed to have gone mad. "And I will raise him to be a great
general, and I will teach him compassion. He will fear nothing, and
he will keep China safe."
"You and Tie-lin," he gave way to bitter laughter
once more. "And your soft way. Pretty Tie-lin, of pure Han blood," he mused
as if speaking to himself.
Shang started to say something back, but the rustling
of the tent flaps alerted him to the presence of the medic. The short man
gave him some kind of sympathetic look before moving towards Li Shengli.
He was surprised that his father cooperated so well, or perhaps the medic
had taught him cooperation slowly. Anyone trained to ease pain should know
how to inflict it well enough. Any measure must be taken to subdue a traitor,
even torture if need be.
"You had better make peace with Heaven tonight,"
Shang regained his harshness in the medic's presence. He could feel the
weight of Mulan's eyes at his back, so worried. "Tomorrow we will be in
Ch'ang-an."
He turned on his heels, with Mulan close behind
him. Once outside of the tent he stood and breathed the night air, fighting
his emotions. A mask could only be upheld for so long.
~ * ~
Mulan stood at Shang's shoulder, waiting for him
to say something, to recover himself. He radiated anger like a physical
thing, dangerous and consuming him. His father stood against everything
he believed in, honor, duty and loyalty to his country, but he did not
have the heart to kill him himself. It must be difficult being a man, so
given to logic yet so easily controlled by guilt. It must be maddening.
The summer night was warm, the sharp cold of the
north never touched the province, even the winters were mild. Cicadas chirped
in a low hum in the background. She busied herself with picking out a rhythm
to the sound.
It should have been enough that he had said he
cared for her, but instead it only left her more confused. Caring for her
was not the same as being betrothed, the confession provided little in
the way of realistic security. His mother could refuse to take her in as
a daughter-in-law, her father could refuse to let her live in Louyang.
She may not even be the sort of woman he wanted for a wife. Caring for
her as he said might do nothing practical for him. It was too easy for
someone so honor bound to ignore his own wants for duty and filial piety.
That was not even the beginning of it. He never let her stray a moment
from his side, and always managed to employ her in whatever task he found
himself presented with. It was as if she had attained some new status in
his eyes, one which meant she was to be included in everything he did.
That was well and good, and beyond pleasant, but what did it mean?
"It's late, Mulan," he spoke suddenly, calm but
reluctant. "If you want to go to sleep, go on, there's only a few more
things to do."
She nodded, not because she was tired, but because
she thought he would rather be left alone. She knew her father always
sat up by himself when something was troubling him, and Shang often reminded
her of her father. "Goodnight, then." All she could give him was a fond
smile, she could not exactly kiss him in front of the guards. She could
feel him gazing after her a long time as she trotted over the grass back
to her tent.
Mulan quickly tore off her armor and outer clothes
once inside, blowing the candles out and climbing inside her blankets.
There was nothing to do there in the dark but wait until either she fell
asleep or until morning came. She hoped for the former. Closing her eyes,
she tried her best to alter her breathing and trick her body into falling
into sleep. Her thoughts began to lighten, becoming trite and almost comical,
a far cry from the tearful nightmares of late. Her body grew relaxed and
she turned over once more.
Not until she was startled awake did she realize
she had even been asleep at all. Instead of sitting up she lay very still,
her eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness again, searching for whatever
had shattered her slumber. She looked towards the tent entrance and found
a shadow which did not belong with the others. It moved forward, a rising
pang of fear gripped her body with tension. Not another nightmare of Shan-yu,
she pleaded silently, not tonight.
Mulan sighed with relief and surprise. It was
only Shang.
Still she feigned sleep, lying there as he stepped
closer. A blush began to creep over her cheeks, recalling the time she
had told him her thoughts of crawling in his bed at night. She hoped he
had not come for that! No, that would be unlike Shang, in fact she
could not even imagine him initiating anything of the sort. Then again,
who could say what was likely for Shang to do or not do? He was more unpredictable
than the weather in the north. The picture lingered in her mind though,
of him crawling under the covers, slowly imposing his will on her. Would
she give in to him? Would she punch him and send him away? The question
betrayed her silence and she found herself unable to keep from giggling
aloud.
Mulan did not need the light to see his reaction,
it was one she knew by heart, along with every other. He stopped, drew
himself up, arching one brow in confusion, as if she had done something
that would never make any sense at all. She could not help but laugh again.
"What's so funny?" he demanded quietly, hardly
sounding amused.
"Nothing," Mulan lied to keep from embarrassing
herself further. She could not possibly tell him that she was imagining
him crawling in her bed.
He sat down on the bed. "Tell me."
Folding her arms outside the covers Mulan lay
there in silent refusal, noticing briefly that his mood had lightened somewhat.
She hoped it was because of her. It must have been, because to her absolute
surprise he reached over and started to tickle her through the thin blanket.
Unable to keep from laughing, Mulan writhed around and kicked at him to
stop. He did not though and continue tickling her mercilessly until she
scrambled out of the blanket and crawled up on her knees, shoving him away
playfully.
Caught unprepared, he nearly fell off the bed,
but quickly braced a strong arm around her waist to recover his balance.
The motion had brought her closer to him, her cheeks burned to realize
she was half sitting in his lap, her shoulder against his chest. It was
so improper yet wonderful at the same time.
He said nothing, but made no move to let her go,
in fact his arm had tightened around her just a little. When he leaned
his cheek against her forehead she felt lightheaded, and more so when he
turned his head a little to kiss her on her cheek, the motion chaste yet
ardent at the same time. But it did not stop there, his finger crept under
her chin, lifting her face towards him. Their lips found each other easily
in the dark, and he let the kiss endure for a long moment before slowly
drawing away.
"It's still an army camp," he reminded her quietly,
but she was happy to hear the depth of disappointment in his voice. He
let her go, and not knowing what else to do she slid back to her place
under the blanket.
She was happy with that much though. "Remind me
to get you alone when we aren't in an army camp."
This made him laugh out loud. "You have no shame,"
he chided her. Then he sighed, sounding a bit more serious. "I came to
see if you were awake. I don't think I can sleep after seeing my father
that way."
"I don't feel much like sleeping either," she
admitted. So he had come to her for comfort, not to take advantage of her?
She knew it was indecent, but it would be nice if he possessed such compromising
thoughts of her as well. How could it be that she was the only one? "What
will happen when we return to Ch'ang-an? I can't help but dread tomorrow."
"You too?" he sounded relieved. "It's kind of
odd that my aunt wouldn't wait until I returned to summon me. Either she
knows something about my father, or something else has happened." It was
the something else which appeared to worry him most.
Mulan battled a strong sense of being afraid for
him. "You won't be blamed for your father's actions, will you?"
"No," he answered quickly, whether in a rush to
reassure her or himself she could not say. "She trusts me."
"I have heard her name mentioned so many times
while I was in the capital," Mulan leaned up with interest, dropping her
voice as though telling a secret. "But who is she?"
"Princess Taiping? An interesting woman. If you
don't feel like sleeping I could tell you the story." He laughed uneasily.
"You think my father is bad? Wait until you hear about the rest of my family,
and his stepmother. At one time there was so much intrigue in Ch'ang-an
that if you carried the surname of Li or Wu you were safer on the battlefield.
Do you want to hear? I should warn you though, it's a bloody story."
Mulan was still sitting up against the pillow,
amazed to find herself on the threshold of all his secrets, and his past,
and learning why he was the way he was and the things which had shaped
him. His respect for this famous aunt showed in his words.
"Tell me," she pleased, like a child begging her
father for a bedtime story, wanting to hear for the tenth time how Chang'e
had floated to the moon. She scooted over on the bed a little, still wrapped
in the light blanket. "You can lie down if you want."
After he had sprawled out comfortably beside her,
Mulan listened closely as his words filled the darkness.