"What.. ―?" Mulan gasped, her hands reaching to cover her mouth in horror.
"Could you explain, Mister Chun?" Shang politely intervened. His intonation was level and calm as he took hold of Mulan's hands, trying to offer comfort.
"Fa Li is very ill. The whole Fa house has been under strict quarantine. The healer suspects another case of typhoid," the man announced glumly. On closer inspection, Chun Jing had taken Khan, Mulan's faithful steed, with him."We must go now," he said, handing Khan's reins to Mulan.
Mulan was shellshocked until she heard Shang's voice break the grave-like silence. "I'll go with her."
Even though there were a lot of voices resonating in her head, the few hours journey to the Fa's house was consumed in tense silence. The last remnants of night slowly receded before the light of the new day while the two of them rode, cutting across the landscape on the back of their horse. As the sight of her house emerged in the distance, Mulan felt fear and apprehension claw it's way up her throat.
It was late noon when they arrived. The Fa house was extraordinarily quiet, only the clucking of chickens and the occasional dog barking filled the silence. Under strict quarantine, the Fa was prohibited to appear in public and couldn't entertain any visitor unless truly necessary. Even then, to minimize contact and contain the epidemic, only Fa Zhou was allowed to attend his wife.
"Baba!" Mulan dismounted from her horse and dashed to embrace her father. Behind her, Li Shang discreetly bowed as a way of respectfully greeted his Father-in-law.
"How is Mama? Is she okay? How long has she been ill?" The train of questions just gushed out of Mulan's mouth like a river bursting its dam.
"It's not good Mulan. Your Mother has been sick for two weeks and her condition is deteriorating quickly. I...I am sorry―I just asked Chun Yi to fetch you now. I should've… ―"
"Baba, it's okay." Mulan soothed. She clasped her father's hand fervently and looked him in the eye to reaffirm her words.
"Where is Mama now? Can I see her?"
Fa Zhou glanced towards one of the closed doors before returning his attention back to his daughter. The hurt that was etched in her father's expression was very much palpable.
"Mulan," he began, the syllables were heavy and grievous. "Your Mother has been sleeping most of the time. Even when she is awake, she can barely speak. I….I have contacted quite a few healers and...and they said… ―" The words faded as powerful sobs stole his breath away.
She doesn't have much time left, Mulan finished in her mind. The words tasted more bitter than bile and more painful than a knife.
Mulan had never seen her father this desolate before. His usually gallant posture now slumped, and his eyes were dull yet slightly red with a desperate gleam. Looking at him so dismayed made her own eyes fill with moisture.
"Baba… what are we going to do?" She reinitiated the conversation, her question drenched in despair. She didn't want to ask, but she had no other choice.
The room delved into silence. Fa Zhou stole a glance at his only daughter. Truthfully, his daughter had been through a lot these last couple of months: from marrying a stranger, moving into a house filled with unfamiliar faces, and now… she had to face the bitter reality of losing her mother.
He took another long breath, there was no point in showing her his frustration at his inability to make this life easier for her.
"Nothing, Mulan. All we can do is to wait…. and pray," Fa Zhou answered, trying to sound calm and composed. "I am sure everything will turn out fine. We have been through tough times like this before," Fa Zhou continued comfortingly, reaching for Mulan's shoulder and guiding her into the house.
"Now, why don't you get inside and take your belongings and Shang to your old bedroom. You both must be exhausted after such a long journey," Fa Zhou advised. As they walked through the corridor, the only words that echoed in Mulan's head were the last wisdom her mother had imparted to her:
...And when you are suffering, remember: the flower that blooms in adversity is the rarest and most beautiful of all.
"Mulan! Thank goodness you are here!"
Mulan turned around in the direction of the raspy, familiar voice. She had just finished helping Shang transport the last of their belongings into her old room, which had been redecorated and refurbished to fit a small double bed.
"Grandma!" She threw her arms around her grandmother's deceptively frail frame and brought the old woman into an earnest hug. The two of them stayed that way for a long while.
"Where is Shang?" The old woman craned her neck to look behind her, seeking a glimpse of the young captain.
"He is outside, taking care of the horse," Mulan replied. It was then Mulan noticed the dark circles around her grandmother's eyes and the streaks of dried tears on her wrinkled cheeks.
"Grandma, are you okay?" The question sounded meaningless, foolish even. Of course, Mulan knew the answer.
Despite herself, Grandma Fa offered her a faint smile, but it soon evaporated into a thoughtful frown. "It's not good Mulan, your Mother… ―"
"I know, Grandma," Mulan commented, trying to equate her smile to ease her Grandma's worried features. "How is…. Baba coping with this?"
"You know your Father won't show his true feelings in front of others. He suppresses them, so none of us worries," explained Grandma Fa, shaking her head over her son's stubbornness.
"That does sound very much like him, doesn't it?" Mulan remarked, remembering through the length of the Fa's history how her Father had always been the paragon of self-control, discipline, and temperance. He always kept his emotions in check and was level-headed even in the most dreadful of times.
"In fact, all men are like him! As if wearing emotions in their sleeve will make them appear weak!" Grandma Fa berated. "But I think he feels rather guilty as well."
"Guilty?" Mulan's brows climbed to her hairline.
"About a month ago a letter arrived here. Until today I wasn't sure as to the content; your Father was very secretive about it. I believe your Mother read it―with or without your Father's permission. The next thing I knew, they ended up in a big fight," Grandma Fa explained. Of course, the heated argument wasn't exactly the cause of Fa Li's illness. But now that it was ending this way, Fa Zhou was undeniably blaming himself.
Mulan fell in thought. Her Father's inclination to keep away some secret or another was no news to her. It wasn't that he was a deceitful, conniving or disloyal man that hid some scandalous affair and was trying to cover his tracks. Normally, her Father didn't furnish all the exposition to his family if he felt doing so would only worry them or because of the confidential nature of the information as requested by Imperial order.
But then again, her parents hardly argued, let alone fight. It must be a serious matter to kindle her mother's anger―Fa Li was always known for her patience, long-suffering and obedience.
"I'll see whether I can speak to him about it, Grandma," Mulan promised.
That night, as her Father was predominantly occupied tending to her ill mother, Mulan took the opportunity to snoop a little, hoping to find evidence of the letter Grandma Fa had mentioned. It wasn't hard at all, after all these years living under the same roof with her Father, Mulan could guess at a few places he was likely to store his important correspondence.
As she went through her Father's drawers, she found an important-looking scroll bearing the seal of the Emperor himself. Carefully, Mulan unravelled the parchment, scanning across the bottom of it to see the credentials of the Son of Heaven.
Mulan felt breathless as her eyes reiterated the line of requests in that letter. The statement seemed to be dictated personally from the Emperor, filled with a note of great urgency. She should have seen this coming―General Li and Shang already discussed the matter before. Nonetheless, reading the exact phrase and not having it delivered by someone else's mouth, gave her a better idea of the rawness of the situation.
The letter stated that the Huns had penetrated China's defensive wall and were moving towards Chang'an in no time. Despite the combined efforts of the Imperial Army and various regional regiments, the Huns remained undeterred and aggressively moving forward.
And when the country is on the brink of extinction, it's the duty of every able-bodied man to defend their country.
Shang had decided to remain incognito and distanced himself from intervening with the Fa family situation. He spent most of his time in the confinement of Mulan's old bedroom, reading Fa Zhou's collection of battle strategies or the stash of philosophical quotations and wartime poems. Occasionally, he would spot Grandma Fa in the kitchen, catch a glimpse of Mulan's shy younger brother, Fa Ping, or bump into Chen, the part-time maid that had been employed since Fa Li fell ill.
However, Shang almost never saw Fa Zhou―presumably because he was busy nursing his bedridden wife, except for one night when he spotted the retired strategist embroiled in a deep conversation with their family healer. The apprehension that creased his forehead, the fear and sadness that filled his face would be something that tattooed itself permanently into Shang's mind. He had never imagined that the charismatic and poised Fa Zhou could look so distressed and miserable. Shang was sure that seeing death and facing it with honour was not anything new to a gallant warrior like Fa Zhou, who had been involved in numerous battles, but losing someone you couldn't live without was something entirely different.
Despite his status as a son-in-law, truthfully, Shang didn't feel like he was part of the Fa family at all. Blame it on his stiff-upper-lip and unapproachable attitude, but Shang hardly knew his wife's family, with the exception of Fa Zhou's notable feats which were being chronicled by his father, and even that was nothing personal; more like a history lesson enunciated by a mentor.
Shang watched quietly, disguising himself as a passive onlooker as the whole ordeal unfolded in front of his eyes. He tried to give the Fa family, especially Mulan, time and space to have her final reunion with her mother.
In truth, Shang had a desire to offer his consolation, or simply say a word or two to let them know he was devastated about the whole unfortunate situation. But the idea of exchanging sentimental moments and potentially talking about his own emotions put a fear in Shang that he had never even experienced on the battlefield. Conclusively, he deduced it was best to keep a discreet separation between them until one night he was forced to confront his fear.
Without warning, his wife entered their bedroom. She headed straight towards the mountain of laundry, and nonchalantly absorbing herself in re-folding the already neat pile as though not noticing her husband was even there.
"Oh, hi…" Shang greeted Mulan awkwardly, lacking better words to say. Despite Shang's lack of attention to detail, the streaks of drying tears on her cheeks caught and held his attention. He knew he had to say something to try and communicate his sympathy.
"I am… sorry… to hear about your Mother's health, Mulan," he murmured. Regardless of his best efforts, the words sounded unconvincing and insincere.
A conflicted frown darted across her face, but Mulan just sat on the edge of the bed mutely, continuing to feign concentration on dealing with tidying their pile of clothing.
Suddenly, Mei Lan's words resonated in Shang's head: "The supreme happiness in life is the conviction that we are loved...and that girl tries to love you. I hope someday you will learn to requite her gesture."
Shang swallowed thickly; being all mushy, sentimental and open really wasn't his forte. All he knew was: as a husband, he was expected to be poised with pride and dignity, obeyed by his wife, revered by his household, respected by his colleagues and feared by his children. But for once, he desired to have a real connection with the woman he would share the rest of his life with; perhaps he could start by truly trying to sympathize with her current predicament. He had never seen Mulan so... so broken before, not even when she was forced to let go of her freedom and was separated from her family to marry him.
But Shang was truly out of his depth. He wondered what it was like to have a mother―a real mother, who loved and cherished her children. He couldn't remember much about his own birth mother, and his memory of Li Yue was nothing personal nor memorable. He could only imagine how close-knit the Fa family was, testified by them sharing their sorrow together and helping each other conquer this life's challenges.
This is your chance. He told himself firmly. Say something! His brain was racked with nonsensical sounding ideas. Anything that could make her feel better. Anything!
"Would you… would you like a cup of...tea? Perhaps, something warm will...help… ―?" he suggested lamely, stumbling over his own words. He was so uncertain that Mulan would even like the idea―it sounded so ridiculous even to his own ears. Truth be told, Shang didn't have a clue how to brew tea. Hell, he had not the foggiest idea of where the kitchen was!
Mulan flicked her sight up briefly and repaid his efforts with a small, sad smile. Shang could barely see the tears standing behind her usually defiant eyes. At that moment, something unknown, something painful and unpleasant, pierced his heart.
He sighed, desperately preparing himself to perhaps embarrass himself to say this. "Look," he regarded her with his eyes. "I can't promise I'll fix all your problems...but if you may... I can promise you won't face them alone," he said simply.
The hurt in her eyes gradually ebbed away.
Mulan dared to lift her face and met Shang's strained, hopeful eyes and the stiff, uncertain half-smile decorating his lips.
And suddenly, she felt…safe.
"Thank you, Shang. Tea would be lovely."
Now that Fa Li was bedridden, Fa Zhou spent the majority of his time attending to her needs―not that his wife had a long list of whims and wants.
Due to the effect of the medication, she was sleeping most of the time, only waking up for dinner and when Fa Zhou cleaned her or changed her robe.
Thus, to occupy himself during the waits, Fa Zhou would sit inside their bedroom by her bedside, watching her peaceful countenance, reading her some of her favourite stories, citing some sonnets or simply talking to her. It didn't bother him that his wife remained hugely unresponsive to his narration, her presence alone was meaningful enough for him.
"Zhou…"
Hearing his wife's subdued voice, Fa Zhou rushed to her side, putting down the scroll that he had been focusing on. He held her small, weak hands in his, and gave them a light squeeze.
"Li, I am here," he pronounced softly.
Her eyes crack open heavily, revealing its dying hue. She gave him a weak smile.
He opened the lid of the nearby bowl and letting the warm, delectable aroma float through the air. But Fa Li gestured that she wasn't in the mood to eat.
"Oh, yes! Mulan is here. She and Shang arrived in the afternoon."
A smile was her word, instigating she was pleased with her daughter's presence.
Fa Zhou felt his heart clenched at the sight of his dying wife―this was Fa Li, the woman that had changed his life, filled his days with simple happiness, and taught him how to be loved and to love in return. She was the woman that had tamed the most aggressive and ferocious fighter into a gentle pacifist. This was his heroine, the woman who transformed the most hardcore warrior in all of China into a loving husband and father.
Both of them remained silent for a while, but their eyes spoke volumes of affection towards each other, replacing the words they couldn't utter.
"Zhou..." she searched his hand which he grabbed immediately.
Her pulse was almost non-existence. Fa Zhou's heart sank to the floor, his chest tightening upon realizing her time was almost up.
"It's my turn to listen," Fa Zhou tried to lighten the mood."You can lecture me all you like."
She chuckled weakly, visibly struggling to keep her eyes open. She toiled to retain her consciousness as her brain ran to select a few last words she wanted to say.
"Zhou, I am… not going to say much," Her voice turned into a soft, faint whisper in between her struggling breaths. "But I want you to tell me… about us."
Fulfilling her last wish, Fa Zhou spoke of their life together from its beginning to its conclusion and everything in between. A smile was on her face at the memory of their wedding night, numerous awkward moments, clueless exchanges between the inexperienced man and his naive wife. Fa Li's smile grew an inch wider when they reminisced of their younger selves, keen to please each other and madly in love.
"You are such a perfect husband," she complimented as her husband concluded his story. "I am sorry... you have to journey through life without me."
Fa Zhou squeezed her hand and stared at her hopelessly. Please. Don't say that. He wanted to beg. He didn't want to accept it, but her vital signs were beginning to fade. But what kind of husband was he if he couldn't console his dying wife and give her a peaceful rest?
"I promise we all will be fine," he assured as though it was going to be an innocuous thing to tackle―even when his voice began to break. Just to think that he had to learn how to act, to move on, to fill the day without her by his side, crushed his heart to pieces. He was so used to her presence, the melodic sound of her laughter, her voice of wisdom and patience and the glimpses of her rushing around the house to restore order and neatness. Fa Zhou took a few calming breaths, mitigating the ongoing furore in his chest from surfacing.
"I love you. Fa, Li Juan," he whispered, not with the brave voice of a soldier, but with the fragile voice of a husband who was about to lose the love of his life. "You are the best thing that has ever happened to me." He planted a final chaste kiss on her forehead.
A small, faint, satisfied smile beamed on her almost frozen lips. And pulling her last laboured breath from her tortured body, her eyes peacefully drew to a close. The fire left those luminous eyes, they were closed... forever.
Behind the closed door, hot torrents of anguished tears coursed down his cheeks, lamenting the departure of a friend, a soulmate.
It is indeed hard to say goodbye to someone you know you can't live without.