There were several reasons why he kept Ping's secret to himself, the foremost being he did not want to explain how he knew. Who was there to tell? Chi Fu? The uproar that would cause could destroy everything he had worked so hard for. The fact was, Ping was a favorite now, everyone's friend. Camaraderie would hold them together in battle. No, the balance was too delicate yet for him to dismiss Ping, disgrace her, not when the grounds could disgrace him as well. It was forbidden for an officer to have such relations with his charges. There went the idea of confronting Ping and ordering her to leave quietly. Then there were his private reasons, the selfish need to be close to her though he had purposely not spoken to her in days, and of course the desire to puzzle out her motive for his own satisfaction. Reporting her was out of the question, the law demanded death for a woman in the army. Why should she die? What had she done wrong but excel as a soldier? Had it not been for the encounter in the water he never would have suspected, how could he expose her after that? That could be dangerous, she could come up with a lie out of desperation, saying he had forced her and she had disguised herself as a soldier for fear of what would happen when she returned home. That accusation could hurt him and his father's career badly.
None of that answered the question of why she had come in the first place. He wondered briefly if he was in some danger, if Ping was a spy. That seemed unlikely though, Ping was genuinely innocent in the ways of the world, and Shang had spent enough time watching the girl in secret to know she wasn't about anything suspicious. What would a spy be doing with Fa Zhou's conscription notice? A thing impossible to forget. The Fa family lived in the south, a region not penetrated by Huns. Then there was another possibility, one he hoped and dreaded all at once. Maybe he was wrong, maybe Ping was not a girl at all.
"Soldiers!" Shang turned to his men suddenly, he had been silent for too long. Steering his horse around, his hand made a sweeping gesture towards the view over the cliff. "Look at your country." Pale green grasslands stretched below, clusters of tiled rooftops and trees, farmland along the Yellow River, the very life of China itself. "This is what you are fighting for. It is worth more than your life, it is worth more than all of your lives combined." His eyes fixed themselves on Ping in the crowd of intent faces, the words for her, to remind her of the seriousness and consequences of her charade. "If you are willing to die for it, that is honor. If you are afraid, it is no shame. We are all afraid. But do not be afraid of fear or pain and you will be worthy." Ping, he pleaded silently as he watched her, this is not a game. Don't be afraid to confess, no matter the reason. He would not harm her, but he could not promise the same were Chi Fu to discover her.
Ping's eyes met his unflinchingly. Whatever her reason was, it was clearly worth dying for.
~ * ~
They camped that night on the lower slopes of the mountain, snow-clothed peaks looming above them, the higher terrain Shang hoped to reach tomorrow. He sat alone, staring into the fire, watching the flames dance and toss amber sparks in the air. Such a simple and natural thing to steal his attention so completely. It was not the fire itself, it was Ping, her face racing to the front of his thoughts as usual. He could not have been wrong.
Rising to his feet, he let the fire die, looking around the mountain camp. Everything was quiet, soldiers in their tents, a sharp hush in the air. He wrapped his robe around him though it was not really cold, not yet, making his way across camp after smothering the flames. Tonight, Shang was determined to be certain about Ping.
Her tent was not far from where he had been sitting, shadowed by the trees, concealed from the eye just as the truth of its inhabitant was. Shang paused outside, eyes scanning left and right for a chance witness but saw none. He should not be doing this, the qualm became strong as he stepped inside, it was not honorable to unveil one who wished to remain masked, even in private. It was not honorable to creep into a woman's private space without her permission. There was a boundary to respect between men and women, even here. But he could not turn around, he must know, promising himself that after that he would not come here again.
Sinking to his knees, he watched her lay motionless on her narrow bed, turned away from him, slender figure tangled in the single blanket, exposing a bare foot. He dared shine no light here, but left the tent flap open a finger's width, allowing the moon's glow to paint her in shadows before him. Unruly strands of hair formed an ebony arch across her face, small and pale now in the darkness. He raised a hand, but did not touch her, only found it nearly trembling as the breath escaping her lips brushed his fingertips. His eyes flickered to that small exposed foot, having never seen it bare before. It was too delicate and slender to be a boy's. Pressing his eyes closed, he relived a small glimpse of that tapered ankle moving away from him through the water. It was her, that revelation a relief and a torture all at once.
That was the moment he should have backed away, satisfied, but instead found himself leaning closer. His blood began to warm as he buried his face in her neck, drinking in the scent of her that stirred him like a physical touch. "Ping, sister goddess," he breathed the name in her ear with a barely audible groan, parting his lips to taste her skin again.
When she stirred, a shock ran through him, sending him backing away several inches. She turned, laying her head back, eyes still closed, a small sound escaping her lips as she ran a hand over her breast through the blanket.
"Shang." The rapport with which she murmured his name drew a shiver from him, the first time he had ever heard her say it. He crouched there, frozen, the feeling both poignant and enticing. A part of him begging to crawl back to her, wake her and confess he knew her secret, promise to protect her if only she would let him have her again. The rest of him new better, that this was why he should never have come here in the first place. Sadly resolved, he inched only near enough to check her breathing. She was still asleep.
~ * ~
If Shang had been avoiding Ping before, then there was no word to describe his behavior towards Ping the following morning. He did not even dare to look at her. The incident in her tent last night had been more puzzling than the encounter in the river, mostly because that had been completely by chance. If he would go as far as to break decency by creeping upon her while she slept, what was next? Forcing her? He had to keep to rigid restraint from now on, this had gone too far.
Cold winds swept down through the peaks as they climbed into the alpine terrain, the first signs of snowfall dusting the paths now. Shang tried to concentrate on his surroundings, trying to shut out the conversation behind him. His soldiers were discussing women, and forcing Ping to contribute, even Chi Fu had joined them. At any other time, Shang might have been amused at Ping's apparent discomfort, instead he found himself irritable every time he glanced back to see Yao or Ling handling the girl as roughly as if she were one of the men. It made him seethe to see Ping allowing it, clearly fond of the pair and their antics.
Shang's eyes began to tear suddenly as a fierce gust of wind whirled through the slopes, carrying the sharply acrid sent of something burning. The closer he rode the more the smoke stung his eyes, the sky hazed before him where a smoke cloud hung just over the peak. He stiffened nervously in the saddle, yielding to the climbing sense of danger. There should be a village on the other side of that peak, his father's troops camped a few miles beyond at the Tung Shao Pass.
As he led the men around the turn, the bitter smell wafted much more acutely. Rubbing his eyes vigorously, Shang blinked, recoiling physically at the ghastly scene before him. The smoke was so thick that at first the captain did not see, but when his vision cleared he saw nothing but emptiness and ruin before him, Skeletons of houses still burned wherever he looked, wafting tall plumes of smoke under the russet haze of the sky, embers still danced here and there, but there was nothing, nothing but devastation.
Wheeling his horse around he faced his troops, their presence almost forgotten all together. "Search for survivors," he ordered briskly, before galloping off again in a swirl of red cloak, his horse's hooves kicking up something on the ground. There were no survivors of course, but he knew nothing else to say to them.
Dismounting, he found himself beside Ping, comforted by that. Her head was bent, clutching a discarded doll in her arms, her face a grieving mask under her helmet. She looked ready to cry.
"I don't understand," he mused weakly. "My father should have been here." Why did the General not protect these villagers? His father was always victorious. Shang had heard of destruction like this since his childhood, nightmarish tales of the Huns reaping untold misery upon his people, no prisoners, no survivors.
Ping turned to him, a question of her own in her eyes. They stared at each other, neither having an answer. He wished she would have gone home, this was not a game or a contest of wills anymore. This was nothing for a young girl to see.
"Captain!" Chi Fu's cry cut through his thoughts, not nagging, but urgent.
Turning from Ping, Shang made his way up the shallow slope to where Chi Fu was standing, the wind tearing roughly at his clothes. He blinked, the sight below could not be real, it was as if all those monstrous tales of murder and savagery had sprung to life in that canyon. There, over the cliff, the entire Imperial Army had been slain. As horrified as he was, he could not take his eyes from the carnage. So this was war, this was the glory his father had promised him? He thought he could search and search forever through that graveyard and would never find it.
But someone else was approaching him now, ascending the slope. Ping's friend Chien Po held some object out for him to take, a helmet. Shang blinked, too stunned to make the connection right away, to recognize the bent plumes adorning the crest. His father... His father had fallen in the slaughter.
No, not General Li, the proud and victorious, the Emperor's greatest general. If his father had fallen, the world might as well have fallen too. There was no hope to win the war without him. Turning away from his troops, he dropped to his knees in the snow, offering a prayer that his father's spirit might be appeased, and not remain a ghost in the mountains forever Then there came footsteps, then soft words.
"I'm sorry."
He rose to face Ping, staring into her eyes. They were trying to tell him something. How he wished then to return to Wu Zhong, to that night in the river, before his father died. Reaching out, he laid his hand on her shoulder, the way one comrade would to another. Then he walked back to face his men again, his steps measured and solemn, leaning his forehead on his hand for a pained moment before climbing into the saddle. Snow was falling, soon it would bury the dead, trapping them forever in these icy highlands where their unappeased spirits would roam. But he was left in command now, he had his duty, with his own words to remind him as he looked out over the cliff once more.
This is what you are fighting for, it is worth more than your life... you must not be afraid of suffering.
Tugging at the reins, he circled around to his men again, his grief numbed somewhat by the impending crisis. "The Huns are moving quickly," he announced in a voice that was surprisingly firm. "We'll make better time to the Imperial City through the Tung Shao Pass. We're the only hope for the Emperor now. Move out!" He rode away, further into the mountains, leaving his father's ghost behind him.
~ * ~
Shang secluded himself in his tent immediately after they broke camp that night, lying on his bed with his face in his hands for long hours, thinking. His father was gone, there would be no chance to prove himself worthy in his father's eyes, no chance to show him how he hard he had worked to keep his promise. His father was simply never coming back, that concept becoming harder to fathom the more he touched it with thought.
Sitting up, he reached for the bottle on the bedside table. It was Du Kang, a potent liquor, and a good remedy for one's troubles. Propping himself against the pillows, he took a tentative taste of the yellowish stuff, the first sip burning as always though the hot flavor was not unpleasant. He drank more and more, head swimming with memories of his father until the bottle was emptied. Shang tossed it aside to lay there dizzily, shirtless on the bed, no longer feeling the alpine cold. Liquor never seemed to have a very sedative effect on him, not like opium or rice wine. That suited him, because sleep was the last thing he wanted. Instead he was restless, euphoric, but restless.
"Sir?" Someone was calling for him. He tried to stand, legs wobbling, no longer adverse to the prospect of company. It was Ping, he realized after a few shaky moments of fighting to regain his balance, starting to rush outside towards her. She was already standing there inside his tent, holding a tray in her arms. A broad smile broke across his face to see her, a sight so distracting that his balance wavered in his drunken state and he found himself slumped on knee on the ground.
"Ping." He grinned up at her clumsily from his place on the floor.
Her expression turned worried, looking him over with a pitying shake of her head, setting the tray down beside the empty bottle on the table. Picking up the bottle, she gave a disapproving groan before setting it down again, nose wrinkling at the strong liquor scent that still lingered. "I brought you something to eat," she said finally. "You've been here for hours without taking any dinner. The men are worried about you, but are too scared to bother you."
"And you're the only one aren't you, Ping?" His gaze was unsteady. "The only one brave enough to traverse this camp and save the tiger from himself."
Pausing where she stood, Ping stared, confounded. "Sir?"
Shang only chuckled, hardly giving thought to the words he spoke. He was tired of thinking. "You don't have to call me that anymore. I have a name, Ping, say it." He wanted to hear her say it again, like she had in her dream last night. Was that only last night, he wondered dizzily? It seemed years ago, when his father had still been alive.
As unhappy as she was over his drunken state, she did smile a little. "Alright then, Shang, look what I brought you." Pointing to the tray, she indicated a bowl of stew, dumplings and steaming tea she had collected, and even a fresh peach. "You're lucky we were supplied well just after leaving Wu Zhong, and food keeps better in the cold. Maybe if you eat something your head would be clearer. Maybe you should have some tea and try to sleep."
Since when had she been appointed to look after him? He was amused, thought still frustrated. How did she think to hide her true identity from him? Only women acted this way, bullying a drunk man with a meal and sound advice, pretending to be gentle and caring while their eyes scolded. He had a mother, he knew what women were like. Why wouldn't she confess? Did she not trust him enough?
Shang found the bowl of stew pushed in his hands even before he had agreed to eat it, but grabbed the chopsticks anyway. It was impossible, his fingers were about as steady as water trying to manipulate the things. Grinning up at Ping sheepishly, he held the chopsticks out to her for help.
Sighing, she knelt down on the floor beside him, taking the chopsticks and feeding him slowly, the look on her face was one of mild embarrassment. He was too drunk to feel the same, he only felt an unnatural euphoria masking an intangible grief. But Ping was beside him, feeding him like a child, and even though he had avoided her she had come to care for him faithfully, holding no grudge, expecting nothing. Did she think so little of herself? Was that why she had held on to her secret? She deserved love, why could she not see that?
Those tender thoughts were so soothing, merely to hold them in his mind. He could be the stern commander by day, guarding this hidden gentleness to show her at night. The wantonness of that thought startled him, he must be very drunk to think he could treat her so, to think she would allow it.
"Shang," her voice was touched richly with compassion, not Ping's voice, but the soft voice of the girl in the water. "I really am sorry about your father. I can't imagine what I would do if my father died." She was sitting on the bed now, her little face drawn in worry. That struck him poignantly, that she should worry for him.
The more the nauseating pain in his head subsided after the food, the more Shang actually felt like eating. He craved something sweet, to counter the bitter taste of the liquor. Sitting up, he reached for the fruit still on the tray, biting into it and savoring the first taste of its tangy flavor. "We have orchards at home," he told her, propping himself up with one elbow on the edge of the bed. "In Louyang the winters are not so cold and the trees bear fruit earlier. Our estate stretches for miles, orchards, vineyards, everything you can imagine grows on our land."
Smiling, she glanced at the peach in his hand. "So you are pleased?" Her tone was hopeful.
He nodded. "Reminds me."
Taking another bite and then another, Shang began to notice that she was very intently watching him eat. He remembered that look, one of enticement though naive as to why. He adored that look, it was too enthralling. Envisioning that night at Wu Zhong again he found himself eating more slowly, mouth moving more attentively over the red tinted meat of the fruit, tongue vigorously lapping up the juices, oblivious to the excess dribbling down his chin.
Ping had leaned back where she sat, hands spread behind her, gripping the blanket, her breath coming a little faster, eyes wide.
An idea struck him then, somewhat wicked and surely one he never would have entertained sober. What if he could trick Ping into confessing? Why couldn't they enjoy another night together? He wanted her, and clearly she him. But Ping was so shy, perhaps she needed to be coaxed just a little. He could play that game if that was what she wanted.
Crawling over to Ping, he rose up on his knees, planting his elbows on either side of her legs, holding the fruit in both hands over her. He could see her body arching slightly as he resumed eating, a shrill sigh escaping her lips when he buried his face in the fruit, its juices trickling onto her lap. Lifting his face, he wiped away the wetness with the back of his hand, chuckling at her obvious wide-eyed arousal. She could not deny who she was now.
Letting the fruit fall, he picked up her hand, turning it over and pressing his lips to the delicate place at the base of the wrist, suckling that pressure point gently. He continued to kiss her palm, drawing on the point between thumb and forefinger, before trapping the tips of her fingers in his lips as he kissed them. She let out a hushed cry then froze, stiffening as she must have realized the danger to her masquerade. Poor naive Ping, believing she still had him fooled.
Dragging himself even closer still, he finally dropped her hand and laid his head on her knee. "Ping, my head is throbbing. I just want the pain to stop."
"Then why did you drink so much?" She scolded quietly. Not waiting for an answer, she sighed, placing her cool fingers on his temples and rubbing them gently. Wincing at first, he allowed himself to relax under that calming touch, cheek pressed against her, filling his scenes with the sharp aroma of citrus, and the warm scent that was just her. "Lay down," It was a patient order, resigned to his drunkenness.
Nodding obediently, he managed to pull himself on the bed, stretching out facedown with his head resting on folded arms, sighing, but at ease. She crawled up beside him, laying those cool hands on his shoulders and kneading his skin, relieving the ache of tense muscles strained from days of practice and worry. He groaned appreciatively, closing his eyes and adjusting his head to get comfortable, those small hands amazingly skilled at drawing out soreness. It was unmistakably a woman's touch, not the rough hands of a military doctor.
"I guess I should apologize for causing you so much trouble," she said thoughtfully from behind him. He bit his lip as her hands moved in circles over a particularly painful spot beneath his shoulder blade, then let out his breath at the warm feel of her climbing over his hips to work her hands over his spine and lower back. It was impossible to ignore the pressure of her thighs against his back, causing him to tense a little, pulse rising. "I didn't think about how much I might have been contributing to your stress."
He found himself smiling. "You're more than making up for it, Ping."
It was certainly true. As a soldier she owed him nothing, and still she had come to tend him and feed him. She owed him nothing, nothing but a confession.
Shifting under her, he leaned on his side, just enough to turn his head and look at her. There was something in his gaze that seemed to unground her, unmask her, leaving the eyes that met his filled with nothing but shy warmth. He was a fool to fall into them, clear dark pools hiding secrets, answers, drawing him in to drown helplessly. His hand reached out, cupping her chin, forgetting his caution and pretense as he pulled her closer, tasting her lips with a long, deliberate slowness then drawing back to watch her face.
Beautiful, so heart wrenchingly beautiful... If only he could free her hair, runs his hands through it, the way he had in the river.
"Do you do this with all your men?" She feigned playfulness, but under that he could see she was afraid, afraid for the safety of her secret.
His thumb stroked gently across her lower lip. "No, only you." It was a warm feeling, to see how she softened with those words, to watch the fear leave her. It meant something to have that power over her. He grinned teasingly to see her shed the hesitation. "Haven't you ever been kissed before, Ping?"
"Not like that."
Ah, the music of her natural voice again. Under the delusion of the heavy liquor rush he thought he could taste it sweetening the air.
Her eyes were wide and startled at her own forwardness, she had lost her footing too, leaning forward for him to kiss her again. This kiss was longer, more rough as he pushed his tongue through her lips. Shang slid onto his back, holding her astride his hips as he slipped his arms around her waist to pull her closer. He could feel the heat and pounding of blood between her legs where she was straddled over him, his body responding likewise.
It did not stop there. She pulled him onto his side again where he hands had freedom to roam, caressing the contours of his back which she had so painstakingly massaged moments ago, then sliding around again to explore his chest. He bit at her neck with a muffled groan as her fingertip pushed on the delicate flesh of his nipple, circling it curiously before her hands slid lower, tracing the lines and ridges of his torso.
He laid back, pulling her on top of him again, her body draped over him as her hands continued their careful study, slipping deep inside his sash. One hand closed around the hard flesh there, causing it to stiffen madly. That seemed to please her, fascinate her, the way it twitched and quivered in her hold, her smile on that marveled at the power she had. But in another that smile was gone as hand was visible again, her look one of confused alarm.
The torture to his body was too much. He yanked her close quickly, forcing his mouth against hers in short, demanding kisses, determined not let her stop there.
She struggled at first, then gave in, making little whimpers of pleasure between kisses, one hand on the back of his neck, arching for him until he could feel the heat between her bound breasts, over her heart. There he was, so close to compensation for the days she hidden her true self from him, not allowing him the pleasure of her again, dominating his thoughts and driving him mad. His hand raised to unfasten the sash of her robe.
Catching it quickly, Ping drew back from him, holding his hand a safe distance from her breast. "You know this is forbidden between comrade and officer." Her voice had lost its sensual edge, hardening to the voice of a man again.
He closed his eyes, fighting for restraint, the frustration to feel the heat between her legs again bordering on intolerable pain. "Forget that," he half pleaded. "Don't run from me like you did that night in the river. I could not bear it." It must have been the liquor - though it had worn off somewhat - his desperation that made him speak so honestly, and carelessly. Then again, driven to that point, he was willing to beg her.
Her face paled instantly, posture becoming rigid. "I don't..."
"Ping," his arms tightened around her. "You don't have to be afraid. I would never hurt you."
"I don't... " She swallowed hard, eyes squeezed shut. "I don't know what you are talking about. I think I should go." Scrambling from the bed, she stopped in the entrance of his tent to salute and add a pained "sir" before hurrying into the darkness, wiping her eyes.
She left him there, somewhere between terrible anger and the pain of his longing.
~ * ~
It wasn't just the after effects of the liquor that had Shang in a foul mood the next morning. He snapped at anyone and everyone relentlessly, deserving or no. It came to a point where the men traversed through the snow in silence, afraid too send their commander into a tirade for making too much noise. It wasn't really the grueling headache that made him give that impression, it was Ping. Ping, the name sent him in a fit of frustrated rage, gripping his reins. He did not want to hear or look at Ping today.
What did she take him for? A complete idiot? Did she think he liked men, or that he didn't know a man from a woman? He had been patient with her, he had done the honorable thing and kept her secret. He had let her stay in the army knowing she was a woman, risking much for both of them yet never demanding her motive, or anything near an explanation. He had broken the law for her and what did she do but lie to his face. She stood there and denied it, albeit uneasily, but a lie was a lie. How could she have so little honor? He felt as if she had used him, manipulated him, trading a bit of teasing to keep him from reporting her, like casting a spell. Such artfulness was for a court lady, not a village girl. But she was whoring herself just the same, and not a very good one after the state she had left him in last night.
The thunder of an explosion rumbled from behind him. He whipped around furiously to face accursed Ping, holding Khan's reins with a pinched, worried face as the artillery cart smoked behind her, a cannon bursting into the sky.
"What happened?" Shang growled. If she wasn't a girl he would have wrung her neck. "You just gave away our position! Now we're-"
An arrow struck him in the shoulder, knocking him from his horse onto the cold snow. Sprawled on his back he saw bright flurries of flame, lit arrows, fired towards them. Gritting his teeth, he ripped the thing from his shoulder and turned to his men. "Get out of range!" Ambush, if they didn't move fast enough they would die. He had not worked so hard to train them only to see them killed by Ping's carelessness.
They flailed around in a panic in the snow. Shang rose to his feet, jumping on his horse again. "Save the cannons!" He called over his shoulder. Some semblance of teamwork began as the cart caught fire. When he turned around again, Ping was facedown in the snow after saving her horse from the flames. He swore violently under his breath. If they made it out of here alive he really was going to break her neck.
Dismounting, he gave the order for Yao to fire. His headache and anger were forgotten as years of book learning took over. Ahead of him there nothing but a screen of smoke and the white snow, the arrows had stopped. Flinging out a hand, he ordered Yao to cease firing, waiting for the smoke to clear.
All of a sudden, everything seemed like a bad dream. On top of the slope stood Shan-yu, even from as far away as Shang was standing that demon's presence seemed to radiate doom. Raising a jagged blade with a feral cry, he sent his horse in a charge, after him came pouring the largest army Shang had ever imagined. There were thousand of them, crying, howling, bloodthirsty, and all he had was a single cannon. It was suicide. It was so unbelievable that Shang almost could have laughed, a cruel joke the god's were playing on him in answer to his prayer for a solution to his dilemma. How quickly Chi Fu's premonition had proved true.
"Prepare to fight," he called to his men over his shoulder. It was worth dying for, he tried to tell himself, it had to be. "If we die, we die with honor." A cheap consolation, as if it would make them any less dead.
Swords were drawn as they faces the incoming army. Shan-yu had stretched a good few yards ahead of his men. An idea struck Shang, the luxury of a small glimmer of hope. These nomad armies were not as structured as the Chinese, he remembered hearing that several times before. "Yao," he turned quickly. "Aim the cannon at Shan-yu." Kill the leader and his army breaks up quickly into chaos. Besides, if he was going to die today the man who had killed his father was not going with him.
Obediently, Yao positioned the cannon to fire, then growled as a flicker of motion stole it from his hands. Shang twisted his head around immediately to see what it was, swearing under his breath again. It was Ping, holding the cannon under one arm, clearly gone mad. His thoughts ran rampant with suspicion, what if she was a spy and had now sabotaged his only hope out of here
"Ping!" Shang raised a hand. "Come back!"
The panic that rose in him was much worse than what he had felt with the first glimpse of the approaching Huns. Ping was running for Shan-yu, ignoring his shouts and the shouts of her comrades. Didn't she realize the danger, not only to herself but to all of them? She was only a few yards from the monster now, stopping to plant the cannon in the snow, grabbing the flint to light it. Shan-yu spurred his horse faster with the hilt of his sword, golden eyes wild. A falcon cried, swooping for Ping.
"Ping!" He was holding his breath. She was so close to Shan-yu and to certain death, one in the same. Shang ran towards her, Yao, Ling and Chien Po after him, cursing her as he trudged through the snow. He had just lost his father, he could not bare to lose Ping.
She was on the ground, fumbling for the flint again, picking it up. He froze, what was she doing? She had raised the cannon so that its target was no longer Shan-yu, then swiveling it to the right towards the tall snow peak. It exploded, soaring through the air, crashing into that peak. Shang stood mystified, how could she miss? But she was smiling.
That snow bank rumbled, a few chips of ice falling, and then more. The thing was going to collapse. Ping had scrambled to her feet again, barely escaping the bite of Shan-yu's sword. She was running for him. He could not take his eyes from that melting peak, sending waves of liquid snow rolling down, enough to swallow an entire army. Brilliant, unbelievable.
"Hurry up!" Her hand was on his arm. They took off running together towards the cover of the rock. Khan broke free from another soldier's hold, bounding for her. Throwing herself in his saddle, she steered with her knees to hold out her hand to Shang. He clutched it desperately, but even his iron grip could not withstand the force of the fast moving avalanche. A white and blue whirlpool tunneled around him, suddenly the little hand in his was gone as he was pulled under.
The next thing he knew he was climbing down from her horse onto the solid gray rock of the cliff. He knelt on the ground, catching his breath, trying to understand what Ling was saying, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Ping was crawling onto the snow to sit beside him, smiling but still watching him worriedly. She had saved them all, little Ping - a tiny, beautiful girl! An entire army could not do it, but one lone woman had managed single-handedly to stop Shan-yu.
Leaning an elbow on one knee, he stared at her, barely recovered from the shock. "Ping," he began quietly. "You are crazy, do you hear me?" Giving way to a smile, he looked down at himself before standing up. "I guess that's why I'm still alive. It wasn't exactly following orders, but you did well." Taking her arm, he pulled her to her feet, fighting back the urge to embrace her. She was safe now, and so were all of them. China owed her a debt of gratitude, him most of all.
Letting out a cry of pain, she sank to one knee, clutching her right side.
"Ping!" He moved closer, heart beating faster with worry, supporting her with a hand around her shoulder. "What's wrong?" Without waiting for her answer he pulled her fingers away. Blood trickled onto her hand, leaking through her armor. Shan-yu's sword must have struck her after all. Panicked at the sight of the crimson stain, he raised his head. "He's wounded! Get up and help!" Her face was paling, turned towards him trustingly, eyes narrowed in pain. "Just hold on, Ping, it's alright," But she did not seem to hear him, collapsing against his chest.
Lowering her carefully to the ground, he wondered vaguely if anyone noticed how closely he was holding her against him. He did not care. "We don't have time to wait for the medic to get here." It was a plausible excuse, the medic was with Chi Fu and a few other soldiers back where they had camped last night, a mile away. It could take an hour for a runner to fetch him and ride back. Ping could bleed to death by then. His true motive was simple, treating the wound would involve removing her armor and shirt, revealing who she was. He had to treat her himself. "Set up a tent. We need to get him out of the cold."
Someone handed him a medical bag, which he opened quickly to fish out cloth for a compress, luckily there were plenty of cotton bandages. He had some small experience in emergency medicine, Tai-shan had gotten himself stabbed in a tavern fight once and Shang had had an arrow in his leg before. Still, his mind was rushing through the things he had been taught, keep the victim still until the bleeding was controlled. Rolling the material into a wad, he pressed it into the hole in her armor, not gaping, but enough to warrant serious concern. He was relieved to see the cloth did not soak through all the way, the bleeding was not copious and it was slowing with the pressure he put to the wound.
Gently scooping her up in his arms, he carried her to the white medical tent. Throwing the leather bag down, he laid Ping on the cot. There wasn't much time. He had to wrap up the wound before anyone could come in and see she was a woman.
Pulling the leather armor from her body was difficult, but he managed it after tedious moments of trying to do so while keeping her still. He hesitated uncomfortably before peeling off her shirt, his head swimming with thoughts of the previous night. This was not the same thing, he reminded himself sharply, this was a matter of saving Ping's life. She had saved his life today, she deserved every effort he could put forth to help her now. Later, they could talk about what had happened in the river, and why she was even here in first place. He would demand answers then.
There was already a length of pale bandage binding her breasts. He unwound it carefully, trying not to let his eyes wander to her breasts that shook as he pulled away the cloth, the little nipples pinched with cold, set like small stones in the center of the rosy circles of skin. The wound itself was not severe, not enough to need suturing, just a jagged line across her ribs, already caked over in dried blood. With all the layers of clothing it was only a flesh wound, looking worse than it was. It could have been worse without the binding around her breasts and the armor. Taking out a topical powder, he dusted the white flecks over the torn skin, an herbal remedy to speed the blood's clotting. Satisfied, he dabbed an antiseptic ointment before pulling another clean bandage to cover her again.
Slipping the white cloth under her back, he began wrapping at her waist, spiraling around over the wound and then to her breasts again. He paused, openly staring, reaching out before he could stop himself, cupping one breast in his hand gently. The flesh was cool, pale, not sun-kissed like the rest of her, he admired it as if he had never seen a woman's breasts before. Then his hand came away with a jerk, confused and ashamed. What manner of man would touch a woman without her permission? An unmarried man and woman were forbidden to touch at all. A stab of guilt shot through him as he recalled the way she had grabbed his hand away last night.
Finishing with the bandage as quickly as he could, Shang spread a blanket over her, standing again to collect the stained bandages and supplies. His eyes fell on her face, feeling choked inside as he glanced at the cloth smeared with her blood. She did not deserve this. Deep down, he was still so angry with her and her lie, more wounded than she was. Sighing, Shang turned out of the tent, leaving her to sleep.
Out in the cold again, Chi Fu was waiting for him, the medic and two soldiers standing behind him. Shang concentrated all his energy into schooling his features against the crawling nervousness.
"Captain, we heard trouble and left camp in search of the rest of you," Chi Fu scowled as if this were a great inconvenience, flourishing his hand though it held no brush. "We ran into a soldier who claimed one of your men was wounded. Doctor Kong is here to inspect."
Stiffening, Shang searched the faces of his men. He had ordered no messenger. Ling stepped forward, expression grim, awaiting Shang's wrath. "We were worried, sir," the skinny man explained quietly. "Ping is our friend." Shang's fist clenched, wishing it were around Ling's throat. This was the very thing he had hoped to avoid.
"Flesh wound," Shang supplied quickly, fighting to keep his features smooth as he met Chi Fu's eyes. His heart was pounding. "I was able to stop the bleeding and help Ping to lie down. He was able to administer his own medicine. I left him to clean the wound and bandage it. He's sleeping now. I think it's best to let him stay that way. He could use some opium for the pain."
"Humph," Chi Fu wrinkled his nose with a haughty sniff. "Saving the day doesn't qualify you as a doctor, Captain. As the Emperor's Council, I demand the wound be inspected by a professional." Their eyes locked stubbornly, but Shang purposely dropped his gaze. He did not want to seem too adamant. He had no choice but to step aside for the Doctor Kong.
~ * ~
He paced outside of her tent for what seemed like hours, numb to the cold, staring blankly into the misty painting of snowy mountains peaks against the sky. He felt lost, angry. If she had confessed last night they could have thought up something, some way to prevent this. But she had done nothing, forcing him to do nothing, how was he to know they would meat a Hun onslaught today? How could he unveil her, dishonoring her and all her family? It was her stubbornness that had brought this on herself, leaving him powerless to help her. That was the worst, that she had not given him the chance.
Shang stopped when the medic stepped out of the tent, walking towards him. The shorter man began to speak softly, Shang had to bend down to hear what he was saying. "Captain, there's something you should see," the voice was mystified yet sympathetic. At first Shang did not understand.
Realization swept over Shang as he moved towards the tent. The medic knew. Fear and dread washed over him. Of course he knew, Shang had been resigned to the fact he would know the moment he stepped aside for Kong to enter the tent. Still, nothing could prepare Shang for the reality of it.
Her eyes were open when he entered, head resting comfortably against the pillow. A smile broke across her face when she saw him, a dreamy opium-dazed smile. She sat up, the blanket sliding from her chest, revealing the feminine figure the loosely wrapped bandage no longer hid. His eyes widened at her shamelessness, then narrowed in anger. Did she need opium to let him know the truth?
"I can explain." She clutched the blanket to her shoulders again, taking his reaction for surprise. He folded his arms, ready to finally hear it, unsure of whether he wanted to.
Before she could get the words out, Chi Fu stormed in, stopping behind him. "So it's true!" he hissed sharply. "I always knew there was something wrong with you!" Shang turned, stalking out of the tent. He just needed some silence, a moment to think of a way out of this.
"Shang!" She was calling his name. He squeezed his eyes shut against it. The next thing he heard was Chi Fu's voice, coming from outside the tent now.
"Treacherous snake!" Ripping the tie from Ping's hair, he threw her down in the snow. "A woman!" The men gasped, Shang was torn between a hundred emotions. The only one he understood with any clarity was the violent longing to kill Chi Fu, to silence that voice so full of poison and disdain.
Then her voice rang clear, pleading, strong, carrying over Chi Fu's cries.
"My name is Mulan. I did it to save my father. I didn't mean for it to go this far. Please, you have to believe me."
Her father? So she was Fa Zhou's daughter after all, not one of the Queen Mother's Celestial Fairies, not Yaoji? No, Mulan - Magnolia Blossom, not Ping the flower vase. So she loved her father too, hadn't she said something once... something he could not remember from last night? In the face of that towering self-sacrifice, he wished he could understand why he felt so betrayed.
Snorting in disgust, Chi Fu whirled on Shang expectantly. "Captain!" His prompting held a near eagerness, like the masses that buzzed around a public execution.
Execution, the word echoed as if he had never heard it before.
Turning to face her for the first time, he held his breath. There she was, kneeling in the snow, clutching the blanket to shield herself from the eyes of her comrades and the cold, cheeks russet from the drug. He gathered the courage to stare into her eyes, they had such a hold on him. Execution, the word cut into him again, tearing at something. A sickening sensation turned in his stomach. The penalty for a woman discovered in the army was death, Chi Fu expected him to deliver that sentence here and now. Maybe she had lied, ran away and hid herself from him, knowing that he knew, but she did not deserve to die for that, not by his hand.
"We'll take her to the Imperial City." He spoke softly, only Ping - Mulan - seemed to hear. "This is for the Emperor to decide." Facing his men, his voice became firmer, spying the relief on their faces. They wanted to save her too. "We'll camp here tonight and ride for the Capital in the morning. See that she is confined," he ordered a skinny soldier who's name eluded him at the moment. "Aside from that, do not touch her or I will have to kill you too. A woman is bad luck for an army." Superstitious nonsense, but that was what the law claimed.
Leaving Chi Fu no room to protest, Shang turned away to gather his supplies and set up his own tent, longing for solitude. He tried to look away as Mulan was dragged to her feet and hauled into the medic's tent again. Mulan, he repeated the name in his mind, magnolia blossom.
~ * ~
It seemed to happen in one long moment, the way the daylight sunk into evening darkness. The twilight here was made of new colors, the white snow mirroring the blues and golds of the sky, reflecting them faithfully. Shang marveled at the way that mirror shone back each color, even the drab gray of the rock, so honest, and all he could see in himself was a powerless anger.
Ping, Mulan - the two names were one yet his mind used them interchangeably, held hostage by thoughts of her. The truth was, she had broken his heart.
It was shameful and selfish to even allow himself to feel that, a bitter, stinging wound to his pride as a man. He had devoted his life to honor, the dignity his family had taught him, to let go of his desire and cling to the greater good. He had been raised with the teachings of the Dao, to always be like water, benefiting all things without struggle. But he was more like the mountains that would never know what it was to soar because they could not let go of the ground.
Mulan was resigned to her fate, and he should be as well. She knew the price of her deceit and would pay it willingly. Her father meant that much to her. Their lie the thorn that pricked and bled him, all that devotion spent on a father. For that, he should have admired her, aligned with her, but all he could conjure was a jealous rage and betrayal. Somewhere in his heart he had hoped that he was the reason she strived so hard, the reason she was determined to stay in the army. He had hoped that she had been just as secretly driven by the desire to remain close to him as he had been to her, just to form a kinship between them. Now it was too late, he had already fallen in love and could not compete with a father.
So he knelt there in that quiet place, far away from her and his men, the darkness deepening around him. A little wind stirred, whistling through the canyon, his father's ghost. Suddenly he wanted nothing more to feel the pain of his father's death, no liquor, no pleasure. He must teach himself to abide pain, after they reached the Imperial City he was sure to be consumed with it for a lifetime. A lifetime? The idea was intangible, he was already a ghost. Bowing low, he pressed his forehead to the cold white ground, praying to Kuan-yin. Goddess of Mercy, and all his Ancestors give him courage to at least look at her one last time.
One last time, the words echoed as if someone had really spoken them. If he had any honor, any courage, he would go to her and say goodbye.
Rising to his feet, he looked back at the camp, glowing with firelight. He moved like a ghost, slow, numb.
Her tent was in the center of camp where she could be watched easily, turning several heads when he entered. Shang paid them no mind, only ordering the guard away under the pretense of questioning her, prepared to use force if he was not obeyed. It took no more than a glance.
She was sitting on her cot, hands tied with rope and resting in her lap, forlorn face staring at nothing. A mask of forced stubbornness replaced that lost look, turning to him with eyes full of bitter accusations that she was too proud to voice. That look struck him with a stab of guilt, and then anger. How dare she be the one to claim she was betrayed?
"I'm surprised to see you, sir," she spoke first as he closed the tent flap behind him. Four candles lit the small tent, casting a russet glow over her unbound hair. Her cheeks were still flushed, but the daze of the opium had long since worn off. "After the way you've been acting towards me today, and the way you just left me this afternoon." It was matter-of-fact, but the hidden measure of hurt grated at him.
"Ping," he began sharply, the anger giving him confidence. He had every right to be angry with her, she had no right to be hurt. "Mulan, I mean. This never had to happen. If you'd have just admitted who you were last night when I asked you... How could you stand there and lie to me?" She started to speak, but he continued before she could get the words out. "I've known who you are for a week now and I've kept your secret for you and your family. I've been waiting for you to say something. I took a great risk today treating you, I even lied to Chi Fu and Doctor Kong for you. I respect Doctor Kong. I'm disappointed in you, playing me for a fool after that night at Wu Zhong. Did you think I wouldn't figure it out?"
She lowered her face, stammering nervously. "I... I didn't think it meant anything to you."
"Didn't mean anything?" He repeated incredulously, it took all his effort to keep his voice down. A sinking sensation came over him, anguish, disbelief, rage. So she had used him. He felt cold, that ghost-like numbness, all the pain and sleeplessness had been for nothing, the fear of losing something that had never been his at all, no matter how much tried to protect it, buy it with loyalty. When he spoke again, the words were faint. "What kind of a man do you think I am? One who likes men? Well I've never been with one in my life." That thought infuriated the most, that he liked Ping the man. She should have known him better.
"No...I," her words were quiet, desperate. Her cheeks reddened uncomfortably. "The men say that... that being with a girl doesn't mean anything for them. It's just that you seemed to know what... well I wouldn't know but..." The color in her cheeks was deepening. She couldn't meet his eyes. "Well, you were good, sir. "
He stood open-mouthed, shocked and unsure of how to feel. It was the most disarming thing anyone had ever said to him. All this time she had been content to be used by him, so blind and unaware to the chaos of his feelings, feeling as if his heart had been ripped out every morning he was torn from a dream of her. How could she be oblivious to all his suffering and confusion? And how cruel the gods were, to let her realize it now on the very last night she might have.
"That's a lie, Mulan," he said very softly, sitting down beside her. It was a lie that men told each other when they were afraid of feeling too much. "It always means something. At least it should."
That made her look up at him, startled. He smiled a little, forgetting his anger. Then she shook her head, seeming lost again. "I feel so many things I don't understand, sir. I thought I had come here to save my father and then I... I met you. I wanted to stay, to prove that I could make something of myself, and then I saw what happened back there at the village yesterday. Then after last night, nothing made sense."
"Mulan," he fought for something comforting to say but words failed him. "In the past two days I've learned that it's a curse to be a soldier, every day could be your last. It's a hard enough life. There are just some places a woman shouldn't be." Not a woman like her, she deserved more.
"What?" Her head jerked up incredulously, eyes flashing. "How can you tell me that I don't belong? I've worked as hard as anyone and you want me to go home and cook a meal? Or not until I let you finish what you started last night, I'll bet."
Shang blinked. What he'd started? "That's not-"
"I hope it's not," she answered angrily. "Because I'm just as good as you are. I know that. I deserve respect." Her face held a familiar stubbornness.
"Of course you do," he nodded quickly, reaching for her hands. "But-"
Raising her knee, she knocked his hand away quickly, standing up. "I've proven it before, but you wanted a rematch, get up! I'll even keep my hands tied."
"Ping, stop it. This isn't the time. We aren't at Wu Zhong anymore, this isn't a game."
That spark of anger grew in her eyes, hearing no reason. "My name is Mulan, now get up!" When he refused to move she came closer, cheeks flaring with frustration and rage. "Isn't that how you men settle things? In case you've forgotten I'm going to die tomorrow, allow me some satisfaction before I do." Why was she wasting her last night on anger and pride?
Pushed to her limit, she leapt for him, locking her knees around his waist, knocking him back on the bed. He groaned at the weight of her on his chest, then braced himself to get a grip on her and pull her off. Despite her bound hands, her body was anchored with her knees on either side of him, making him swear in frustration. Rolling onto his side he managed the throw her off, but not before she deftly tangled her knee in his, dragging them both to the floor.
He tried to seize the opportunity to wrench his leg free, but in that same moment she had slipped her arms around his neck and one leg around his waist, securing herself to him tightly. They tussled vigorously over the floor mats, Shang struggling to free himself of her but not knowing what goal Mulan had in mind. Each time he tried to slip out from under her arms she hooked a leg around his back, sending them rolling over each other, her useless hands causing her to rely solely on her lower body for leverage. It was not a fair fight, with her wound he was too careful not to hurt her.
Finally gripping the backs of her knees, he tossed her under him one final time, holding her down with his weight. He had intended to lay against her only long enough to catch his breath, but the squirming of her hips sent tingles through him, drawing out a groan. Suddenly the room was very still, urgently making him aware of how alone they were.
It was an involuntary reaction when he leaned his cheek against her neck, his lips just barely in contact with the tender skin just above her collarbone. Maybe it was the memory of the sweet water he had tasted there before that made him close his eyes, suddenly motionless. She had stilled as well, resting her head back to catch her breath, yielding to the change in mood. With her pause, he became all too conscience of where he had been pinning his weight over her, of how acutely he could feel the small curve of her hip pressed into his.
Turning her head, she let out a soft moan of exhaustion in his ear. His pulse rose with the sound, sending a rush of blood to his groin, intoxicated by the scent of sweat and warm skin. Brushing her hair back, his mouth found a sensitive spot at the base of her throat, lancing his tongue out as she craned her neck for him to taste it. Tangling his fingers in her loose hair, he pulled her head down again, locking his mouth against hers. The kiss was deep, hard, drawing a cry. The blood throbbed below his waist, pressed against the radiating heat between her legs, making him kiss her again and again, each more rough, more demanding, with such force that her whole body shook under them. He was only half aware that she had become very tense and still.
The desperation was pushing him over a dangerous edge, remembering the feel of her in the river, the way she had teased him last night. His control was slipping. As that desperation grew stronger he began to forget there was a living being beneath him, seeing her only as something to vent his frustration and rage, a tangible release from the pain of his father's death, his anger at the law, and at her. In that inflamed state, everything was so violent.
His hand plunged beneath her robe, groping for her sash and yanking her pants from her hips. Her heart beat faster, features startled and tense, bound arms held taught against his back. Only the arching of her hips betrayed her, just a reflex, allowing Shang to pull the loose cloth away and slip it over her feet.
Thrusting his body against her, he pushed her legs farther apart, taunting her with the length of his erection through their clothes. Her breathing altered, his mouth buried in her shoulder, her neck, hands moving to unfasten his own sash before returning to find her bare skin again. He closed his eyes with a cry when his stiffened flesh came in contact with the moisture between her legs.
Something inside him was fighting for control, making him open his eyes again and look at her, searching for some sign of consent, some reminder that this desperation was not his alone. His hand was gripping her thigh roughly, body poised to drive into her without a thought of how that might hurt her, lips bruising where they bit and suckled her skin. Fragmented thoughts entered his mind, memories of older comrades returning from battle, taking prostitutes for the night. It eased the pain, one officer had said, a body where they could leave their sins behind, purging themselves. Was that all she was? Was it fear that made her lie back and allow it? Or did she want it that way, rough, helpless with her tied hands, trusting him to stop if she demanded it. He wondered if he could.
Lifting his fingers to her face, he stroked her cheek softly with his rough and calloused hand. Her eyes opened, both afraid and trusting, shining dark pools in that beautiful face. Shang drew in his breath, swelling with emotion. It wasn't the pleasure, it was wanting that made him feel alive. He loved her painfully.
When he kissed her again it was with a coherent gentleness, as tenderly as he knew how. She returned the kiss open-mouthed, twisting her arms around his neck to run her fingers through his hair. So she had liked his earlier roughness after all.
Shang slid his mouth along her neck again, settling once more just below her ear. "Beautiful goddess," he begged in a whisper, "say my name." Just like that night in her dream.
Mulan only whimpered for answer at first as he let his hips grind against her, bringing their sensitive flesh together teasingly, than drawing back.
Somehow she found a way to dig her nails into his shoulder, "Shang," crying his name in a near demand.
Wanting to hear her say it again, he drew her earlobe into his mouth, circling it with his tongue, burying himself in the warm tunnel between her legs to ease the pain of his arousal, like opium for a battle wound.
His motions were slow, careful to cause her no pain. He sought her waiting mouth again, tugging at her lower lip in the kiss, beginning to move faster as the pleasure increased. Her legs curled themselves around his back, body clutching his as she moved with him, breathing his name. He continued stroking her hair, kissing one side of her neck, moving faster within her until he felt her tremble, breath choked, arching wildly as her pleasure reached its peak.
The room disappeared around him, he was only aware of her holding on to him, the pressure and heat that closed around him between her legs. "Mulan," he called out roughly, arching his neck, eyes shut, body shuddering powerfully as the pleasure crashed through his head like a shattering vase.
Rolling off of her, Shang sat up, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Mulan," his breathing was still heavy. Her head fell on his shoulder, and he pulled her close into his arms possessively, they way he should have last night when she had tried to run away. She hadn't run this time, she couldn't short of being killed by the guards. Suddenly his thoughts came sinking back to reality, eyeing her bare legs, the bits of armor strewn on the floor from when he had brought her here earlier. When he closed his eyes, she was lying unconscious on the bed again, bare-breasted, side bleeding. He remembered how he had touched her in her sleep, the raging demand for her that had only just subsided, the fearful look on her face when his hand tore at her clothing. Shang drew back from her stiffly. "Are you... are you alright?"
She nodded, but her confounded look was unconvincing. "I think so." Untying her hands, he rubbed her wrists, red from the strain, before hand her the rest of the clothing again.
An awkward silence stretched as they redressed themselves, neither comfortable enough to look at the other. She seemed embarrassed, coy, and he was more confused at himself than anything. Was it revenge? He wondered to himself, for last night? Not letting her leave this world without taking what he wanted for her. No, no, he loved her deeply, it wasn't just the haze of satisfaction that made him think that, it wasn't merely some way to justify it. He did love her, they way she never gave up, not even against an army of Huns. He would love her more once he understood the many layers of her. But how could he hope for that chance when she would die tomorrow? Executed like a criminal.
As if sensing that thought, she sat down beside him, watching him with wistful, somber eyes. "Say you won't let me die tomorrow, even if it isn't true. Just say it."
He tried to speak, but no words would come. He swallowed, holding back choked emotion. "I'm sorry," was all he finally managed, looking down, covering her hand with his. I'm sorry, what kind of wretched and hollow thing was that leave her?
Lifting her face, her eyes were very bold. Time was too precious now to waste it on pride and restraint. "I want to be with you always."
That confession was too much, like taking a mortal wound and still standing, to shaken to comprehend even the pain. He would have married her, he would have found a way. The daughter of Fa Zhou would be considered a good alliance for a military man. But he couldn't marry her, he was a living ghost and she was already dead.
His head bent, raising the hand he had been clasping to his lips, kissing it gently. Her eyes were dry, and his. The worst pain was one that was beyond tears. "Mulan, I will..." He stumbled over the words, he never got the chance to say them.
"Captain!" The voice of his most bitter enemy rang from outside.
Shang's mind burned with hatred as he stood, dropping her hand so roughly that she yelped. He quickly grabbed the rope, binding her hands again, motioning for her to stay where she was as he rushed to open the entrance of the tent.
Once again, Chi Fu was there with the guards, looking him over disdainfully. "By the state of your clothes, Captain, one would think a battle was fought in here." He gave a pungent sniff, punctuating his sarcasm, pushing past Shang into the tent. "Don't think I've forgotten who you were," he hissed, stopping directly in front of Mulan. Her look was more annoyed than hateful. "No shame at all, in the middle of your village, pleading for you father because he's a cripple. Don't put on the brave face, you're no martyr, you're nothing but a spoiled girl whose father never taught to hold her tongue."
"Wait a minute," Shang stepped between them, turning to Chi Fu. "You drafted a wounded man?"
The older man's face blanched, before he straightened defensively. "The Emperor requested one man from each family, clearly Fa Zhou is the only man in the Fa family. Unfortunate," he twirled a hand as if impatient to get on with the subject.
"An able-bodied man!" Shang raised his voice raised fiercely, unrelenting. All this had happened because of Chi Fu? How could the man sleep at night? He had left Mulan with no choice but to take her father's place, what filial child wouldn't? Her death was on Chi Fu's hands now. Shang found himself wishing he had a sword, to avenge her. "The conscription called for one able-bodied man from each family. My father told me, and showed me the order!"
Chi Fu flinched, but remained silent. He would never in his life dare refute the late General's word.
"My father was a general for ten years." Both men turned to Mulan, her voice clear, composed. "Twenty years ago Shan-yu's father invaded over the Wall, my father led his troops up north. There was a village there the Huns had laid siege to, the last village before they crossed the mountains into Ch'ang-an. My father took a small group of men and managed to crack their defenses, sneaking inside the city walls. The Hun general and his officers were in the watch tower, all my father's men had was a cannon and their swords. My father ran ahead with the cannon into the building, causing it to explode. He thought it was suicide, but somehow he managed to crawl out when the Hun leaders were dead. It was General Li who found him, and carried him away. He saved my father's life. "
Yes, he knew the story, his father had told him many times. Fa Zhou had been his commander, his mentor. But the old general had retired, his father had said, wanting a quiet life after all the friends he'd lost on the field. His father had never mentioned that Fa Zhou had been wounded. Shang wondered why he hadn't made the connection with the cannon sooner. Suddenly, Shang felt inexplicably close to her. His father had loved Fa Zhou so much, helping his daughter was no disgrace, but an honor to his father's memory.
The story had not touched Chi Fu at all, standing there with same impatient dissatisfaction. "So now we have your father to thank for this recent invasion, with Shan-yu avenging his father's death. Humph!"
Sharing a glance with Mulan, Shang shook his head. It was the Hun leader's mistake. "Never lay siege to walled cities," they echoed in unison. The worst messes were always caused by a rash man's negligence.
With a sniff, Chi Fu dismissed Mulan entirely, turning to Shang. "The runner you sent to Ch'ang-an two nights ago has returned. The Emperor is awaiting you in the Imperial City. Your troops are to remain here. I think it best we leave the prisoner behind with them, until after you report to His Majesty. She has no place in a triumph march."
It was a command he had no choice but to obey, Imperial orders were Chi Fu's domain. "Very well," he replied stiffly, fearful at the thought of leaving her alone with the men.
"You'd better make haste, Captain. We must leave tonight to arrive in the Capital by morning."
His eyes fell on Mulan despite himself, forgetting Chi Fu's presence. He would never see her again. What would happen to her here, alone, where he could not protect her? The violence in the eyes of the guard outside was enough of an indication. Shang shivered, then clenched his fist in rage, the same guard he had told not to touch her, knowing what kind of man he was. Stepping forward, he pretended to be tightening her bonds, but instead loosened them where no one could see. Even a suicidal escape attempt was better than leaving her with a soldier who had not seen a woman in weeks.
She did not understand, of course, face puzzled. But he could not look at her too long. Making his way out of the tent, he could only see her in quick stolen glances, each one wrenching his heart.
"Captain Li sir," her voice had become stiffly formal. He turned around, alarmed at the distant address. "You forgot your helmet, sir. Since you're leaving."
Taken aback, he just stared at her, then glanced around the tent to see what she was talking about. There on the floor behind her lay the pieces of armor he had so carefully removed only hours ago, never collected. The helmet lay closest to her hand. Nodding as if it were a simple reminder, he stepped forward again.
Dropping to one knee to retrieve the thing, he glanced at her again anxiously, to see why she had called him back. Her lips moved, with words so faint he rather read them than heard. "Even if I become a ghost, wandering the earth forever, I will never forget you."
His eyes squeezed shut, fighting impossible pain. But he picked up the thing, donning it without comment, the close fitting leather hiding his face from her as he followed Chi Fu outside.
~ * ~