11
“Stealing! Penalty: death!”
Sergeant Qiang’s voice rang over the parade ground in the center of the encampment. Morning had come far too quickly for Mulan’s liking. She had been awakened by the sergeant’s loud voice billowing through the tent, ordering everyone outside for the morning announcements. Luckily, in the rush that had followed, Mulan had been able to slink into the shadows of the tent and dress. Now she stood shoulder to shoulder with hundreds of other conscripts and seasoned soldiers as the sergeant barked a list of rules and the punishments for breaking them. Beside him, Commander Tung stood, his eyes moving over the men gathered in front of him.
“Desertion!” Sergeant Qiang went on. “Penalty: death!”
The men listened, their faces somber. Even Yao knew not to joke.
“Bringing women into camp or consorting with women in any way,” the sergeant continued. “Penalty: death!”
Mulan struggled to keep the panic and fear from her face. She felt as though everyone was looking at her, though she knew that was not the case. Still, hearing Sergeant Qiang’s words made her fears feel that much more real. She had known there was a penalty for women in the army, but death? That seemed a bit . . . aggressive.
As if reading her thoughts, Sergeant Qiang finished his speech. “Dishonesty? Penalty . . .” He paused, letting the word hang in the air for a moment before finishing. “Expulsion! Disgrace.”
The conscripts gasped.
Sergeant Qiang nodded. “Disgrace for you, disgrace for your family, disgrace for your village . . . disgrace for your country.”
From the looks on the faces of the men around her, and from the way they all shifted uncomfortably on their feet, Mulan knew they were thinking the same thing she was thinking. Disgrace was a far worse punishment than death.
Mulan could have sworn Sergeant Qiang looked happier to have made all the soldiers nervous. Marching in front of them, he stopped, slamming his finger into the chest of the nearest conscript. “We’re going to make men out of every single one of you!”
As the parade ground erupted with cheers, Mulan half-heartedly lifted her own hand and voice. But on the inside, she shrank. How could they make a man out of her when she wasn’t a man to begin with? And worse still, what would her future look like if anyone ever found out the truth?
Mulan was exhausted. After their morning “talking to,” they had been sent out into the middle of the parade grounds to begin their basic training. For hours, she and the other “men” had been practicing the same basic martial arts maneuvers over and over again. Using only their arms, legs, and body weight, they were supposed to defend themselves with minimal effort. Mulan’s arms hurt from swinging through the air, and she was sure she had heard a loud pop in her hip during one overzealous kick. But she didn’t let the pain stop her. As other soldiers fell to the ground in exhaustion, Mulan kept going. She felt the eyes of Commander Tung on her and it drove her on. At one point, she was certain her body had gone numb, and her limbs moved as if pulled by strings. It reminded her of being in the village, weaving on the loom, the actions becoming so routine that her mind could wander.
Only now, she couldn’t afford to let her thoughts drift from the task at hand. Slipping up, she heard Sergeant Qiang shout at her and hastily redid the move, fixing her mistake. Satisfied, the sergeant moved on to torturing the next conscript in line, Honghui.
Mulan snuck a peek at him. Despite the hard work, his moves were fresh, his face still focused. Cricket and Longwei were not faring as well. Both were panting, their faces red and sweat pouring from their brows. A competitive wave washed over and she felt fresh energy infuse her aching body. She wasn’t going to let Honghui beat her. Not mentally or physically.
As the day progressed, the conscripts were moved from one part of the camp to another. They spent time on the archery range, shooting arrows at a line of wicker targets set up on a hill. At the sergeant’s order, the soldiers would notch their arrows and raise their bows. Then they would let the arrows fly. Mulan focused, her eyes locked on the target. But it didn’t seem to matter. Each time her arrow was sent flying, it came up short. Luckily, the others seemed to be having trouble, too. Honghui’s arrows flew wide while Po kept breaking the bowstring. Only Cricket, ironically enough, had any luck. Pulling back his arrow, he held it awkwardly in front of him. Mulan could see his hand shaking from the effort of keeping the bow steady. Then he closed his eyes and let the arrow loose. It zipped across the field and with a loud
THWAP!
struck the target right in the center. As she caught Honghui’s eye and they traded impressed looks, Mulan felt a brief flicker of hope. Maybe she wouldn’t be an outsider forever.
Their training continued into that night and the days that followed. Still avoiding showering with the other soldiers, Mulan kept volunteering for night watch, pushing her past the brink of exhaustion. But there was no reprieve. As soon as they learned how to move their limbs in the series of martial arts maneuvers, they were given their swords and required to learn the moves all over again. They continued to work on the archery field, the sun beating down on their backs as arrows flew left, right, and occasionally straight. But that was not the worst of it.
The worst was the shrine. Day after day, when the sun was highest in the sky and the hottest on their shoulders, the conscripts were given two buckets of water. Lifting the heavy, awkward vessels out until their arms were level with their shoulders, they were told to climb. The shrine, a huge structure situated on the top of a rocky cliff, was only accessible by hundreds of narrow stone steps.
Taking a deep breath, Mulan began the trek. The first few steps were manageable. But as she continued upward, her arms started to shake. Beside her and in front of her, the strongest of men began to stumble, failing at the challenge. Water sloshed over the edge of her bucket and she felt her legs growing weaker and weaker until, at last, she sank to the ground, defeated. Up ahead of her, Honghui, who had made it farther than anyone, gave up, too. Mulan stayed still, trying to catch her breath, furious at herself and her weakness.
Hearing a shout from Sergeant Qiang, she saw that the others had dumped their buckets and were making their way back down the few steps they had climbed. As they arrived at the base of the steps, the soldiers rushed toward a large trough of water. They pushed each other out of the way, thirsty and impatient. Mulan approached slowly. Waiting until the others had finished, she stepped forward. Taking the ladle, she drank.
As the water hit her lips, Mulan bit back a groan of pleasure. Her eyes closed, she didn’t notice Commander Tung watching her. In the middle of the chaos, she was composed. His eyes narrowed with interest. Hua Jun was a surprise. Every task thrown at him, he had met with a quiet grace. He had not once complained, and even when he had been overwhelmed and weak, he had forged on. And now he had waited while the other men acted like beasts, allowing them the chance to satisfy their thirst first. Only the strongest of leaders had the strength of character to wait in such a way. The commander nodded to himself. Hua Jun was someone to keep an eye on.
“Now she is a girl worth fighting for.”
Cricket’s voice carried over the eating area. Entering the chaotic room, Mulan scanned the soldiers and seats, looking for a safe place to sit. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Longwei leaving their barracks, head down with his meager possessions grasped to his chest. She swallowed. She had heard his name called after the shrine. Sergeant Qiang had spotted him dumping water from his buckets to make the climb easier and immediately expelled him. It had been the smallest of infractions, but the penalty had been quick and severe. Mulan shuddered to think what would happen if her secret came to light.
Shaking her head, she returned her attention to finding a seat. Seeing the only option was near Cricket and another young conscript named Ling, Mulan walked over and took a seat, trying not to draw attention to herself. As she started to eat, Ling held up a piece of paper. On it was a drawing of a young woman.
“We were matched twenty-seven days ago,” he said to Cricket. “Her name is Li Li. Her skin is white as milk. Her fingers are like the tender white roots of a green onion . . .”
Mulan bit back a laugh.
A green onion?
She wondered what this Li Li would think if she heard such a comparison.
“Ling is a romantic!” Cricket said, apparently more impressed than Mulan at Ling’s choice of words.
Ling smiled dreamily. “Li Li inspires me,” he went on. “Her eyes are like morning dewdrops, her hair like distant mountains, darkened by black clouds—”
Just when Mulan thought she couldn’t take another simile, Yao banged his hand on the table, interrupting Ling. “I like my women buxom!” he said, letting out a loud, booming laugh. Around him, other soldiers voiced their agreement. “With strong, wide hips!” he added.
Mulan cringed.
Is this the way men talk about women?
The thought made her stomach, which had already soured at the first taste of the awful food provided, turn over. It had never occurred to her that men would have such little respect for their future wives. She had always been taught to think highly and speak proudly of the man she would someday marry. Of all men, really. Yet here, only the “romantic” seemed to have the courtesy to speak kindly of the opposite sex. Even Cricket, whom Mulan had thought was a decent man, was now taking part.
“I like kissing women with cherry red lips,” he said, smiling at the men around him in the hopes of getting the same reaction Yao had received.
“Then your mother must have cherry red lips,” Yao teased, “because she’s the only woman that’s ever kissed you!” The other soldiers snickered and Yao’s smile grew broader.
“I don’t care what she looks like—” Po started to say.
Thinking that the other soldier was defending women and was going to say something nice, Mulan shot up. “I agree!” she said.
But Po’s next words made her instantly regret her action. “I just care what she cooks like!”
Mulan’s face fell. Turning her attention back to her unappetizing meal, she was surprised when she heard her name. “Tell us, Hua Jun,” Honghui said, calling out to her from across the table. He had been watching her, trying to read her reaction to the room and the comments. Deciding to push her, he went on. “Tell us. What’s your ideal woman?” Once again, the room filled with noise as the other soldiers voiced their encouragement. “Yes!” they shouted. “Tell us!”
Mulan was mortified. She met Honghui’s probing gaze and her eyes narrowed. She knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to get a rise out of her. But she wouldn’t let him. She paused, collecting her thoughts before answering. “I guess,” she said, making sure to keep her voice deep and steady, “my ideal woman is courageous.”
The room grew silent. The men looked at each other, confused. They were all dumbfounded and disappointed. Except Honghui. He seemed interested by the answer.
Stubbornly, Mulan went on, knowing that even as she did, she was once again making herself stand out. But she didn’t care. She wanted to show them that women were more than just objects. “And she has a sense of humor.” Some of the men laughed. “She’s also smart!” Now everyone was laughing. Everyone except Honghui.
“But what’s she look like?” Cricket pressed.
Mulan shook her head. “That’s not the point.”
“Courageous, funny, smart,” Yao repeated. “Hua Jun’s not describing a woman, he’s describing a man! He’s describing me!”
As the room erupted in laughter, Mulan sank back down in her seat. What was the point? It was like trying to talk to a bunch of animals. But as she lifted her head, she was surprised to see Honghui smiling at her. He winked. Then, turning to Yao, he called out, “Courageous, funny, smart? No, that’s not you, Yao. That’s definitely not you.”
The joke was now at Yao’s expense, and the attention drifted from Mulan. Taking the opportunity, she slipped away. But not before giving Honghui a small, grateful smile.
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