To Mulan's dismay, the next day of training passed with no improvement whatsoever.

It was the day when the whole regiment went to explore the untamed thicket of the surrounding woodland as a part of their survival training. The journey itself was quite pleasant, but what awaited them wasn't. First, the recruits had to stand in the freezing cold current, attempting to bucket themselves a fish each.

Trivial enough.

But then Mulan realized that they were supposed to catch the slimy creature barehanded―let's just say this was another test of precision, alertness, and speed.

And the only thing she managed to catch was Yao's foot (accidentally sending Yao underwater and nearly drowning him). Mulan embarrassedly put his foot down, profusely apologizing but only managed to get another unamused glare from him.

Only after giving a portion of her dinner to him for the entire week was her debt written off.

They walked back to the encampment for what they had thought would be a 'well-deserved rest.' But of course, there was no such thing. Shang had taken a long way to return to get to one particular part of the river where there was no bridge to traverse―instead, it was a series of flimsy-looking poles sticking out from the water.

"I know you all want to go home," Shang said, a hint of an evil smirk tugging on his lips. "Anyone who falls into the river will have to repeat the exercise," he commanded. "This task will train you to combine balance, speed, and agility."

Mulan couldn't believe this cold-blooded instructor was none other than her husband. If he unravelled her inconceivable disguise, undoubtfully he would Kung-Fu chop her in half!

This time around, Mulan reaped the benefit of being the smallest in stature. Her lightweight and small feet meant she could comfortably keep her footing and conquer the obstacle with little effort.

It was Chien-Po who became the group's bottleneck. The corpulent man struggled not to lose his balance. As a consequence, he hesitated a lot and forestalled the rest of the recruits behind him. And that wasn't the only bad news. Chien-Po didn't know how to swim! Mulan heard his panicked yelp as he fell into the water with his limbs flailing frantically for help. Thankfully, Shang was swift to come to his rescue. It took Chien-Po a good dozen tries of crossing and falling before he got to the other side of the river without touching the water.

By the time the whole drill was over, it was already dark. They were all exhausted, bruised and hungry as their slavedriver commander only allowed them to consume the fish that they caught for lunch and nothing else.

When the sight of their makeshift tents came into view, the recruits foolishly thought the day was over.

"Who said you were all dismissed?" Shang's stern voice halted the men in their sluggish tracks."One final exercise before we call it a day."

Shang's announcement was reciprocated by a collective groan which he cut off sharply.

"You think I did this on purpose?" he bristled. The men froze as their aggravated captain's fist balled in fury. "War knows no rest, men! War knows no second chance!" he snapped. "The objective of war is not just to die for your country, but to live for it!"

The murmur of discontent immediately transformed into a sigh of contriteness as Shang delivered his speech.

But Shang didn't seem to care and wasted no time in explaining the next obstacle course. "We have to remain as vigilant during the night as we are during the day. Statistics reveal that a lot of instant victories were claimed during an unexpected ambush in the night," he said, anointing his arrows with oil before setting them ablaze. "As a soldier, your instinct may tell you to stay and fight, but as a sane person I would suggest you run."

Chaos erupted as their Captain entered a hunting frenzy mode, aiming his arrows very close to any hapless recruits. The crowds were soon dispersed.

Mulan managed to duck just in time as one burning arrow passed above her head. If her father knew that her husband nearly barbecued her alive, there would be a long, unpleasant lecture in order.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Chi-Fu, standing amusedly watching the entire regiment roaring in panic, occasionally looking down at his parchment to take some notes.

"You must learn that running away can be a beneficial skill too," Shang told Chien-Po who had his butt seared. It was obvious that speed and agility would never be his forte. He whimpered as the Captain removed the extinguished article and applied a cold solvent on his charred behind.

The past two weeks of physical drills proved to be horribly gruesome. And it was double the burden since Mulan was still learning how to conduct herself as a man.

Kung Fu soon became part of their routine. Every morning, the whole battalion was caught in a voiceless dance with unseen enemies as their reflective blades bathed in the sun's golden light.

Shang normally would lead the training, standing in front of the entire battalion to give a demonstration.

Holding his perfect posture, Shang readied his stance before commanding an apprentice to launch their attack. Mulan's heart throbbed uncontrollably when witnessing how her husband demonstrated his martial art fluency. His movements were fluid; swift as a coursing river, forceful as a great typhoon, and as strong as a raging fire.

But the top to-die-for-must-watch list was watching two equally competent men engaged in combat. Although she had often watched her father with a few friends train or fight together, watching men her own age engaged in battle was something exhilarating and tense at the same time. Both of them were fighting with two types of weapons simultaneously, jumping at each other's throats and trying to find their adversaries' weaknesses and taking advantage of any opportunities to sneak in an ambush.

Mulan felt her heart race, both with anticipation and arousal, watching the raw power completely unleashed, in a manner he never did with her. Shang's movements were sharp, staccatoed with a lethal ambush at each end, while Shao's tended to be smooth and lyrical. This fight was different from the demonstrations Shang did with the other recruits, which tended to be very much one-sided. There was a rhythm to the fight. Both of them seemed to be keeping an internal tempo as they paced around each other.

Shao was a challenge. He kept Shang on his toes. It wasn't often that Shao won a match, but it was often enough that Shang didn't take victory for granted. And Shao, despite not being a soldier as long as Shang, was an astonishingly fast learner. He absorbed new fight techniques and information like a sponge and could expand on them without much instruction, which meant he sometimes took Shang by surprise.

At one particular moment, Shang managed to land a square kick on Shao's abdomen, sending him straight to the ground. But the Prince recovered with haste, standing and taking his stance then spontaneously changing his tactics. He immediately realized that Shang outperformed him in the strength department, but he was honest and clean with his attack. Manipulating Shang into believing that he was defeated and cunningly sneaking in an unexpected ambush would seal the deal. Within five minutes, their positions reversed and he had Shang disarmed. Shao grinned triumphantly at the captain.

"Expect the unexpected, Captain Li," he said with his sword still pointing at Shang's jaw.

"Point taken," Shang replied, taking a deep bow and accepting his defeat like a good soldier. "It was my pleasure to learn from you, Shao Wei."

"You fought well. I have to admit your raw strength and calculated brutality nearly beat me today." Shao offered his hand which Shang took gladly.

Mulan closed her eyes and fought for control. Her cheeks were hot both from the sun and the show proceeding before her. And oh, her badly sated hormones were roaring out for release! Now, she could understand why many married women had blindly dismissed the fact that their husbands may have gone astray to a brothel while they were serving in the army. Lust was a powerful, untamed force. It's when one feels that irrepressible tug, the curious pull that draws you toward another person with such a ferocious intensity; it went almost beyond the realm of self-control. It's the seductive sensation that sensually swept itself across the core when one identified the object of his/her affection.

Around the encampment Mulan had heard whispers about Shang, about how lethal and sharp he was, how smart and well-acclimated with war and battle strategy. People were starting to respect his name. Those who didn't respect it were the ones who feared it. She had kept her ears to the ground and heard it all, feeling a secret thrill that the same man had, in fact, been married to her. But as much as she had heard about him, she had never seen him in action. That was being corrected quite thoroughly right now, and she was gawking―unabashedly―until Ling's sharp elbow landed right on her ribcage.

"Ping!"

She scrambled off her seat, head going into overdrive when she realized someone had spotted her drooling over two shirtless, sweaty men.

Ling grinned. "I see that you are watching our regiment's heartthrobs fighting. Which one do you fancy? Left or right?"

Even though Mulan had no interest in embroiling herself with a palace romance if Ling still delusively thought she had fallen for the Prince he might not dig up the truth about her relationship with Shang.

Mulan elbowed him back. "Shush, Ling. That is a dangerous liaison, you better not start gossiping."

"Speaking of the devil, Captain Handsome wants you in his tent right after the morning training," he said, grinning like a lunatic at the connotation.

When she didn't respond immediately, he repeated. "In. His. Tent...―imagine that." He waggled his brows.

"Haha. Very funny," Mulan retorted wryly. "For the record, he called Chi-Fu inside his tent too. More than once."

Mulan headed to Li Shang's tent as she was told. Arriving there, she peeked through the gap in the entrance and her sight fell onto Li Shang's bareback.

He was doing a press-up on the floor. He was exerting; lifting and lowering himself, grunting with his efforts as sweat dripped down his abdomen, muscles slick and shining, straining with each push. She watched her husband's body, marvelling at how beautiful it was; forged in fire and pain and blood; and something shifted inside her, clicking into place as she noticed the tightly-corded muscles of his neck, coated in a fine sheen of sweat.

"Oh, Hi Captain. Hope I, uh―, didn't disturb, um―, your activity," Mulan stammered when she realized she had been caught staring. How embarrassing! But she couldn't help it. Her eyes seemed to ignore all the commands her brain was firing at it.

"No, Ping. I actually have something for you," Shang informed. His expression was grave as usual. It was impossible for Mulan to decode what he had in mind.

For the record, none of that 'something' was ever anything good or pleasant. Mulan didn't dare set her hopes too high on this one. Had any of her stupid blunders caused her to earn this private castigation? Or had anyone else become the victim of her apocalyptic clumsiness without her knowing?

And that was when the killer of all romantic moments arrived. The sound of Chi-Fu's hoarse voice calling Shang reverberated outside the tent. If Mulan didn't know him any better, she thought the Emperor Councilor must have a vendetta against her.

"Wait here, I just need to finish my business with Chi-Fu."

While the Captain was occupied by the presence of the snivelling Emperor Counselor, Mulan methodologically studied the tent which Shang had intimately called his home away from his home.

The interior was very basic, consisting of a cloak, very little clothing, a stack of books, a spare helmet, piles of maps and rudimentary medical supplies. Everything was what Mulan expected from anyone on the battlefield. However, her eyes strayed and landed on a pile of papers next to Shang's makeshift desk.

Her heart nearly stopped. The stack of abandoned parchment was filled with Shang's masculine strokes, reciting incomplete sentences and unfinished stories. Shang was a man of few words, finding that action was better suited to his non-verbose proclivity. Then, Mulan saw something poking from Shang's large sack. Mulan pulled the paper from its hiding place and opened it.

It was a letter. Her letter, to be exact.

Dang, how exactly did he do it every time? Every time she tried to nitpick an excuse to despise him, to be angry with him, he would turn around and do something that melted her heart without even trying.

She scanned through the letter, refreshing her memory of the things she mentioned to Shang weeks back. Despite their relationship and the appellative she used to address him as her husband, her letter was impersonal but polite, written merely as a formality that glossed over the superficial truth of their relationship. There was hardly anything sentimental inside that letter that made it worth keeping as far as she could tell, let alone spending such efforts to reply to it.

Then Mulan heard the sound of heavy footfalls approaching from outside the tent, approaching. Frantically, she returned all of the letters to their original position, however, accidentally cluttered the neat stack of scrolls by Shang's bed.

The canisters travelled in diverging directions all over the floor. Hearing the clattering sound from his tent, Shang stormed in. His feet were greeted with numerous cylindrical contraptions. The momentum from his movement caused him to reel forward uncontrollably and crash into her. The two of them landed in an inelegant heap, in the middle of the scroll mayhem.

Her hand made contact with his seriously muscled arms, the same moment his head shot up towards her, the naked surprise evident in his eyes. He just looked at her for a few moments, before the surprise turned into a hint of amusement and ... embarrassment? Impossible! But hey, at least she had successfully erased that dead look on his face.

Shang gave his arms a push and got up with such athletic grace that all she could do was lay flat on the floor and stare for a while. He nonchalantly dusted himself off before offering her his hand.

"Are you alright?"

There was a tiny hint of pink on his cheeks.

Was he… blushing?

"Yes… yes, I am, Captain," Mulan spluttered, her heart commanding her fingers to accept his generous helping hand, but her head saying otherwise.

"Ouch!" Thanks to her catastrophic carelessness―she fell again, which was not impossible if your name was Fa Mulan. Fortunately, this time minus a gorgeous captain on top of her. Or was it, unfortunately? She grimaced and started to pull back her foot when she felt his hand, rough and warm, grip her ankle.

"Let me help," he said, efficiently examining her ankle. His finger pressure hit one painful spot. Her breath hitched, and she gasped out loud.

"Looked like you've sprained your ankle," he said, massaging the spot.

Mulan breathed in, trying to swallow. She would have been successful, but then his hand moved from her ankle, slowly up her calf and her throat tightened in a knot. The painful sensation progressively transformed into a soothing feeling that wracked through her entire body. Shang moved closer to inspect her. He was so close that she could feel his breath on her face. She instinctively leaned back to try to create a gap between them.

"I'm going to carry you to the medic tent."

"No, no…" Mulan shook her head, panicking. She didn't know whether her heart could survive another moment of intimate closeness without the risk of a heart attack.

"I can walk there on my own."

She tried to stand, but her ankle hated her for that.

"Ping!" A pair of toned arms captured her. The word of concern that exploded from his lips sounded much too good in her ears.

She closed her eyes for a moment just to catch her breath, involuntarily inhaling his scent―a combination of sun, dust and hard work. She remembered the last time she felt this―this heady sensation of floating above a cliff, just getting ready to fall. She felt hot, feverish, unable to speak coherently and her inner self quivering like jelly.

He seemed to remain calm and deposited her on the side of his bed. "Sit here, let me grab some ointment." His voice came out neutral and conversational, as though nothing had happened.

This time Mulan nodded weakly and submitted to his will. As soon as his rough skin pressed against hers, her heart resumed pounding in rapid beats. The room fell into glacial silence, but his touch had spoken thousands of words she wanted to hear. Slowly, she stole a glimpse of him from under her lashes, just watching him methodically search for the nerve point, observing the scruff on his face that had gone without a shave for too long, watching his eyebrows draw together in deep concentration, and scrutinizing every hard feature on his face that she found strangely endearing.

But unfortunately, she wasn't the only person who had her eyes on Shang. A snivelling shadow of Chi-Fu emerged through the tent opening. He must've heard the ruckus.

"Captain? Anything wrong?" But his sympathetic gaze transformed into a disapproving scowl at the sight of her.

She thought Shang's hand would halt its ministrations, now that Chi-Fu's suspicious glare was directly on him. But, she underestimated him perhaps. Shang just gazed back at the Emperor Counselor in a calm manner and spoke, his voice business-like, all the while brushing his rough fingers over her soft skin, driving her madder by the minute. "Fa Ping fell and sprained his ankle."

Chi-Fu's sceptical eyes turned to her, hands ready to take notes. "Oh, is that so?"―cue creepy, distrusting stare.

Shang saw vulnerable Ping cower under Chi-Fu's interrogative stare and his hackles were raised at the man's condemning tone. He immediately responded with a predatory glare that Mulan never wished to see again. "Are you implying that I made things up?" Shang could barely restrain his voice to stay within the thin layer of the tent.

He was not even trying to conceal the murder in his eyes. Mulan thought of interrupting...perhaps singing a song or faking a cardiac arrest would be a good idea. Thankfully, the murder slowly drained out before she needed to intervene. His hand let go of her leg and came up to the table, cracking his knuckles.

Stupid males and their testosterone had no appreciation for the weak-hearted!

"I am sure you came back here not just to spy on me?" Shang asked him with his stern, accusative voice.

"Of course not," Chi-Fu smirked smugly. "I just received another letter from General Li."

With a sigh, Shang stepped away from her, nodding silently to dismiss her and ushered the Emperor Counselor toward the exit to speak with him outside.

That night, Mulan sat on her bed, looking around to be sure the predominantly male resident of the tent was fast asleep before slipping her finger carefully to remove the tie around the parchment in her hands.

My Dear Daughter Fa-Li Mulan, it said in skilful strokes.

She was stunned in her seat for a moment, realizing her father had uncovered her disguise. For weeks she had been faithfully writing to him as though she were residing at the Li's family home, keeping up the illusion of her absence. And she did likewise to her mother-in-law, making her think she had been living with the Fa's.

Pulling a deep breath, she read the next sentence, one word at a time.

There is no right word to describe how I feel right now as I pen this letter to you; when I know that you wear my armour and bear my sword. I know you have made a choice. A hard choice―which I respect. But let me say a few words.

When I was young, your grandfather told me this, "If you see something wrong happening in the world, you can either do nothing, or you can do something."

I believe none of us is ever going to settle for the first option. It is not in our blood to do so.

….and that's why I am not trying to stop you.

Beads of tears hung in the corners of her eyes and a sob clawed its way up her throat. She could almost hear the deep, patient voice of her father behind every word that was written.

Whatever the outcome of your training―failure or success, defeat or victory, please remember that I will always be your proud father no matter what.

But war is more complicated than you think. I learned this the hard way, a long, long time ago. I wish I could tell you that there is one bad person to blame for every war. But I cannot. Because we are all to blame.

And whatever Shang has said to you before, please don't hate him for refusing to take my place―my duty to China is not his burden to bear. Shang is an honourable man who has gone above and beyond for his country. His job is to take good care of you...and it's your job to honour him.

But I won't breathe a word about your presence there. It is not my story to tell.

But please promise me, that one day. Someday. You will tell him.

My dear daughter, it is my deepest wish that you return to me. But your fate was never in my hands to determine.

If the Gods are willing, we shall be reunited in due time. But in the meantime, this is goodbye.

Until we meet again, my precious girl.

Your father,

Fa Zhou

Attached with the letter was a necklace, with a crescent locket belonging to her father. Unbidden memories from when she had been a little girl, flooded into her mind. Her father brought her a new trinket from the village, smiling at the way she always tripped on the doorway, laughing when he tickled her into submission. Memories from her adolescence, how he used to shake his head fondly at her, ruffling her hair when she got annoyed, letting her use whatever part of his armour she wanted to play with, brought a small smile to her lips.

But her musing was rudely interrupted by a rustling sound inside her sackcloth. Reasoning that they were in the vicinity of the woods, and any poisonous animal could well linger and take up residence inside her bag, Mulan took a dry branch and poked the bag. A loud 'Ouch!' was heard.

She knew she shouldn't be pleased to hear that, but she strangely was. Well, because poisonous animals normally couldn't talk.

"What did you poke me for? Is that any way to welcome your sacred guardian?"

Mulan automatically scrambled to the edge of her matt. "Who… who are you?" Her frantic movements disturbed the two male residents next to her. Chien-Po grunted before turning his face to the wall and drifting back to sleep, but no such luck with Ling.

"Mulan," he said sleepily, "What's all the fuss about? Go back to sleep."

"Ling," she whispered lowly into his friend's ear. "Don't you see something? Or at least… hear something?"

Mushu began to laugh boisterously, Mulan was sure he would wake the entire tent, but even Ling didn't even seem to notice.

"What are you talking about?" The lanky man sat up, rubbing his eyes before looking around to check for any abnormality. "I don't see anything. Maybe you've been staring at Captain Handsome too long. You've begun hallucinating!" he joked as he laid his head back down on his pillow.

"Don't call him that!" Mulan was ready to smite her friend with her pillow when the creature interrupted her.

"Now, let's get out of here before the entire regiment thinks you're crazy," he offered. And for whatever unclear reason, Mulan decided to follow him, taking the sack with her.

They walked to the encampment border and slightly beyond to make sure no one could hear them (well, no one could hear her, as she had just established, no one could hear nor see the strange creature).

"But…. Where? Why..―? I mean, what are you?" she gasped when reality struck her. "You are….a ghost?!"

"Here's a hint," He pointed to the necklace in her hand.

"Wait, you're you came from the pendant?" Mulan picked up the necklace and scrutinized its features. There was a 'yin' symbol on one side and a Phoenix painting on the other. There was no dragon to be seen.

She tilted her head and squinted her eyes, trying to correlate the picture on her pendant with the embodiment of what she thought was a red house lizard holding a coin.

"You are one very odd-looking bird," she said, appraising the look of the creature.

"They weren't kiddin' when they said you were freakin' nuts," he frowned. "I've been called a lizard, snake, iguana, chameleon… you name it, but a bird? Did you get your eyes tested before joinin' the army?" the creature protested.

"Wait, what?"

She must've said that a little too loudly because the dragon immediately slapped his claws over her mouth to silence her. "Remember, you don't want your comrades to think you're talkin' to a tree."

Mulan lowered her voice. "Who are 'they'?" And how dare they called her freakin' nuts!

"Your ancestors, Girl! When your father realized you were gone―it took him two weeks, by the way, well done!―he prayed in the family temple, and your great great great great grandfather summoned the greatest guardian of all to come and protect you."

"That is a hell of a lot of greatness in one sentence," Mulan muttered in both bewilderment and amusement at the absurdity of the situation.

"Indeed. Therefore, let me introduce myself," he pounded his gong and then bowed dramatically. "My name is Mushu, the Amazing Dragon Chaperone...At your service," he curtsied animatedly.

Mulan squinted as if it would improve her vision. "You're a dragon?"

"I am a dragon," the creature confirmed.

"Oh, sorry. I've misunderstood. I thought you were meant to be the reincarnation of the Phoenix on my pendant," she said, scrutinizing the engraving on the pendant that was suspended on a tan leather string.

"No, no… she is on a perpetual vacation. AWOL. So, I figure since Shang won't need my protection, I may as well protect you," he clarified. "FYI, he had the other half of your token."

Mulan wanted to ask how exactly the tiny dragon was going to protect her, but she had a more pressing question.

"You… you know Shang?"

"Of course! I am a mighty divinity. And as part of the yin and yang embodiment, one of my many jobs is to make sure your marriage remains balanced and harmonious."

"You are here to make sure that my marriage is…―" Mulan scoffed incredulously. "There is nothing wrong with our marriage. Shang and I adjusted perfectly to domestic life. I cook, he eats. And then he works, I shop…―"

"A workshop?"

"Yeah, could be," Mulan crossed her arms and grinned. "See?" she crowed." We are living happily ever after! The end."

"Really? Then why are you here hiding away from your husband, masquerading yourself as a man?" the Dragon countered. "And don't you think a mighty deity like me didn't see how his subject was drooling over her own husband's abs while he was training?"

She stiffened at this and averted her face, hoping the Dragon couldn't see how red she was turning. "It's―...it's complicated."

"I bet it is," Mushu scoffed, rolling his eyes at her. "However, you are not the only woman who considers truth to be complicated." He shook his head. "Ladies are always so byzantine."

"It's all his fault. You said you know him. Have you seen him act? Have you seen the way he treated me? He treated me like I'm a procreation vessel!"

"I thought... you are?" Mushu replied stupidly.

"No, I'm not!"

"He bossed me around all day, wanted me to be polite, submissive and all that jazz. I worked my butt off all day in the kitchen. I was lonely. I missed my father... my brother... my home! Hell, I missed my life! And in return, I got what? A cold look? A husband who didn't care if my father would perish in war?" Mulan launched into an uncontrollable rant. "I don't get him. I don't get him at all! Gods know how can I like someone I don't understand?"

Mushu's expression visibly softened. "Are you... angry with him?"

"Of course!" Mulan cut her eyes to the side, feeling her eyes warmed with tears. Why did she have to cry over a man she didn't even like?

"I get it. I know a man can be an insensitive imbecile sometimes. But have you stopped and thought... whether he is equally frustrated as you are him? I mean, if you failed to understand Shang. What's the chance he understood you? I mean... he kept your letter like a treasure. Isn't that at least mean something to you?"

'Still doesn't make him likeable," Mulan said stubbornly. "Now, if you'll excuse me. I have some beauty sleep to catch!" she said half scathingly and stormed into the tent.

When she arrived back in her shared living space, she carelessly tossed herself onto her mat and pulled the blanket to the top of her head, earning another unhappy grunt from her snoring neighbours.

Perhaps this was just a dream. A bizarre dream about a mythical creature that worked as a love cupid―an advocator to a man she tried to hate.

She often wondered, what kind of person Shang was under the steel facade. He was harsh and distant throughout their relationship, and she was equally combative in her response. But her heart…and perhaps her soul…had a differing opinion. Her heart and soul made her want to be close to him, to touch him and to be cared for by him, just like what he did in his tent earlier.

After an hour of staring at the distant point of the tent ceiling, Mulan was resigned to the fact that slumber wouldn't come to her that evening. Especially considering she had just been confronted by a talking dragon...

… and thanks to her deal with Yao, the rising grumble from her stomach didn't help one bit. Note to self, swapping dinner for forgiveness is never a good idea.

Cursing under her breath, she marched out of the tent.

She noticed that Mushu came to join her, but she didn't want to start another conversation that would lead her into talking about her angst-filled relationship with Shang, so she pretended not to notice him.

With the moonlight to help her navigate through the dark, beaten path, Mulan walked into the nearby woods in search of something to appease her hunger. She found a wild raspberry scrub (or at least what she thought was. It's hard to identify anything in the dark), and popped the berries into her mouth unceremoniously.

She thought she had seen enough surprises in a day but then she caught a glimpse of a familiar athletic form beyond the thicket of the coppice by the river.

"Wait, is that the Prince of Wei?" she heard Mushu whisper into her ear.

It really was him. What was he doing in the middle of the night? Was he hungry too? But knowing even Chi-Fu would willingly surrender his meal to the Prince, Mulan dismissed that thought as unlikely.

Scrupulously, Mulan prowled closer, carefully so as not to attract unwanted attention.

...And the Prince wasn't alone.

A woman was with him.

She was dressed in a dark-coloured deel and an ushanka on top of her head. Her face was half concealed by a translucent veil, but judging from her apparel, she was clearly not Chinese.

She was one of the Huns.

Mulan observed quietly from a good distance. There was no way she could pick up the Prince's or the mysterious woman's expressions. She was trying to read their body language. Shao Wei's back was addressing her, and with a glimpse of luck, she might have been able to see the woman's face. But in such dimly lit woods with a number of trees still between her and them, it wasn't a trivial task. Mulan admonished herself for neglecting her mother's instruction to eat plenty of carrots. Telescopic vision would be handy in a time like this.

And then something unexpected happened. The Prince of Wei pulled back his cloak and bowed in the manner of a nobleman acknowledging a position of authority. "Your Highness, it's been a while."

Beside her, Mushu gasped dramatically. "Holy ancestor! Is she…. a princess?!"

"Worse, she is the princess of the enemy," Mulan pointed out as the woman took off her veil, smiled and returned the Prince's gesture.

"You sound ridiculous when you call me that, but it's my pleasure―my Prince," the woman reciprocated.

"You reckon they are... friends?" Mushu whispered into her ears. Mulan recognized the way the Princess looked at the Prince of Wei. It was that soft, longing look, full of emotion and hopefulness. It was perhaps the same way she looked at Shang.

"Maybe yes... or...maybe more."

"How do you know this?" Mushu asked, and Mulan realized she must've spoken her thoughts out loud.

She shrugged, "That's the beauty of human expression. People keep secrets, but their eyes cannot lie."

"Isn't it ironic that those words coming from you?" Mushu gave her a look. Mulan ignored him, eyes focusing on the drama that was unfolding before her.

Is it possible that the Prince of Wei is a traitor?

However, her deep contemplation was rudely interrupted by the presence of a dark shadow looming above her. Large hands covered her mouth before she had a chance to scream.