"Now the real training begins!" Shang proclaimed from the top of his lungs. The recruits stiffened at his words.
"Let's start with a warm-up. Run the lap to the edge of the forest and back―ten times," he emphasized. There was an incongruous groan from the crowd, but no one dared to verbalize their protest.
"Today we will learn how to use a bow," Shang told them, gesturing towards a series of white circles on the trees he had prepared before the exercise. "The bow may be a weapon that appears trivial and easy to master, but it will reveal what kind of fighter you are."
"It will teach you to control your strength. It will help you to focus. It will train you to concentrate!" Shang explained the lyrical philosophy behind the art. "To master archery requires discipline, precision, and devotion―which can only be achieved by relentless training."
He abandoned his robe, revealing his athletic figure. Mulan couldn't resist the urge to gawk.
"Observe!" Picking up his bow, he prepared his stance and notched an arrow in one fluid movement; before notching two others as well.
She watched in amazement as Shang stepped up to three fruits precisely balanced on a tilted board. He stamped on the end of the contraption, sending his three targets into the air. Concurrently, he shot the three arrows towards the airborne fruits, spearing each one of them right at the centre, pinning them against the circled targets on the tree. Shang's impeccable performance was applauded by a collective gasp of awe with a hint of envy.
"Start with one target, " he instructed, pointing towards the direction of a stash of bows and quivers for his trainees to try. For the benefit of the trainees, Shang repeated the demonstration and fired another perfectly executed thrust. The three arrows sang through the air before meeting their targets, again, flawless and accurate. Shang made it look easy. Heck, so damn attractive too!
The trainees picked their weapons and loaded them with ammunition, ready to strike.
"Now, focus!" came Shang's patronizing command. "...And let your intuition guide you."
Mulan followed his instruction and let her best warrior instinct guide her. Unfortunately, the only intuition she had right now was to eat. It was well past noontime.
Despite her best attempt, Mulan was still unable to hit the target circle (She even missed the tree! Duh!)―let alone hit both the fruit and the target circle with a single aim. After countless disappointing tries, Mulan began to grow worried about failing the exercise and being sent home.
Her desperate situation led to desperate measures.
She speared the fruit on the tip of her arrow before firing, making it look like she, at least, managed to hit the fruit, even when she was certain of missing the targets. She was so pleased with her cunning idea that she didn't feel a critical presence looming.
"Ahem!" a displeased throaty sound alerted her attention. Looking over her shoulder, she met Shang's rebuking glare. Mulan winced as she avoided his eyes.
"It's not me you're cheating. It's yourself," came Shang's acid retort. Mulan wished the earth below her would split and swallow her whole. "It's your life that is at stake when you can't defend yourself," he pointed out, and Mulan curled in remorse―she knew Shang was right.
"I...I'm sorry, Captain."
"Sorry won't make you hit the target, Ping," Shang's expression hardened. Mulan felt sudden chills travelling her spine. The expression and the voice brought back bitter nostalgia of their first quarrel.
"I guess hand-eye-coordination isn't my thing," Mulan said quietly.
He gritted his teeth, and Mulan braced herself for another blunt rebuke. But his admonishment never came. Instead, he touched her arm to move her hand upward.
"I've heard you duelled with your sister and you beat her a couple of times. I am sure there is nothing wrong with your hand-eye coordination. Besides, it was your stance that was messing you up," he explained, hooking the toe of his shoe on the front of her ankle and tugging it backwards. "First thing, stagger your feet." His voice was still stern, but there was a gentle nuance to it. He carefully placed his hands on her hips, and Mulan's heart jumped to her throat before throbbing violently. "And square your hips."
Mulan swallowed hard. "Like this?"
Shang nodded.
He was so close to her that she could feel his breath on her neck. Mulan took a deep breath to calm herself, but her pulse continued to quicken as Shang held her hand in his, helping her to pull the string.
"Concentrate on your target, and then release the bow."
But how could she concentrate when Shang's bare chest was pressing against her back? Mulan felt her breath hitch with both apprehension and excitement. She released the arrow only to miss the target….again. Shang visibly resisted an urge to groan, and Mulan stiffened at his disappointed frown.
Thankfully someone came to her rescue and broke the tension. Chi-Fu, entirely oblivious to the impasse, marched towards them―ignoring Shang's half-frustrated, half-dismayed countenance. Mulan had never been happier to see the bony counsellor.
"Captain Li!" Chi-Fu beckoned Shang away from Mulan. She could see Shang's dejected sigh when the perpetual thorn in his side flashed his usual smug, toothy grin. "The Prince wants to see you."
"Keep on practising, Ping," Shang instructed, half scathingly.
Mulan expelled a loud, heavy breath as she watched Shang's disappearing figure together with the babbling old man next to him.
"Your Honor, Captain Li Shang's here. May I come in?"
It was three days after the incident, Shao Wei felt he was finally resurrected from the dead. Thanks to Fa Ping and her apocalyptic bean bun―he had completely missed the entire Imperial Army visitation.
"Please, do sit, Captain Li." Shao gestured towards the empty seat inside his tent. "Thank you for volunteering in doing this, even though I still feel your father's worry is a bit unwarranted," he said evenly. "I am a big boy. I can take care of myself."
While Shang couldn't deny the first sentence, he wasn't at all convinced by the second. Especially after seeing the state of Shao's tent. Robes, shoes, and underwear… sprawled across the floor. Atop his bureau, a stack of scrolls piled haphazardly. A few bowls and alcohol bottles littered the far corner of his bed. And from where he sat, he could see diverse flora and fauna had begun inhabiting them as their permanent home.
"Please, just call me Shang, Your Honor," Shang requested politely, resisting letting his eyes excavate through the Prince's bachelor sanctuary.
"Nice to meet you, Shang," Shao grinned and sunk comfortably into his seat. "I understand you will be my escort during the course of the training."
Shang's eyes rested on Shao's battle armour that was perched against his makeshift bed. Assessing how shiny and undefiled it was, Shang concluded that the young noble hadn't seen much of the battlefront.
"Indeed Your Honor. Your safety is my father's priority and the epitome of my responsibility," Shang replied sensibly, keeping his tone as respectful as possible "...and the fact that you refused to..―"
"Li Shang, people are dying in war, there is no running away from it―whether you are with an elite regime or a crappy one―it makes no difference. Anyway, you are more than welcome to perch your tent across from mine―if it will make you feel better."
"Thank you, Your Honor."
"...And please, just Shao Wei," he said, wringing his hands. "This is war―you and I are just men―we are equal," he said, pouring a bit of strong drink and offering it to Shang. Shang received it out of respect, even when he thought it was preposterous to get drunk before the sun was even halfway across the sky.
"If we are going to be joined at the hip, I would much rather we forget about palace etiquette," he admitted, tipping his cup. "Speaking formally tends to choke me."
"Right, Shao Wei." He lifted her glass and Shao Wei let the ceramic touch in a silent salute.
Shao smiled as Shang tested his name. Then they both drank deeply.
"I take it you'll be tailing me everywhere from now on."
"Yes, Your―...Shao Wei," Shang immediately revised. "But if my intrusion begins to feel like an invasion of personal space, please alert me. I shall withdraw."
"Don't worry, if you start to put a permanent dent on my mat," he said, looking pointedly at where Shang was seated. "I won't hesitate to kick you out," he said in jest.
"I understand," Shang nodded compliantly.
Considering Shao Wei had spent five years under General Li's tutelage, Shang knew very little about the young Prince of Wei. Shang's knowledge was limited to rumour across the Imperial Army's circle, which the Prince had joined immediately after completing his training. And just like many other privileged bachelors, Shao Wei was well-known to be a party animal, a seasoned playboy, and an opportunist gambler. However, encased inside his debonair, suave persona, Shao Wei was a character full of mystery. For example, Shang had no idea why Shao Wei relinquished his position in the prestigious Imperial Army and requested to join a low-ranked regiment and bear himself under an anonymous title.
The two engaged in a light repartee, introducing their circle of friends and relatives. It was then Shao Wei revealed some minor details of his mission.
"I hope you are good at keeping secrets," Shao said enigmatically. "Because there is one―in fact, two sacred places of rendezvous that I don't want you to breathe a word about to others." His tone was detached and sterile. It was impossible for Shang to deduce anything.
"First, is my exclusive toilet spot―where I have a moment alone with my conscience," he revealed. "The second one is the vegetable stall in the village nearby."
Shang had a question, but he held it back, feeling it wasn't his place to prod around someone else's private life.
Why the vegetable stall?
Maybe the Prince has an unexplainable fetish for cucumbers?
He immediately banished his inappropriate thoughts.
"As you wish."
Shao grinned. "Then, you are dismissed."
"Your soup."
A bowl made it onto Mulan's tray.
"Thanks, Chien-Po." She slowly tipped the contents into her mouth, mimicking the ravenous chewing from the male residents around her. Her ears tuned into the hustle and bustle, hearing snippets of conversation and smelling a whiff of someone's foul-smelling feet. Good grief, she had no idea when she would ever get used to this. She forced herself not to gag.
It was the usual dinner havoc around the encampment. As usual Mulan, Ling, and Chien-Po had tucked themselves into the table in the far corner of the clearing. Mulan watched as the crowd of recruits drifted from the table like shifts.
It was then someone entered her field of vision. Seated just opposite her on the far end of the table was the Prince of Wei, who for once for some unknown reason, had agreed to join the rest of the troop for dinner. Perhaps her pep-talk with him a couple of nights ago did strike a nerve, or perhaps Shang lectured him on the importance of team bonding.
Mulan pried furtively, lowering her bowl to get a better view. Shang and the Prince of Wei were listening to Chi-Fu talk while waiting for their dinner to be served.
Mulan noticed the Prince's impressive build and physical contrast were stark among them. He sat a few inches taller than most of the men at the table. Next to him and visibly following him like a shadow was her charming knight, Shang, who tried his best to hide his bored expression at Chi-Fu's monologue. The creases in his brows deepened every time Chi-Fu said "what would the Emperor do without me" line. Nevertheless, Shang still remained inexplicably attractive. His robes barely concealed the taut muscles underneath―the evidence of years of training―and gleaming light from the hearth exposed the uneven blemishes on his naked arm―his battle scar. Briefly, Mulan entertained the thought of how much more handsome he would be without the frown on his face.
Shang thanked the chef as he was handed his portion. Meanwhile, the young aristocrat pretended to look interested in the bland liquid inside his bowl, but his eyes travelled in her direction with poorly hidden interest. No pun intended.
"Well done with the soup tonight," praised Ling from behind her, snapping her out of her thoughts. "This is what I call improvement," he added to the commendation.
Mulan stood up, collecting the dirty bowls from their table and stacking them up on her tray. Unfortunately, she was concentrating so much on balancing them that she failed to notice Chien-Po's leg in her way. Thankfully, her reflexes counterbalanced her misstep, and no bowls ended up on the floor.
"Oops, sorry," mouthed Chien-Po as he retracted his leg.
"Hey, no worry," Mulan said, rubbing the soup's spillage on her robe. This time no man dared to comment or ridicule her epic clumsiness. "Chef Zhang is off today. So, I asked Chien-Po to teach me a simple soup dish."
"Ah, this is nothing," Chien-Po dismissed humbly. "You did most of it by yourself."
"It's almost criminal how easily cooking comes for you," Mulan said absently.
Chien-Po put his bowl back on the table, beaming. "Well, I am a man with a hungry belly and a vision. It couldn't work any other way."
Then, Chien-Po narrated his ongoing chef's training raptly. Both Mulan and Ling listen amusedly at how Chien-Po seemed to find a fragment of bone left in a fish apocalyptic in nature. He even made his voice dwindle to a dark crescendo when he said his teacher found a piece of burnt garlic in his stir fry.
"He would have died of shock to hear you mistook the pig's pallet for bean bun filling," Ling teased Mulan.
"...But, perhaps this should happen more often," he supplied before lowering his voice. "Even the victim of your food poisoning seems to be a little keen on your cooking since he joins us tonight." He cocked his head subtly towards the Prince.
"I doubt that's the case," Mulan replied. "Perhaps Captain Li threatened to decapitate him if he remained a social recluse."
"True, our Captain can be unbelievably creative when it comes to punishment," Ling muttered, recollecting that last week the entire battalion was asked to pick up the rice grains from the ground after Mulan mistakenly hit someone, which led to a chain of outrageous punching frenzy.
To be perfectly honest, the Prince was equally fascinating to her. He was full of secrets and mysteries, and gods knew how much she loved mysteries. Well, solving them. His handsome face was wearing a polite mask with a princely smile that looked so fake even Chi-Fu could have known. His dark, haunting eyes occasionally darted in her direction as he listened to some war veteran that had joined their dinner party that night droning (or bragging?) on and on about their first victory.
But suddenly her self-awareness alerted her to an intrusion. She cut her glance to the side and briefly caught Yao who seemed to share her focus on the same object of interest―but for an entirely different reason. It was something she couldn't exactly decode, but it wasn't an intrigued or appraising stare. It was more like a scheming glare with an unhealthy hint of antipathy. Yao quickly donned an inscrutable face and pretended to nod to the guy next to him curtly to top up his tea.
Mulan bounced her sight to the Prince again, she still wondered why he was there.
General Li dubbed the Prince of Wei as one of the most well-equipped royalty to bear arms. Mulan knew, from experience, that men from her household were hard to impress. And after one solid month of observing him from afar, Mulan concluded that the Prince was not here just to do business with Chi-Fu nor to be trained by Shang. He avoided the Emperor Councillor and spent his day's training or meditating alone. Reading him was not easy, but she was certain that he had other reasons for being here―a reason he was very clearly keeping to himself and a reason she wanted to know because whatever this man was, he could be dangerous.
Mulan entertained various ideas in her head. She could try to extrapolate it from someone else who may know the Prince back in Chang'an. She inconspicuously looked around, seeing who was where. Chi-Fu was sitting alone with a quill in one hand, and the other absently creating a monotonous drumming sound.
Ok, here goes nothing.
"Sir? May I speak with you?" Mulan asked politely.
The man in question glanced up to identify where the question came from. When he recognized the source was Fa Ping, he fixed the young man with his trademark austere glare.
"Yes?" Chi-Fu sounded less than willing.
"Writing an important letter I see," Mulan said as a way of pleasantries.
"This is none of your business, Soldier," the man seethed. "What do you want?"
"Nothing," Mulan replied. "I just...I was just wondering what kind of important job an important man like you would do all night," she said, sugar-coating her words with a smile.
Chi-Fu processed that, and one particularly cavalier smirk pulled across his lips. "Yes, as you can see… I am here to give the Emperor a personally tailored report of the recruits' training progress."
"Ah, I am sure you are one of the most valuable assets in the Imperial Court," Mulan went on, bolstering Chi-Fu's swollen pride. She needed to tactfully extract the information without causing much suspicion.
"So you knew the Prince of Wei before he…―?"
"Of course," Chi-Fu hollered enthusiastically when he saw the opportunity to share the story of his shining political career. "He invited me regularly for tea!" and he grinned smugly at her, and Mulan mentally cringed at the uneven, crooked exhibit inside his mouth. He definitely could do with a visit to the dentist.
"I even know his favourite food, his favourite tea… and -oh-," Chi-Fu continued to blabber. "...He loved to play Mahjong with beautiful ladies in the court and..―"
"Isn't the royalty supposed to be joining the Imperial Army?" Mulan interjected, she wasn't interested in the details of the Prince's private life. "What exactly is he doing here?"
Everyone knew this. Shao Wei was exempted to join the training, and it was quite clear the reason why. He was far more qualified than the entire regiment combined. But, if he wasn't here to train or to be trained, then….why was he here at all?
Right after the question left her mouth, Mulan detected Chi-Fu's mood instantaneously swing to its polar opposite―and the inhospitable frown returned to his face.
"I don't know," he shrugged uncaringly, folding his scroll and tidying up his quill.
Somehow, Mulan could sense an unexplainable trepidation beneath his mask, especially the way he rushed to tidy up his scroll; it suggested he didn't wish to talk to her anymore.
"But… what if he knew some secret? Like the enemy's plans or some crucial location? Or other strategic political information?"
"And that's exactly why we shouldn't know!" came Chi-Fu's incensed reply, Mulan jerked back in surprise. The man managed to compose himself when he realized a few recruits had flicked their heads to tune into the debate.
"Look," the old hissed. "The aristocrats, the Emperor, and the Generals are the ones who decide the when and what we do. We are just the vessel of their wishes, the device in their hands. Whatever they will use us for―it is irrelevant to us."
Why is it irrelevant? Won't we perform better as a team if we're all like-minded and share the same goal?
She wanted to argue but decided to repress her combative desire and clamp her mouth shut.
"It's dangerous to know too many things, Fa Ping. You are still young and foolish," Chi-Fu rebuked. "And for the love of the ancestors!―even when you and your antics annoy me like hell―I would hate to see your father mourn just because you poked your head around the wrong hole."
Mulan frowned, not understanding what he meant. "Forgive me, Sir. I don't mean to imply any disrespect," Mulan said, feeling as though perhaps she'd done more damage than she had good, considering the old man's scowl was still frozen on his face.
Before she could ask him though, the Emperor Councillor left, abandoning her with a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Although their adversarial nature, this time, Chi-Fu's warning tone sounded more sincere and he never was. In fact, there was an undertone of fearfulness as he left.
If the Prince was not a dangerous person, why would Chi-Fu warn her off him?
"Captain, someone is looking for you. He is waiting by the northern entrance," relayed one of the recruits who were on patrol that day. "He told me to give this to you," the man reported, passing over a cloth parchment.
Shang deftly opened the message, a familiar signature and family emblem imprinted on its surface. He waved his hand, dismissing the man before marching out of his tent to the main entrance of the encampment. Approximately two weeks ago Shang had received a messenger who had informed him of Fa Zhou's forthcoming arrival.
He strode towards the point of rendezvous, wondering what kind of important matter had brought his father-in-law all the way here to discuss it with him.
At first glance, he saw the veteran standing without his battle armour. Fa Zhou was wrapped in his woollen robe because temperatures had gotten unseasonably cool as autumn approached.
The man led without any introduction or formalities as he addressed, "Li Shang."
"Father Zhou," Shang reciprocated in likewise manner. "Is there something you wish to discuss with me?"
"Only a family matter," Fa Zhou replied vaguely. "I heard the news from Chang'an. Congratulation on your promotion, Shang," he balled his fist and pressed it against his palm in a congratulatory way.
"Thank you, Father Zhou," Shang replied humbly, mimicking the action.
They went on to exchange a few pleasantries before Fa Zhou inserted,"I come here to send a letter to Fa Ping."
From under his satchel, he produced a scroll and a small linen sack. "Nothing urgent inside," Fa Zhou supplied. "Just a little paraphernalia I want him to have," he said. "Also, I've been meaning to pass this on to you, Li Shang."
The man produced a necklace from inside his sack. It was a simple stone locket strung onto braided leather. The stone's surface was dulled with age, but Shang could see a 'yang' symbol engraved neatly on its surface. While on the opposite side, there was a fading depiction of a red dragon with a little drum on his hand, painted meticulously with exceptional attention to detail. It struck Shang as oddly peculiar for the dragon to hold an instrument, but he didn't want to break the atmosphere by asking silly, random questions.
"This is our family heirloom. My mother passed this down to me and my late wife, Fa Li. Now, it's yours. I've given the other half to Mulan." Fa Zhou's hand wrapped his warmly as he passed the token.
"A happy marriage is about three things: Memories of togetherness, the forgiveness of mistakes and a promise to never give up on each other." His voice was thick with melancholy. "Every soldier needs a place of rest, a place to call home. And I hope you will find those in Mulan, Li Shang….just like I found mine."
Shang was no novice in angst-ridden drama considering Mei Lan's obsession with romantic poetry. But hearing the words said somberly by a soldier who had weathered war and faced numerous deaths―gave love a new perspective.
"Thank you," Li Shang smiled gratefully and looped the necklace around his neck, tucking it carefully inside his armour. And while its monetary worth might have been minimal, Shang knew he was holding a great treasure.
Fa Zhou invited him to sit under the trees as they chatted lightly about various training techniques and quoted some of the best battle strategies. It was when he mentioned the word 'progress' Fa Zhou brought up the subject of his son.
"How's Fa Ping's training going? And how are you acclimating to teaching your recruits?"
"Ping is...fine. He is making progress... slowly," Shang inserted the words cautiously. "And teaching has been going...well, though..." Shang struggled to select the right words to describe the gruelling weeks spent just trying to motivate his disinterested trainees.
After a few weeks of hardcore drilling, Shang did not expect many of his recruits to succeed. Not that he gave these bunch of clueless men the sort of bewitched trials that forced them to fail. He wanted every single one of them to be the country's finest soldiers. But in his years of relentless training, he had never seen a bunch of men as hopeless as these. With every trial and failure, he had grown more and more resigned to making generalizations and assumptions about certain types of men who would make it to being well-seasoned warriors and efficient fighters on the battlefield―unfortunately, most men in his regiment didn't fall into this category.
There must've been something on his face that spelt out desperation because he felt Fa Zhou's sympathetic hand on his shoulder.
"Li Shang. There is no bravery without fear. There is no success without failure," he said wisely. Shang nodded in agreement as he let Fa Zhou's judicious words sink in.
"Do you think Fa Ping will be fit in time for battle?"
Shang was frozen on his spot. For weeks he had been trying to answer the same question. To be perfectly honest, he could see nothing of the famous Fa Zhou in him. Shang felt an ultimate chagrin on the old general's behalf that such a great man had the misfortune of having such a son. Fa Ping couldn't seem to do the most menial task correctly. He was graced with the hand-eye coordination of a drunken horse and phenomenal clumsiness that could cause devastation on a monstrous scale. Off the top of his head, he could mention a few times, such as when yesterday, he distributed a bunch of bamboo staffs for weapon practice. Shang discovered that Ping was absolutely terrible at remaining stationary when he suddenly decided to go on a sweeping frenzy and nearly decapitated dozens of men around him because a bug accidentally crawled into his robe.
"I think he eventually will," Shang replied unconvincingly. A silent voice in his head didn't elaborate that 'eventually' could be a year, a decade...or a millennium.
For a son of a famous war veteran, Fa Ping had surprisingly delicate features, smooth hands with infuriatingly womanish mannerisms with a soft and timid cast that belonged nowhere near a battlefield. 'Pretty' would have been a better word to describe him. The boy was impossible to teach! Shang could see that Ping was trying hard, but the boy clearly had no talent whatsoever for soldiering and would be a liability to the rest of the troop if Shang allowed him to remain….worse, he might even be killed at war.
The war veteran stood mutely. Shang blamed himself for not being a better actor―he could sense Fa Zhou's scepticism radiating from his posture.
"I'll train him harder," Shang promised. "Just give him a couple more weeks."
Fa Zhou was silent for a while, trying to reconcile the complicated matter that was ramming in his head, a tug-of-war between his logic and his heart. With a loud huff, he articulated his resolve. "I trust your judgment that you know when to send him home."
"Of course," Shang replied quickly. "I promise to keep him safe."
"Very well," Fa Zhou smiled complacently. But, within seconds his expression inexplicably hardened. "Shang, please keep my visit and this conversation a secret between both of us. No one, not even Fa Ping, should know that I was here."
When the context of the situation was understood, both men bade their farewell and parted in their respective way.