(A/N) Sorry for taking so incredibly long to update. I will try not to take as long on the next chapter, but you never know.


Mulan

It was, I found easier to put away the dream of a son the second time. For one thing, I had done it once before. For another, and I suspect this was the bulk of the reason, I had Mulan.

I remember the first time someone told me I should divorce Li and get another wife who would give me a boy, since my brothers were dead and there were none to carry on the family name. I did not give him the dignity of a reply beyond a hard, cold look that made him back away. In those days, my fame as a warrior was alive and well, not dormant as it is now. How dare he suggest that I would want any wife other than Li, or any child other than Mulan? Perhaps my line would not live forever, but then, what does?

In those first few years of her life, it seemed to me that Mulan would. Because how could a little light that burned so fierce and bright ever be quenched? Every day was like a miracle, every new discovery momentous. Perhaps I looked foolish, carrying her proudly with me everywhere, but I never felt so. As she discovered the world, so did I.

Li shook her head at the two of us. "You'll spoil her," she said, but she smiled too.

"So? She deserves a little spoiling."

"Deserves? For what? What has she done?" But she laughed and took Mulan, pressing kisses to her face until the baby squirmed and wailed to be let down. Li had a great deal of love to give, and only myself, my mother, and Mulan to give it to.

Sometimes, I knew, she still felt guilt that the one child she'd managed to give me had only been a daughter. The women of the town looked at her pityingly as she passed, with Mulan in her arms. But she held her head high and loved Mulan with that much more ferocity.

Mulan was a little late walking--not surprising, since I carried her everywhere. But Li finally laid down the law and said we had to teach her, because she would soon be too big for me to carry her around.

"Never," I said, lifting her high in the air. "Never."

But we went out into the garden and attempted to teach her to walk, just the short distance between Li and myself. She didn't seem interested, although she managed to take one or two steps by herself before collapsing backward onto her bottom. Even though it happened several times, she didn't wail--not my sturdy Mulan. She treated it as another game, and the sound of her giggle echoed off the walls of the garden.

After two hours, though, the game failed to satisfy, and my mother said, "Li, we shall try again tomorrow. It is not wise to push these things too hard. The baby will learn when she wants to learn, and not before."

Li sighed and let Mulan crawl around the garden. The baby paused under the magnolia tree, examining a bug so closely her eyes were all but crossed. She reached out for it, and I picked her up before she could put it in her mouth. She burbled with laughter.

"Do not worry, Li," my mother said to my wife. "Every baby is different." She pointed a gnarled finger at me. "This one did not walk until a year and a half had passed by." She raised her hands in the air. "Aiya! I thought I would be carrying him forever, this baby almost as big as I was!"

Li laughed, and I scowled to make my mother laugh too. Mulan wiggled, and I put her down between my knees, wrapping my hands around her tiny fists to keep her upright.

"And his brothers! Guang, a year, Jun, almost two years, but Dewei, only eight months. So you see."

It had been many years since my brothers had passed from this earth, and my mother could speak of them with a laugh in her voice. I looked at her, wondering how it was possible. If Mulan ever . . . I couldn't even think it, for my world would simply shatter.

"And yet," my mother continued complacently, "they were all babbling like brooks before they were a year old."

We all laughed then. Mulan talked all the day long, most of it incomprehensible gibberish. I felt her fingers leave mine, and reached out to catch her as she fell--but she hadn't fallen.

Li gasped. "Zhou! Look!"

I couldn't speak, my heart filling with wonder. Our baby toddled across the grass, fat legs carrying her after a bright butterfly.

My mother laughed aloud, clapping her hands. "Ha! Didn't I tell you!"

The butterfly swooped up over the wall and was gone, and Mulan stood looking after it for a moment before gravity took over and she landed on her bottom. Li was across the garden in a moment, lifting her up and kissing her, telling her what a wonderful brilliant baby she was. Mulan, puzzled but always ready to accept cuddles, gave her a huge gummy grin.

"Can you do it again? Walk to Baba. Do it again." Li set Mulan down, and she wobbled for a moment before remembering what to do.

Watching her meander across the grass, I felt a sudden, strange wave of sadness. My little girl no longer needed to me to pick her up and carry her where she needed to go. She could do it on her own now.

Something of my feelings must have shown on my face, for my mother put her hand on my shoulder and pressed a little. I leaned down to hear what she had to say.

"You are learning, my son, what being a parent is like," she told me. "There are so many little deaths, from the very first moment. Sadness and joy mingled--that is what it's like to have a child, my son."

Little deaths, I thought. Hundreds and hundreds of little deaths, as your child grew from a gummy-smiled baby to a tall, strong, capable adult.

Mulan thumped into my legs and held up her hands. "Up! Up, Baba, up!"

Sadness dissipated as I laughed and lifted her. She might not need to be carried, but for the moment, she wanted to. It would be a long, long time before the little deaths became bigger ones.