Shao watched quietly as Shang perused the seal in his hand, a disbelief look plastered on his face. Who might wish to frame him for such a crime?
And how did the Huns find the location of the Chinese encampment where he had secretly trained? Not to mention the timely manner of the arrival of the Imperial Guard on-site. Was this entire drama just a ruse devised by someone mightier than any of them?
"It's no secret that we are friends now," Shao began. "And what normally happens if a prince befriended army officials? Everyone knows that I abhor my ruling uncle and came here to join a low-rank regiment with no logical reason whatsoever, so where does that leave us?"
Shang tore his gaze from the seal and looked up at him. "Are you saying you come here to meet me so that together we can plot a mutiny?"
"Well...I need someone with the power to move the soldiers. And you… you need an experienced politician with connection―a figure with established credentials and authority on your side." He chuckled when Shang's frown deepened at the word "credentials".
"I know… I know. Look, I'm working on it, okay? But the point is: Unless you are an established general…. that seal would've been meaningless to you. But imagine what that can do in my hand. It's no wonder if Master Peng is here to resist potential vendetta."
Shang fell into deep thought. "What has Master Peng told you?"
"Not much," Shao replied. "He said the Emperor had requested my presence to accompany Princess Zetian, his oldest daughter on a journey to the north next week."
"When the country is torn by war?" Shang couldn't filter his incredulity. "But...Why?"
Honestly, Shao had no answer to that. But this wasn't the first time his cunning uncle made a strange, tactical request. "I don't think that is the real reason."
They fell silent, each with their own thoughts.
"What if Venerable Yen has a part in this?" Shao bounced the idea.
"You mean he reported to Chang'an that you were in his house….and then you...that… that's impossible. He is a good man! He had sworn to secrecy on this matter!"
"Good is a relative word."
"But he would've told Master Peng to apprehend you while you're in his custody," Shang disagreed.
"But I will know that he had a part in this―that he is the mole! I don't think he wants that."
Shao watched as disbelief and disappointment fought in the captain's eyes. Clearly, such suspicion had never crossed Shang's mind. "I... I guess I never think that way," he admitted.
"Don't underestimate the lure of wealth and power, Li Shang. Nothing is impossible when men are lured by money and position," he said. "I've heard a father who sold his only daughter for them."
"I…." Shang could only sigh as he stared outside the tent. Master Peng and a few of his men were busy assisting the wounded. One second he was their enemy and the other second he was their savior. This ambiguous situation seemed to disturb him greatly.
"So...you think he has another hidden agenda?"
"I can't say for sure," Shao replied.
"But why send a great army just to fetch one man?"
Shao had his theory, but he wasn't ready to embroil Shang further into the royal scandal just yet. "I'm not at liberty to discuss it. But something very odd is happening and I'm not sure why Forbidden City had done this. I will be on my guard, and I suggest you are too. I want you, and anyone related to you, your close friends and family, to be on high alert while I'm gone," he said. "And that includes Ping."
Although it seemed like Ping was merely collateral damage of whatever transpired today, Shao didn't want to take his chance.
"I want Ping to sleep in your tent and stay with you all the time. You hear me?"
Shang, bless him, although he didn't say anything, the surprise, bewilderment and slight embarrassment had overwritten his usual warrior-like blank face. "Is...is there a need for such...precaution?"
Shao, the better actor of the two, forced an impassive, grave countenance even when he was laughing and rolling his eyes internally. "If you are not used to playing nurse, I will ask Chien-Po to change Ping's dressing..."
"It's not that I…" Shang trailed off, cheeks reddening.
"Do you have any problem sharing a bed with him?" Shao inserted.
Shang flushed further, averting his eyes. "No. No of course not… it's just..."
"I'm sure he doesn't pick his nose on the bed, spit at random occasions, or snore―an important tent-mate criterion," he added, glossing over Shang's impropriety with unrelenting control over his own seriousness. "Also, put on a double patrolling rota, I want everyone in the encampment on high alert. We are not sure who is our enemy or friend here."
"Yes...yes, of course," the young captain replied, somewhat hesitantly.
Shao felt he couldn't leave him unsure.
"Li Shang…" He placed a firm hand on the Captain's shoulder. "As much as Forbidden City are concerned, you are my right-hand man. And if I were planning to depose the Emperor, the first and foremost thing I need is firm military backing. And that's you," he repeated. "You could easily make it into their wanted list without you knowing. And then your loved ones could be their leverage."
Shang's mind was like an open-book, crazily simple and naive. But he wasn't stupid. He knew Shao Wei and how this clever Prince in his implicit subtlety was trying to persuade him to pick a side.
"But I am never planning to…"
"I know," Shao cut him. "Look...Three generations ago, my great-great-grandfather had paid a mercenary to assassinate his eldest brother…..and the paranoia had never left the monarchy since," he shared. "My uncle certainly wants to prevent the tragedy from happening and has done necessary precautions to subdue any form of notion of rebellion or sign of threat to his throne, no matter how small. You and I are no exception."
Shang fell silent, perhaps thinking about the probability (or improbability) of him colluding with this young, reckless prince and betraying the trust of the leader he had vowed to serve with his life.
For a person with vast experience rubbing shoulders with the people of the court, Shang's evaluation was oddly simplistic. He stereotyped that noblemen were always good and bandits were always bad―which wasn't true. But again, Shang's binary approach was what made him a dependable soldier and more so, a trustworthy friend. He saw the world in black and white. He had his principles and lived them.
"But the Son of Heaven has no son," Shang contended, "You are his only family and successor… surely he won't…?"
"Shang," Shao said, patiently. He understood it wasn't easy to forsake the faith of a man who was supposed to have the nation's interest at best. And among many subservient commoners, Shang must have been one of those who had followed the Emperor not with fear, but with his heart.
"I know there are hard things… that I've told you. And I don't wish for you to simply… believe me just because we are friends," Shao told him. "I want you to wait, to see things for yourself. All I want you to do now is to be careful and vigilant of all things," he said sympathetically.
"But when the truth prevails, we have to learn to take the world as it is, and not as how we want it to be."
It was a new day in the encampment, and right after the ambush, the situation was without routine and could describe well by the word: chaotic. Men were shifting new material to build new tents, unloading food and medicine that was graciously provided by the villagers around the area, and clearing the debris from the attack.
But it wasn't all gloom and dread. Although they had successfully deterred the Huns, the Chinese army had sustained a sizeable loss.
After a discussion with Master Peng, Shao agreed that he would come to Chang'an to meet his uncle as demanded by the Emperor's Writ. But at the moment his priority was to give as much support to the resident of Wuzong camp―a wish that Master Peng found hard to argue nor contend.
With the royal business aside, Shao could concentrate on the conundrum that had been plaguing him like a disease: Who exactly was this culprit who had his hand on the seal, framing him and damning Shang in the process.
Although all men in the encampment generally feared him, there were few that he noted emanating the aura of resentfulness in his presence. So, decidedly he planned to interrogate them one by one.
"Ling," said as he entered the almost deserted communal tent.
The man glanced towards him but barely acknowledge his existence and resumed his ministration. He was writing a letter.
"I believe someone may have planted it inside Captain Li's bag and tried to frame me for it." Shao disregarded Ling's disrespectfulness. "While death by strangulation won't be on my menu due to my high status and position, I suspected someone desperately wants to humiliate me."
There was a spark of annoyance in Ling's eyes. But he said nothing to comment on his announcement.
"Why are you here?" Ling returned, somewhat insolently.
"To find out the truth."
"Why me?" Ling challenged, looking riled by his implicit accusation.
"Hold your thought. And let us step back," Shao said with a smooth, professional shell that he wore like a second skin. "Let me remind you that I… am the man who had called the best healer in the area to save your best friend, Ping, and….adding handsome gratitude for keeping her secret under wraps."
Ling blinked in total shock, as though a sword had cut through his chest. The quill in his hand fell from his grasp. "You… you knew?"
"Longer than you thought I would. She was sloppy enough picking up the same bathing spot as me."
He snickered when Ling's jaw dropped dramatically. But given all the extremity of the news, it was an anticipated reaction. "Ah, sorry to disappoint you. Although you may think of me as a scumbag―many people did―but as obnoxious as I am, I don't just spread damaging rumor without understanding the consequences," he explained, but Ling must have been so gobsmacked to react that Shao continued again. "Now….I want to know who exactly had done this mischief on me and Captain Li. Something in my instinct told me that you do."
"What?" His last statement brought Ling back from his shock. "You...you think I framed you?!" he snapped, rising from his seat.
Shao crossed his arms. "Do you?" he said with a despicably calm but dangerous tone.
Ling's mouth twisted. "Look, I may dislike you from the start. But I…. I'm not like that cowardly prick who would commit a crime and put the blame somewhere else," Ling expressed, nose flared. He looked away from him, involuntarily cracking his knuckles, and said to himself. "But boy, it felt good to punch him."
"Him?" Shao repeated. "Him you said? You knew?"
He watched the wet panic and anger fight in Ling's eyes for a moment before realizing his blunder. "No… I mean…"
Shao stalked towards him. "Tell me," he commanded.
"And why would I?" Ling glared at him furiously. Shao loomed over him but the stubborn man refused to back down and stood up on his toes, futilely trying to match his height.
"You might be a prince, but I am not afraid of you!"
Well, fear wasn't exactly what Shao wanted of him.
"Fine," Shao said, stepping back to rethink his strategy of squeezing information out of this man. "That's too bad because I also came here to bring you this." He passed a parchment from his pocket. "I thought we can exchange a bit of…. secret," he said, as he watched Ling unceremoniously unroll it.
"T-this...this can't be happening!" Ling looked like a man who had been repeatedly shot in his head. "This is ...impossible!"
"Oh, so you knew about this?" Shao concluded, seeing Ling's reaction, grabbing back the healer's note of Mulan's surgery and stuffed it back into his pocket.
"No... " Ling shivered, balling his fist. A semblance of tears emerged on the edge of his eyes. "No, I don't. But we...I did suspect it. And I... tried to warn her… many times over." Hurt was clear in his voice. "And...and then Chien-Po told me that he found her asleep the night before her execution… that's when I thought she might…" He let a frustrated sigh, allowing his regret to dissipate. "Anyway, it's too late now."
"Where are you going?" Shao said when Ling dragged his heavy steps towards the exit.
"I must tell her."
"Don't..." Shao said firmly, grabbing him by the shoulder.
Ling spun on his heels, emotion back on the verge of spilling. "Your Highness, with all due respect she deserves to know!"
"No!"
"Yes!"
"Okay fine! But how will you break such news?" he said, voice escalating. "How would you address a woman who saved the world... but unable to save her own child? How? HOW?"
The lanky soldier didn't say anything, only cast his crestfallen gaze to the empty bed space adjacent to his where Mulan usually slept. It could've been worse. He could've lost her too.
Shao sighed, allowing his emotions to dwindle."We will offer her…. our condolences. In time. I promise."
Offering condolences sounded horrible-like pleading guilty-Shao found. Wrenchingly difficult, but it was a necessary gesture. He wondered what her reaction would be. Would she blame herself? Would she cry inconsolably? He dreaded her tears. He dreaded her disappointment and regret. But what he dreaded the most was for her taking her leave from the battlefront, retreating from this familiar realm into the solitude of her home….walking away from his life….and into the different world he couldn't follow.
After Ling named the culprit of the missing seal's mystery, Shao was keen to meet Yao and gave him a piece of his mind (and maybe a good punch), to which Shang, knowing Shao's fiery temperament, refused to give the Prince access to see his recruits.
One good, valid enough reason was: Yao was one of the unlucky victims of the Huns' ambush.
Standing outside the recovery tent, Shang turned to clarify with one of the healers but none of them seemed to be available, scurrying around at hurried pace. He persisted to follow one of them until his eyes caught a glimpse of a familiar figure.
Meihui.
She was wearing a simple ruqun with warm palettes that complimented her dark, raven hair. But the false cheerfulness of the color she was wearing seemed to fail to lighten the mood. She was seated by a bed. Her head bowed, her body slouched forward.
She gave a startled gasp when she noticed he was standing there.
"Captain Li," was the first thing she said, saluting him. And she immediately took notice of the bandage on his shoulder.
"It's nothing serious, just a minor wound," he said, waving her anxiety away. "How did you get here?"
"Oh… Chi-Fu let me in," she said. So, that grumpy councilor still had a heart somewhere. "He said I can't stay long. But I can see… him," and her glazed eyes unwittingly fixed on a figure on the bed.
Yao was unconscious, propped in a sitting position, with bandages covering most of his figure almost beyond recognition.
Shang took the empty seat next to her, examining Yao's condition further. His burn was extensive but thankfully wasn't lethal. Sadly, however frivolous the damage was, the scar would stay as a reminder of this day for the rest of his life.
"He is in a good hand," Shang soothed. "And I'm sure he will want to recover quickly… for you."
Meihui only nodded weakly, tears sprang anew. "One of the men…. said...the Huns were firing fire-arrow. One of them caught the ammunition supplies and exploded. He stood nearby...Unfortunately..." she said, wiping her eyes on a sodden handkerchief.
"But he will heal," Shang consoled.
She shook her head, looking at her own hands. "I know it is selfish. But when I broke the engagement…―"
"Wait, what...?" Shang interjected. While Shang had rationalized one or two things that triggered Yao's resentment towards Shao, he couldn't think of any of himself.
"He knew I came here… months ago," she told him. "He found my necklace in your tent."
Shang blinked towards her, eyes wide. Of course, he would think…
"Oh sweet ancestor," he groaned, running his palm down his face. "Did you..?"
"It's not… it's not like that," she cut him. "I explained to him everything. And he seems to be ...fine," she said, wiping her eyes again. "It wasn't… it was after a while ago. He said that you were almost get killed by a stray arrow while patrolling..."
Shang only let a slow exhale at the memory of his own calamitic experience. "And…?"
"...and he said, what if…" she hiccuped several times in rapid succession, pressing her closed hands to her lips until it subsided. "He gave me the whole speech in his letter about why we shouldn't wait anymore. That we should get married. At first, I agreed, because I'm afraid of losing him… but that's….―it's not a good reason to get married, just because one of you might die suddenly."
It struck Shang as a perfectly fine reason, but he supposed it was his wartime mentality showing.
"I told him to wait until things calmed down. And I promise to wait for him. And...and then…. he was terribly upset. And then we said some things, terrible things…. and we just never…" She sighed. "I thought we'll work it out. It seems too stupid now…"
Shang closed his eyes. It was common knowledge of men who kill each other out of jealousy or slit their own throats to escape the sorrow of rejection. Perhaps Yao was trying to do just that?
She reached out to take Yao's limp hand, stroking it. "If he….dies... I would never forgive myself."
Meihui's last sentence resonated in his head. It was like staring through a mirror and seeing the reflection of the tension in his own domestic situation. He left home knowing he had hurt Mulan's feelings deeply. So, what if he were to die suddenly?
There was a pause as both of them looked at the man who lay listless there, part of his face and neck riddled with angry burn marks. He was still recognizably the same Yao, but the threat of death had given life a better perspective.
"Tell him," said Shang.
Meihui looked at him blankly.
"When he wakes up, tell him everything you've told me."
She looked at the form of her beloved, before looking at her own hands, sighing. "It's not a good time, he is hurt and...and..―"
"Do you still love him?" Shang wasn't even sure where that question is coming from. He was not a person who normally had unfiltered thoughts straight from his heart and through his mouth.
"Y-Yes," Meihui replied, almost in a sob.
"Tell him that, at least. I am sure he'd like to hear it."
Meihui said nothing but leaned to Shang's shoulder as though sheltering herself from the buffeting wind as she cried. Shang pressed back sympathetically and wondered whether he was trying to convince Meihui or himself.
Shao spent the last hour before departing to Forbidden City with Chien-Po―just eating and talking pleasantly. Chien-Po was more-than-passable as a royal chef, which was an extraordinary compliment remembering how difficult it was to please a prince. But then Chien-Po said something flippantly about always having to cook for himself as a kid. Then he was just sad.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Shao said sincerely.
"It's fine," Chien-Po waved his pitiful concern. "What doesn't kill you will make you stronger," he quoted. "I mean….I don't mean to brag, but my dissatisfaction with eating raw cabbage propelled me to try my hands in the kitchen. And it had turned out handsomely since then."
"You know," Shao said, talking with his mouth full just like an unmannered peasant would. "Apparently your skill in battle is as legendary as your skill in cooking," he complimented. "Although I can see that culinary prowess has gone a little bit out of hand." He poked Chien-Po's belly with his chopsticks causing the man to flinch.
"A shared sentiment, Your Honor," he said. "It is said that man's happiness is reflected on the size of his girth," and he smiled, patting his belly. "I expect this to expand when I marry Su."
"And here I thought women are the only ones who can have babies," Shao teased. "Someday when she is pregnant, your belly could be brothers."
Chien-Po blushed at the remark. "I...I guess it's a little too soon to talk about babies. We haven't sought counsel to fix a good day for a wedding yet."
Shao chuckled, shaking his head. "Sometimes…. I envy you, Chien-Po."
"How so, Your Majesty?"
"I mean… your life… so simple, yet, so… so sweet."
"I know," Chien-Po smiled. "I am thankful every day that I…―"
"Your Highness!" Chef Zhang heaved as he halted in front of them. "It's… it's your sister. Princess Wei Ting… she is injured."
"Ting Ting!" Shao barged into his tent. His sister sat on his unmade bed. She looked pale, paler than he ever remembered seeing since the night their mother died. She wrapped his blanket around herself, gripping them tightly and cocooning herself as though it was a wall capable of protecting her.
Ling sat with her. He was nurse-maiding her with a cup of warm tea.
"It's ok, you are safe now," Ling cooed. He sat close to her and Ting Ting didn't seem perturbed. When they spoke, they looked deeply into each other's eyes, voice just slightly above whispers. Ling touched her, on her shoulder, her arm…. Her thigh! And she didn't even startle or flinch. Odd. Very odd indeed.
"What happened?" Shao said, perching himself on the edge of the bed.
"A group of men surrounded our house," Tian told him, she was sporting blood-soaked rags on her right arm, but she looked fine. Shao concluded there was some physical confrontation when Ting Ting refused to be removed from their safe house.
Shao pinched the bridge of his nose. The Imperial Guard, of course. They must have tried to take them both under their custody.
"We managed to escape…. and ran into the woods….and met a group of bandits. We told them we have nothing… but, they were trying to…" Tian stopped herself when she saw the Princess' hand tremble. Ling returned by tightening his grasp in a warm, comforting manner.
Shao looked at the half-torn sleeve of her robe, her messy hair, and her smeared makeup.
"They seemed to be part of the rebel group. I couldn't quite tell," Tian continued. "One of them recognized Princess Wei Ting immediately. We almost didn't make it here if it weren't because we met Ling and a few of the men along the way. Thank god for his fast thinking we managed to escape unscathed."
Ling didn't seem to register the praise. "Chef Zhang asked me to replenish the food supply from the market," he said simply, turning to Ting Ting. "I would never let anyone touch you like that again."
"Oh!" Shao's eyes widened, rushing to kneel in front of her, scrutinizing her injury even more.
His blood boiled just imagining what kind of vile things those bandits were trying to do to her. "Are you… are you okay?" He wrapped one of her hands, encasing it with his as a gesture of comfort and protection.
"Do I look okay to you?" Ting Ting said to him, voice hoarse.
"You don't," Ling piped in, voice firm but comforting. "But you don't have to worry about them anymore. They won't come after you again."
"They're dead?" Ting Ting said almost too quickly, and Shao could hear the desperate dichotomy in that urgency.
Ling only answered her question by wrapping his hand around one of hers and quietly said. "I've told Jing to take care of them. I am sure whether he'd done...it won't be pleasant."
She made a strange sound between weeping and laughing. "You are my hero."
"Hey, today I got to perform my new Kung-Fu technique," Ling chuckled, miming the action of slaughtering an invisible enemy.
Shao scoffed lightly. "Send them to me, and I shall make them incapable to assert their masculinity on the fairer kind ever again."
Ling's confused stare invited Tian to elaborate. "The Young Prince Shao Wei had done a castration on two-person before." She smirked with deep satisfaction. "Simultaneously no less."
Ting Ting laughed again, giving Shao's hand one last squeeze, and released him. "Thank you," she said, wiping her eyes. "You are the best brother anyone could have."
"You are the extraordinary one in this room. Not every person had the courage to face this kind of fear every day. This kind of threat," Shao stroked her cheek. "And you will heal."
Ling put his hand on her thigh, again.
"She is the bravest person I know," he said, giving her the look Shao Wei knew all too well because Mulan gave it to Shang all the time. And Ting Ting smiled back at him.
Shao cleared his throat, shifting their attention from each other.
"Care to share what's this?" he said, pointing his finger back and forth between the two of them.
Ling hastily moved his hand from her thigh. Ting Ting sighed, reaching for Ling's hand and took it firmly in hers, and turned to Shao with eyes that bordered on defiant.
"Seriously?" Shao's felt his brain was fried. He was pretty sure his eyes were twitching too. Ting Ting and Ling…. And LING? How in the world? He would have been less surprised if she'd announced a relationship with Yu Tao, the son of the noodle maker who often parked his cart in front of the palace. Despite his family's financial troubles, at least he was good-looking (and had a complete set of teeth). But Ling? Skinny, bumbling Ling whose only strength was to tell jokes!? What on earth...
"You...you two? How… for how long?" he tried not to choke on his words, but they were stubbornly stalling in his throat.
"A few months now," Ting Ting said. Shao turned to Ling, glaring daggers at him.
Unable to deny the accusation, Ling averted his eyes.
"So… you and him…―" Shao turned back to his sister, pointing his finger accusingly at Ling. "You and HIM?"
"Yes, big brother. Me and him," Ting Ting confirmed.
Shao turned to Ling, narrowing his eyes. "You are seeing my sister…? Behind my back?" before turning his attention to his sister.
"Him?" he asked Ting Ting again as though he would want to hear a different answer.
"Hey!" This time Ling protested.
"Don't you Hey me!" Shao snapped back.
"Stop being ridiculous! Both of you!" Ting Ting exploded before she fell into a coughing fit. Ling immediately moved his attention to the threatening specter of the angry prince to Ting Ting, retrieving a cup of water from the table and rubbing her back comfortingly.
"You okay?" he said, voice turned gentle and patient. Ting Ting accepted the cup, sipped it, wiped her mouth, and nodded.
Seeing this, Shao felt the fire of wrath that was burning in his chest wither and died. Whatever kind of picture that he had envisioned of the kind of man, a kind of worthy man his sister may end up with―some good-looking, educated nobility, appropriately her equal―or at least some strapping young man, a fierce warrior, who could protect her day and night with his strong arms.
But those… those weren't the kind of man she needed, and until a few moments ago Shao hadn't understood why. Until he saw the genuine affection in Ling's eyes, his protective touch―it suddenly clicked. Ling may not be her equal on the social ladder, in wealth... nor in looks. He may not even be the strongest man who could protect her when danger arrived, but he certainly was in his heart.
Any man who―his sensitive, hurting sister―would choose to help her face the demons of her past and her fear of her future would have earned a solid place in her heart, and who was he to judge? Or to cast aspersion to something….someone that rare?
He sighed, letting his thoughts dissolve into memory.
Seeing Ting Ting recovered from her fit, Ling turned to Shao, and with an admirable amount of fearlessness began. "Listen, Ting Ting and I…―"
Shao held up his hand. "No, Ling. It's alright. I… I understand. Apology for my unwarranted outburst. I am just… surprised."
"Look, I love her," Ling debated, still primed for a fight.
"I know," Shao nodded. "I can see that."
Ling blinked, taken aback by the sudden change of heart. "Uh… so… all is...well?"
"Of course it is," Ting Ting answered for him and planted a wet, waxy kiss on Ling's lips. Shao nearly fainted at the resigned casualness with which she performed it like he wasn't even there watching them.
"You looked like you are about to die, Brother," she said and giggled daintily.
"Uh, no… I am… I am fine," Shao said, calming his own palpitation after witnessing the intimacy that he felt he should never be a part of. "All right then. You better get some rest."
"So are you," she told him, smiling with her tired eyes. "Good night."
"Good night," he said and let himself out, though he found himself lingering outside the tent entrance, ears perked up to capture any strange noises from his sister's tent. What if they…―?
After a long moment, the lanky soldier stepped outside the tent. When he turned, Shao was there, waiting.
"Ling..." he greeted with a firm whisper.
Ling stepped back, clearly surprised. "This is not the preamble of another confident crushing pep-talk is it?"
"No," Shao said, taking Ling a few paces away. "Ling, you know that my sister has a lot on her shoulders."
"Is this... about her marriage to the Khan?"
Shao nodded weakly. "She was adamant that she will willingly surrender herself should the war not concluded within a month."
"Yes, she told me," Ling admitted. After the kidnapping attempt, Ting Ting told him everything, including her arranged political nuptial, which became the very reason why she couldn't accept Ling's proposal back then.
"If she wished to go, she is free to go."
Shao gave him a look. "What? You...what?" Unwittingly he gripped Ling's shoulder and demanded. "I thought you love her!"
"I am," Ling struggled a little to put an ease to Shao's death grip."But loving someone doesn't always mean you can be with them."
Shao blinked, processing that.
"You've seen what happened in the encampment a few days ago. How many soldiers were killed, and how many were injured… have you ever stopped and asked yourself...Why?"
Shao shut his eyes, a flash of memory of Mulan with a gaping wound on her stomach. He knew he could stop this war from happening.
But he didn't.
"The blood that was spilled today was not only because of the action of those Huns but also by the indifference of those who pledged to protect us," Ling stared pointedly at him in silent accusation.
"What are you trying to say?!" Shao bristled. "We'd won!"
"We might have won today, yes. But victory at the expense of others… is no victory at all!"
"So what is your suggestion? To surrender to the enemy's want and whims like a pathetic?"
"That's not my point… I…"
"A man can lose a love interest..." Shao hissed." But he could never lose a mother and a sister." And he stalked toward Ling, pointing his finger at his chest. "Listen, I just want you to know you're courting the sister of a man who performed castration on two men at once," he said with a calm yet dangerous undertone underneath it. "You stay aware of that and we'll be fine."
He could see Ling's adam's apple jerk as he swallowed, and in a moment of hesitation he said, "Staying aware Your Lord Highness."
"Good," he said and strolled into the communal sleeping tent.
"I asked you once if you liked the captain, you said no. I let it go but I've seen you with him. There's something more there, something you're not telling me."
Mulan sighed and ran a hand through her hair and told herself perhaps now was the right time to be honest with her best friend.
"Shang is my husband, Ling."
"He what?!" Ling thundered. His eyes flashed, jaw set. "Are you kidding me? Why wouldn't you tell me this before? He is...And you...Agh! This is…. this insane!"
"But I have to do this to keep my father alive. You...you must understand."
"At the expense of what?" Ling continued to glare. "If you were to succeed in heading to the battlefront, are you going to reveal yourself to him? And tell him that you are carrying….his child?"
"No." The pronouncement stuck in her gut.
"War may kill you both!"
"Or it may not," she replied stubbornly. "I fight to live, Ling… not to die."
"You will regret this!" Ling grounded out, whirling on his heel like the drama queen and storming out.
"Wait! Where are you going?" She ran behind him.
"To let the world know the truth," he replied without looking.
"No… Ling, wait! You can't…."
Her words were stalled by a piercing pain on the side of her abdomen. Looking down, she saw a pointed blade jutting out, blood dripping down her leg.
Mulan felt her eyes tickled by stray sunlight from the gap in her tent. Her instant reaction to the dream was to touch her stomach. Her finger was greeted with a thick layer of bandaid.
It is only a dream, she consoled herself. If she was pregnant, she was sure she had lost it. Perhaps her incognizance of the fact was a blessing in disguise because truthfully, she had no time to mourn the loss of her own child when the country was mourning its fallen soldiers.
She witnessed how their regiment fell fast to their knees. If it weren't because the Imperial Army intervention at impeccable timing, they all would've been dead within minutes.
But how did the Huns know about the location of the Chinese encampment? Was someone involved in political espionage and sold information to them? And why the Imperial Army came all the way to protect a low-ranking regiment that held no value and importance?
She could make some educated guesses, but the actual reason didn't matter, though, because the attack that morning, whatever it was, turned out to be what had saved her life from the execution.
She could've run, but instead, her instinct told her to stay put. To defend her country, even when it meant death.
During the surgery, she vaguely recalled Ling and Chien-Po's incessant rant...and Shang, he didn't speak much but, yet the worried look in his eyes exuded a kind of heart-warming concern from him that surprised her.
The only bad news was: now more people knew who the Captain really was to her.
That's a problem for another day.
She sighed, savoring the familiar sound of her teammates outside bickering about breakfast and whose turn to wash the dishes.
She waggled a little bit out of the blanket, stretching her arms to shut it while berating herself for not closing the tent properly.
Her hand didn't quite make it to the tent entrance though. Instead, her knuckles brushed something solid, warm, breathing, and textured very much like flesh.
The more alert she grew, the more she realized that there was actually something laying across her, pressing her down. It was painful but oddly pleasant at the same time―a strange sensation indeed. Slowly, she pulled her own arm out from underneath her body and reached up to her lower midsection (thankfully miss out her wound by a finger length), where a good deal of the weight was pressing. The weight was across her legs but she was starting to get a bad feeling so she decided to go with the midsection first. She felt with her fingertips and found… warm skin. Arm with hair.
Oh, sweet ancestor.
A sudden epiphany reminded her that this wasn't her tent, this wasn't her bed, and that definitely not Big Brother, her dog―because he wasn't this… bare, neither was Ah Meng, her faithful stuffed monkey. Not unless Ah Meng had grown to six feet tall and turned into an athletic soldier.
Then a fuzzy memory of listening to Shao and Shang came over her. Yes, Shao had insisted Shang stay with her every night until he was satisfied she was properly healed.
If she didn't spontaneously combust, that was. His shirtless body always made her flashback to THE NIGHT. Yes. It warranted capitalization. And she was pretty sure he was using psychological torture to break her, flaunting his wonderful abs and sea of scars in front of her eyes. In fact, a couple of days before the ambush, when she had gone to the clearing to find Ling and instead, found Shang performing martial art, sweating and glistening and defying gravity. And after watching entranced for a few minutes, she had turned and hightailed it out of there before she did something stupid.
Mulan hadn't thought he had seen her, but that night he had been particularly, well, flashy, in stripping his robe while she pretended to work on her forms, and she knew in her bones―had her friends seen her at that moment, he would tease her to no end. Closing her eyes, Mulan slumped down the bed, removing that image from her head. This was actually a really bad situation. She couldn't wake up next to him like this every morning. She would literally evaporate.
Her bladder beeped its morning signal and she sighed.
Mulan shifted a little and there was an answering rumble that she felt through her ribcage. The weight over her shifted too and his scent filled her nose. Dang, he smelled wonderful. Of course, he did. There was no mistaking it, Captain Li was cuddling her. And she'd been cuddling him right back. Worse... he was very close to naked. Mulan remembered she'd claimed that his wonderful muscles didn't really do anything for her but maybe she'd just been looking at the wrong muscles. And the amount of exposed flesh Shang had displayed right now made her pledge to forget the x-rated image of them making love together impossible to accomplish.
"Good Morning. Earth to Mulan," said a very unrefined voice that seemed to emanate from the far corner of the tent. Then, something red flashed across her vision.
Mulan blinked suddenly, disoriented. "Huh?" before her wound reminded her of the sudden movement. "Ack…!"
"You must be in incredible pain," Mushu made a face but his voice was nothing but unsympathetic.
"Only when I sleep," she said with a grunt. "...And move."
"...and breathe," Mushu added, seeing Mulan's face contorted when she inhaled deeply.
"Oh yes, breathing a little unpleasant. But I'll manage."
Mushu pinched whatever people may consider the bridge of his nose and shook his head. "What were you thinking, girl?" This time the worry in his voice was clear as a bell.
"What do you think?" Mulan said sourly, trying to shift Shang's weight from her body without waking him up in the process. "I am trying to get up!"
Shang grunted, and she froze where she was.
"No… I mean a few days ago. You nearly get yourself killed!"
A few days ago? Was that how long she had been out?
"Nearly," she emphasized in a whisper, and Shang stirred again. She waited until his breathing steadied back to rhythm and began to ease herself free from his cradle, which clutched around her waist like iron bands. She lingered around to make sure he stayed asleep, and her gaze unwittingly fell on his profile.
He was one of those disgusting people that still looked attractive even in his sleep.
"Hold on," Mushu said, glancing between Mulan and the pile of muscle snoring lightly next to her. "Are you… is this...?" he pointed his claws between Mulan and Shang. "Is this a permanent arrangement?"
"Of course not. I am just here so he could take care of me while I am injured." She gestured towards the thick bandage on her side. "...Temporarily. Mark my word."
"I see…" Mushu drummed his finger on his chin.
"What?" Mulan raised her brow when Mushu gave her a thoughtful look.
"I'm still amazed by his obliviousness. I mean, among many others, he is the only one who hasn't figured out who you are."
Mushu was right. But Shang was always a simplistic, unequivocal thinker. It was no surprise when it came to detecting suspicious situations he would not smell carcasses until he saw one.
"So, is it going well? No husband-wife fight? No makeup kisses?"
"We are not sleeping together, Mushu," Mulan clarified, clearly couldn't appreciate his humor. "I am crashing on his tent, there is a big difference!"
"Difference being…?" The Dragon smirked complicitly.
"I am sharing his tent, staying in his bed, but not sleeping together. Sleeping together connotes something else…something deeper… and more, more intimate."
"Like the way he cuddles you?" he said, wagging his brows up and down. One particularly impish grin spread across his face.
"He didn't have to know that," she berated. "For heaven's sake Mushu, he was asleep! It's no one's fault we ended up in…. Awkward position. This sleeping mattress barely even fit his size!" Well yeah, awkward and compromising.
"Hey, who are you talking to?" said the sleepy but undeniably masculine voice that could make her heart stop and race at the same time.
"G-good morning, Captain!"
"Morning," he slurred and smiled at her and Mulan tried not to think about the domestic intimacy that she experienced that moment.
"I was about to get up, go to the toilet, and change...and move my…things," she stared at her pack unwittingly.
"You are moving to...your tent?" Shang said, sounding incredulous and maybe a little…. disappointed?
Mulan winched. "I thought I might… I mean, I don't want to disturb your sleeping arrangement or…―"
"You can stay here. You are not a bad tent-mate."
"Oh?"
"You don't snore, you didn't smell nor have a personal hygiene problem…"
"I didn't know that is part of being your tent-mate criteria," she blurted.
"And she is willing to be cuddled too," piped Mushu.
She glared at him, which Mushu could only grin satisfyingly back.
"Do you need help with…" he gestured towards her clothing.
"Oh… no, no, no. I think I...ack," she winced from the sudden movement.
"Easy there," Shang helped her to sit in a more comfortable position.
"Thank you," she flustered a little bit.
"I suppose I left you to change," he said, flashing a little smile at her. "Don't hesitate to call me if you need some assistance."
She watched as his back exited the tent and sighed. How could she stop her feeling for him? After spending time and being around him in such close proximity, how could she be expected to handle that?
Of course, she won't tell how she felt for him. She couldn't tell him. She couldn't admit that this would blur the distinguishable line between fantasy and reality so much. That she always dreamt of the days he would fall asleep next to her again, smiling at each other's eyes and feeling his soft breathing against her skin.
But what if he knew who she was? Will he…. Kill her? Left her?... Divorce her?
She sighed, decidedly at peace with her decision.
Perhaps, some secrets are better left untold.
That evening, the encampment was holding a special celebration marking their victory against the Huns.
It was nothing fancy, just a couple of drinks among friends by the large bonfire in the middle of the clearing. Even Shang himself, who normally abstained from such indulgence, decided to join in.
When Ping, the difficult young soldier under his own first real command turned into the bravest and most brilliant, it was hardly worth noting that everyone's eye had been turned. The boy was no longer quite pretty. His features were still delicate, but his new confidence firmed them and banished the girlish softness. Instead of fear or embarrassment, determination shone from him, making every line of his face and body as graceful and strong as the brushstroke of a master calligrapher.
"Ping, you did amazing!" Chien-Po gushed giddily as he cradled his bottle of sorghum wine, courtesy of the Prince of Wei from cooking him dinner the other night. "You came charging at those Huns with a cart full of fireworks! I mean…. That's a… genius."
Shang helped to prop Ping up into a sitting position by stacking a few cushions, but his hand stayed behind Ping's back. Nobody dared to comment on this.
From the corner of the room, Wu chuckled. "For a split second, I thought you might actually want to die."
Shang shook his head, this time not a sign of rebuke or disapproval, but disbelief. Ping had escaped the death penalty only to jump into a suicide mission. What was he thinking?
That day the Shang had seen many things for the first time, some things he would never have believed possible. How a young boy was capable of boundless heroism and staggering destruction in equal measure. Perhaps being half-crazy was not a bad thing after all.
"I am not afraid to die," Ping's voice broke the silence. "I know fully well what war entails. What I'm afraid of losing is… all this." He stared at his friends one by one.
"Before I came to this regiment, my life was a boring routine. And then… then I met you..." he said, earnestly staring at...him.
Shang's eyes widened, perhaps the drug was talking.
"...All of you, I mean…" Ping amended immediately, looking embarrassed. "I am not afraid of dying. What I'm afraid of is losing you all," he repeated. "You are all my friends."
Shang took a deep breath. He had stomached so much death in his career that he had taught himself not to grow attached to his comrade. He thought of them as assets, tools that existed to aid him to win the battle. He valued his soldiers, of course, but not in the same way Ping clearly did. To Ping, they were all family.
His family.
The tent-sharing arrangement had lasted for a week.
And as his tent-mate, Mulan saw another facet of Shang's life that she otherwise wouldn't see.
Like the second night when Shang returned from his own training very late to the tent with bruised and cuts on his hands. She had pretended to be fast asleep, only to wake up again to observe him. She waited until his breathing was long and even before daring herself to take a closer look.
Shang's marred skin was nothing new to her, she had seen it the first night they were together. But if anything, she had expected him to bear most of these heroic marks in the battlefront, but apparently most of these scars came from his own practice. It was obvious that Shang was very serious about his own training, perhaps too serious for his own health.
The following day things began to return to normal. Even when she was already awake, she took pleasure in pretending to be asleep only to watch him begin his day in a very systematic fashion.
He normally woke up, doing his meditation before methodically tidying up the side of his bed and his desk that he had left haphazardly the night before. She consciously shut her eyes tighter as he removes his trousers and changed into his training outfit. He exited the tent briefly to freshen up and perhaps quickly change Qing's water at the stable.
She couldn't help but smile when she heard him humming the 'white snow in early spring' melody while running his comb through his damp, raven hair. Sometimes, he noticed that she was already awake and greeted her casually with "morning soldier" without halting his ministrations.
She could get used to this. It was both warm (and unsettling, in a nice way) to be treated like a friend, a compatriot... as an equal. She wouldn't have it any other way.
At home, Shang would immediately leave the bed without a word. In turn, Mei Lan would come in to help her with her hair so she could look presentable while serving Shang his breakfast (As her mother-in-law had pointed out to her, her duty was far beyond making a hospitable home and drawing her husband a warm bath).
During lunch or dinner, normally her mother-in-law dominated the conversation, while Shang appeared detached and only nodded or hummed agreement out of politeness. Mulan was allowed to speak, but only if she was asked. Their interaction was rigidly dictated by old-fashioned decorum whereby a woman of her rank was expected to respond in the most subjugative, respectful way possible to her elder. She had learned to swallow her own words, silenced her opinion, and replied to the question according to the model answer given.
But what she resented the most was every time Li Yue praised her decorative appearance as though she was a porcelain doll displayed fully for ornamental purposes. However, she learned only to respond with a wordless sycophantic smile. It was a life full of lies where nobody could be themselves. It's no wonder that Shang looked somewhat distant and uninterested, as though he was living with a stranger.
It almost felt like a new kind of prison.
When she decided to get out of bed and out of the tent, he was already outside, doing a series of single-hand push-ups while warming a pot of porridge he saved from the night before. This way he would have utilized his breakfast time far more efficiently than queueing with the rest of the recruits. By the time she was done with her own breakfast, Shang was already waiting in the middle of the clearing, preparing his lessons. By then, the guarded mask fell back into its place.
Whenever the regiment had a brief break time for lunch or dinner, Shang would take his portion and find a quiet place to eat while reading his Kung-Fu scroll. Then, he would retreat into the clearing early to prepare for his next lesson. At night, he would end his day with another series of press-ups before taking a bath and heading down to bed. It would be interesting to know if this impressive level of discipline and orderliness were an innate part of his character or was it imposed by the regiment?
"Can you please sleep with him so whatever strange arrangement you are doing makes an ounce of sense?" Mushu protested when another week nearly ran by.
She was so ready for bed, it was midnight and Shang was still nowhere in sight. Not that she would wait for him, she rather not.
"Sleeping together doesn't have to be sexual, Mushu. It can be platonic."
"Only in your world, Mulan. In the rest of the world, if you are sleeping with a hot no-shirt captain, and your own husband, there would be a long list of non-platonic things to do. Not to mention… he secretly has a great smile."
Not just great. He had an incredibly sweet smile, she had learned, to which she could practically feel her heart respond to almost involuntarily.
"In my current world, we are male compatriots."
"Compatriots who spent almost the entire day together, not to mention he rode Khan with you this morning! As if cuddling you in bed not enough," Mushu snorted.
"He wasn't cuddling me, Mushu. I told him I want to take Khan for a little stroll after a week stuck in his stable and he refused to let me go alone!" she defended, although she was secretly thankful that he did.
The ride back to the encampment didn't take long and she felt a little bit cheated to be honest because Khan was a little disobedient around other people riding on him and there was something incredibly sexy to see a man's strong, steady hand handling the rein, the muscles on his forearm moving swiftly under his skin.
"Let's go through the logic again," Mushu retorted. "Didn't you say he sleep in half nude? Because if he is, this seemed to be a missed opportunity."
Mulan huffed. "Mushu, if you are trying to get a carnal update from me you'd be disappointed because the closest to carnal thing I did this week is to steal an extra bean bun because I was desperately hungry."
A heavy sound of approaching footsteps suggested someone had returned.
"Whatever," Mushu said, patting her cheek coyly. "Anyway, have a nice sleep. Sweet dreams. Sleeping together related dreams. Please update me with the sanitized version in the morning."
"Shut up Mushu," she muttered and he laughed.
"My Princess, dinner ready."
Altan nodded appreciatively while her eyes still trained on the map in her hand. "This is our plan," she recalled Shao told her, as he held her hand."I am not giving up on your country or mine. Even when it means I must betray my own family."
"But I couldn't kill my own father. Neither you… you won't behead your own Uncle... would you?"
"Is Prince Shao Wei still planning to go ahead with that?" Asanthi's voice brought her back.
"I'm not sure, Asanthi," she replied honestly. She hadn't received any further follow-up now that Shao was forced to return to Chang'an. There was a good chance he would be detained there for good if the Emperor found out what they were plotting. But she couldn't disappoint him. They made a promise to each other to bring peace to both of their lands.
"Princess, if you haven't decided on any candidates to sneak into the Forbidden City, I'm signing up for it."
Altan smiled weakly, looking at her handmaid. Asanthi was a perfect contender for the job. She spent years serving Consort Shin-Ye in the Forbidden Palace. She knew the layout of the palace like the palm of her hand. "Asanthi, I never doubt your ability... or your loyalty. But if anything happened to you...," she shook her head. "How can I live the rest of my life with that?"
Asanthi just regarded her with her sad eyes.
And how can I expect to let you foolishly follow your heart? Her stare spoke to her. You have given away your everything for him! Your relationship with your father, your right to be our esteemed leader...
"I gave Shan-Yu my future throne just because I feel I'm a less capable leader than he is," she said, returning to stare at the Forbidden City map.
Liar. She could almost hear her own mind rebuking her. You did that to save that Chinese Prince from Shan-Yu's wrath. Why not admit that at least once to yourself?
"If you don't mind me saying this, My Princess," Asanthi said carefully. "I think it is not wise to… to follow a man that clearly struggled with his own demons."
Altansarnai sighed. How she wished her mother was here to offer a piece of her thoughts. Shao was a broken man… but so was her father after losing her mother.
They'd been out on a mission against the tribal group in the north of Mongolia for nearly a month. Then she heard the news about her mother.
"I'm sorry," her father whispered as he tucked her into bed that night. Armour was still laminated with blood.
His heart was shattered, she knew this. Among the women he called his wives, her mother was one that he loved, the one he cherished.
"Whatever for, Father?" She tried for an incredulous smile.
"I should…. I should've fought harder. I could've saved her. It's just…" He turned away, not wanting his daughter to witness the weak man that he was. It must break him even more knowing she didn't have a chance to say goodbye.
Do the dead remember? Would she then breathe a benediction upon them from heaven?
She would, wouldn't she? But would that be enough?
"No...no," she could only swallow her own tears. "I'm sorry too."
Her father didn't shed a single tear on his dear wife's burial. But that day part of them had died too, being carried away and buried together in the depths of the earth. A few years down the road, she'd decidedly taken upon the mantel and joined the regiment in order to find closure of her loss, while he, losing the touch of love, had led a singular life dedicated to power and dominion.
"I guess I have my demons too, Asanthi…." She recounted how much blood had tainted her hands since, all in the name of peace. "I never lose them, I only learn to live above them."
Her handmaid slowly looked up at her, reaching for her hand. "You may think you are not a good person, My Princess," she whispered, "But you are good to me."
She nodded her gratitude.
"By the way, I have news to tell you. My father and I had agreed on a date for Shan-Yu's inauguration and….my matrimony," Altan said levelly, although there was a small pause before she said matrimony because honestly, it repulsed her just to imagine being Shan-Yu's Khatun and become a helpless woman under his rule. And she was under no illusion as to how Shan-Yu would likely treat her after they were married. Altan felt her body recoil at the thought. Humiliate her? Torture her? Or even….rape her? Who knows?
Altan felt her stomach churn uproariously at the thought of her upcoming matrimony, of her laying with this despicable, obnoxious beast, but she couldn't be openly afraid, not in front of her friend who had been clinging to every strand of hope on her.
"Oh," was the only response from Asanthi, but the sadness and pity in her eyes were undeniable. "I hope the gods will be merciful to you."
"I hope so," Altan replied weakly. She was almost certain she needed far more than mercy. Everyone knew Shan-Yu's brutality and lack of compassion was down to his principal. He stoutly believed that compassion had led great men to their fall. And everyone knew that her father wanted to teach her a lesson for her insufferable rebellious attitude. And giving her to be betrothed to his most valued General would ensure his unconditional loyalty to him, and perhaps… making use of Shan-Yu's indomitability to tame her arbitrary stubbornness. But forcing Altan to wedded the man she hated so dearly was a punishment harsher than death!
"If I were a virgin, I would've offered myself in your place," came Asanthi's soft reply.
Altan's eyes misted, touched by Asanthi pledge of adherence. She still remembered many years ago when she took the lost, terrified maiden under her wing. How she had been her best friend, sister even, to her.
I can't ever let you suffer redeeming the things that I've done. She wanted to say. For selfishly choosing a man over my own country? There was a deep, aching sorrow sliced hot throughout her, but with a brave voice, she said instead, "I am a warrior, Asanthi. A warrior will never let her comrade suffer," she chided, firming her tone to hide her shaking voice.
Of course, there was a brief thought of escaping - running away to her freedom in a foreign land. Altan was sure Shao Wei would welcome her even if she would have to stay hidden from the world forever. Despite a good chance of succeeding, she crossed off the plan realizing his father would turn his army to his brother and sister-in-arms, torturing or killing them all methodically until they cracked and told him her hiding place. "And should anyone die, that would have to be me."
Altan was surprised and strangely pleased that the thought of death didn't strike her with paralyzing fear, in fact, quite the opposite, it was a liberating thought. "Perhaps universe thinks an unmerited daughter like me deserve this kind of penance for defying my father."
"You can't do that!"
Altan jerked back a step, not anticipating her friend's tirade.
"I'm sorry if I… sounded too presumptuous, My Princess," Asanthi quickly apologized, but her trembling shoulder had expressed her quiet fear. Altan sometimes forgot that Asanthi was a warrior too, and she could smell her fear rolling off her in waves. "But I can't see you live like this..."
"Fret not, my friend," Altan tried to placate her friend. "I still have a plan," she told her primly. Although deep down, she knew it was a slim chance for her plan to be successful considering her army was far inferior, smaller in number than her father's. Nonetheless, the fighter in her refused to let fear cloud her judgment and bow to defeat. Not yet!
But there was another plan. A plan that would cost less number of lives and bear a minimum risk to her followers.
Determinedly, she took her sword, her pack, the map Shao'd given her and grabbed the necessary travel supplies before heading to the door.
"Princess, where are you going?" Asanthi rushed to her side.
"You'll see," she said, still rapidly gathering her supplies. "You are in charge while I'm gone."
"W-what?" Asanthi's eyes were wild, panic and confusion melted together. "I… I can't. I'm not..."
"Asanthi, you will make a better leader than me. A person who has known power all her life may lose respect for that power, but you... you know the value of strength and know compassion," she said. "And I'm sure Father will accept all of you with no grudge if I've succeeded."
Asanthi shook her head. "Princess… where are you going exactly? Let me go with you!"
She stopped by the door, looking into the starless, infinite night before revealing her last mission.
"I'm going to assassinate the Emperor of China."