Mulan Read online

  It was the rabbit’s feast!

  There was no mistaking it. The pink apples, the white rice, the pot of milk…it was the rabbit’s hard-won collection of food. The fox had somehow stolen the rabbit’s offering. The beggar fell upon the feast with ravenous voracity, bits of rice and juice falling as he chewed openmouthed. The rabbit could only gape, struck dumb by shock.

  “Don’t know what that rabbit was trying do,” the beggar grunted between bites. “It’s insulting! Giving a man grass to eat!”

  “Well, the rabbit does have a poor sense of propriety,” the fox said, her voice dripping with condescension, “but we must pity his worthlessness. He has nothing he could feed you.”

  At that, the rabbit stirred. The grey rocks, the beggar’s bellow, the blazing fire—everything seemed to be swimming around him faster and faster, a rope suffocating him with shame and humiliation. He has nothing he could feed you. The fox’s words drummed in his ears. He has nothing he could feed you.

  “Sir!” the rabbit spoke. He did not speak loudly, but the intensity in his voice cut through the crackling of the fire, and all, including the beggar, turned to him.

  “I apologize for having nothing to feed you,” the rabbit said, looking directly at the beggar. “But, perhaps, you could eat ME!”

  And with those words, the rabbit leapt into the fire.

  For the rabbit, there was pain and blackness and then death. Which should have been the end. But it was not.

  Because as the rabbit perished, the beggar stood in alarm. His matted beard suddenly began to smooth and darken; the blemishes on his face disappeared. The beggar raised himself to his full height and his filthy robes fell from him, revealing sky-colored, dragon-embroidered clothes. Imperial robes! He lifted his head, pearl tassels swinging from his hat, and began to shine with a radiance stronger than the fire. All could see that he was no beggar. This was the Jade Emperor. The Ruler of the Heavens himself.

  As everyone fell to the ground in humble kowtows, the Jade Emperor approached the fire. With a wave of his hand, the fire extinguished with the charred form of the rabbit lying among the vestiges. The Jade Emperor looked down at the sea of bowed heads and spoke.

  “Yes, it is I,” the Jade Emperor said. “I disguised myself to test you, to see if you would follow the decree and how generous you would be. I see I have discovered the most unselfish of you, as well.”

  He bent down and plucked the blackened remains of the rabbit from the ground with a grotesque tearing sound. Ashes and coals fell from the wretched mass, but the Jade Emperor looked at it with tenderness. He pressed his hands around the sooty, misshapen form, and the burned body of the rabbit began to change. The scorched, brittle limbs softened and plumped. The covering soot turned to fur that lightened to silver and grew fine and lush. The rabbit’s chest began to rise and fall gently, like the tender rocking of a sleeping baby, as breath returned to his body. Then the rabbit’s nose twitched and his eyes opened, wide and wondering. In the time it would take for an incense stick to burn, the rabbit had returned to life.

  “Rabbit,” the Jade Emperor said, shaking his head at the newly woken animal in his arms, “you should not have harmed yourself. But I am truly touched by your generosity.”

  The rabbit’s head rose. The full moon had scaled the sky and its soft light embraced him, basking the rabbit in a gentle glow.

  “Ah, yes,” the Jade Emperor said, looking up at the moon, “that would be a good place for you, now that I’ve made you immortal. She’s been lonely up there, and you’d be the perfect friend. I will take you to her.”

  Five-colored clouds suddenly appeared, and the Jade Emperor stepped upon them as if entering a sedan chair. Then, illuminated by the splendor of the ­Heavens, they began to float upward into the night. As the ­Rabbit crossed the sky, all the animals watched in awe and wonder—except for the white fox.

  Instead, she burned with jealousy and fury and vowed to become as powerful as the newly immortal Rabbit. Her eyes glittered with a cold light that gleamed as brightly as the Rabbit’s new home, the moon.

  “You’re the Rabbit on the Moon? The Moon Lady’s companion?” gasped Mulan. “My father told me stories about you! You’re…you’re the Jade Rabbit!”

  “That’s what some call me,” the Rabbit replied, the amusement returning to his eyes.

  “Why are you here?” Mulan asked. She felt like a pot of water put to boil, her words and ideas bubbling over. “Why were you pretending to be a healer?”

  “I am a healer,” the Rabbit said. “You see me working with a mortar and pestle when you look up at the moon, right? I’ve been mixing medicines for centuries. The Moon Lady often sends me to Earth to cure the sick and dying.”

  “So, you come to Earth,” Mulan said, her thoughts connecting like stars in a constellation, “and transform into the Healer—”

  “Not just the Healer,” the Rabbit interrupted. “I take other forms as well.”

  “And you cure people!” said Mulan, too excited to acknowledge the Rabbit’s words. “Like Xiu! You’re here to save her.”

  The Rabbit did not answer. When Mulan looked at him, she saw that he was looking intently away, and a cold dread began to creep into her.

  “You…you are going to save her, right?” Mulan said, her voice squeaking in the night air.

  The Rabbit finally met Mulan’s eyes. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t think I can.”

  “WHAT?” MULAN said, her voice rising. She pushed herself forward, her hands pressing into the ground. “What do you mean you can’t save

  her?”

  “Your sister was bitten by the nine-legged spider,” the Rabbit said, meeting Mulan’s eyes directly. “That means she is dying of hupo poison. To cure hupo poison, she needs to drink a decoction of Dragon Beard Grass and a freshly picked blossom of the Essence of Heavenly Majesty before the poison reaches her vitals.”

  “Well, can’t you make it?” Mulan asked. “You’re a healer.”

  “Of course I can make it, if I have the ingredients,” the Rabbit replied, a bit snappishly. “But I do not. While I have the Dragon Beard Grass, I do not have the Essence of ­Heavenly Majesty.”

  “Where can you find it?” Mulan asked, jumping to her feet. She was ready to search under every rock and tree in the forest if it would save Xiu. This was her little sister! Xiu, gentle, shy Xiu, who had always looked to Mulan whenever she was scared. Mulan cringed inwardly when she thought about how she had teased her about the spiders. Xiu would forgive her, Mulan knew. That was the way Xiu was, always kindhearted and understanding. Mulan could not let anything happen to her.

  “You can only find it,” he replied, and then met her eyes with a pointed gaze, “in the garden of the Queen Mother of the West.”

  “Queen Mother of the West…” Mulan choked. “The Queen of the Immortals?”

  The Rabbit nodded. Mulan sat back down.

  “Well, you’re an Immortal,” Mulan said hopefully. “You must know how to get there. Can’t you go?”

  “I was going,” the Rabbit said. “That’s why I put your village to sleep. I was just about to start when those foxes attacked.”

  “But you can still go,” Mulan said. “You’re fine, now, right?”

  “Unfortunately,” the Rabbit said, looking down at the four dark marks on his leg, “I am not. The wounds the fox inflicted upon me are much deeper than you see.”

  “What do you mean?” Mulan said. A cloud drifted over the moon, dimming the light.

  “I had planned to summon a cloud to fly to Kunlun ­Mountain, to the Queen Mother’s palace,” the Rabbit said. “And even then, getting the Essence of Heavenly Majesty would not have been easy. The Queen Mother tends to be protective about what is picked in her garden.”

  “You can’t fly to the mountain now?” Mulan asked. More clouds gathered in front of the moon, making the Rabbit into a small, silver-lined silhouette.

  “No,” the Rabbit said. “As I told you, that was no ordinary fox. Her attack has all but destroyed my powers. I cannot even change forms now, and I cannot reach Kunlun Mountain as a rabbit.”

  “Yes, you can!” Mulan said, sitting up straight. “I can take you! We can ride on Black Wind.”

  Mulan stuck up her chin, bracing herself for another amused look from the Rabbit. But instead, the Rabbit was frowning.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “No.”

  “Why not?” Mulan asked stubbornly. “Black Wind is the fastest and strongest horse of all the villages here. We could get you to Kunlun Mountain almost as fast as your cloud!”

  “It’s not just the distance,” the Rabbit said. “The White Fox…It’s not a good idea.”

  “What other ideas are there?” Mulan said, feeling desperate. She remembered how Xiu had clung to her before she’d fallen unconscious. Oh, Mulan! Xiu had cried out, a beseeching plea for help. And now the Rabbit said there was poison eating away at her. Mulan knew they had to do this. There was no time to waste. “How else can we save Xiu?”

  The clouds in front of the moon thinned. Mulan could see the Rabbit staring past her, up at the moon, his face troubled and slightly confused. He shook his head again.

  “It would be a mistake to bring a mortal again,” he said, mostly to himself. “Last time…”

  “You can!” Mulan said. She knew her insistence was too brazen for a young girl and she could almost hear both Ma and Ba admonishing her, but she couldn’t stop. This was too important. “If you don’t let me take you,” Mulan said, her words cracking, “what will happen to Xiu?”

  The Rabbit met Mulan’s eyes again. The moon finally pushed through the clouds, and its light swept down upon them both.

  “Very well,” he said. “It seems I have no other choice. The o
nly way to save your sister is to have you come with me. You’d best go gather your things for the journey, for we should leave as soon as possible.”

  Mulan nodded, feeling as if she were full of chicken blood—a mixture of relief, excitement, and fear simmering inside her.

  “When will the poison reach Xiu’s vitals?” Mulan asked, standing up. “When do we have to have the plant by before it’s too late… ?” Her voice trailed off and Mulan swallowed.

  The Rabbit looked upward. The moon was in her full glory, a luminous pearl on black silk. “We must have the Essence of Heavenly Majesty in our hands before the night of the new moon,” he said. “We have until then.”

  IT WAS not easy for her to attack the Rabbit. Of course she remembered him. How long ago was it? The sea had turned to mulberry fields, but she had not forgotten. She had been such a child then. So naive, so foolish. She had still believed that there was a place for her somewhere, a place where people would not look at her with narrowed eyes as if disgusted to live under the same sky. Or worse, cringe away as if expecting her to swallow them whole.

  The Rabbit had done neither of those things, she recalled.

  “Let me come!” she had said to him. “I can help!”

  He had looked at her with those amber eyes that seemed to pierce into her. His expression was one that she had never seen before, at least not directed toward her. She had not quite understood it. But when he had nodded his head in agreement, she had pushed away all discomfort and questions.

  She had been so eager to leave, to leave the place where she was unwanted. She had filled her head with dreams of returning as a hero, of her mother embracing her with gratitude, of her family and villagers clamoring around her with joy. She had thought going with the Rabbit would bring her that.

  But he seemed to have known that it would not. He was kind to her. That in itself had been enough to disquiet her, but whenever he looked at her, there had been a trace of…something. Something sad and slightly rueful. Through all the land they had traveled, all the meals they had shared, all the conversations—she had felt it, a scalding needle constantly jabbing into her heart until it finally burned black.

  “Will you ever find your place?” he had said to her, his eyes boring into her and uncovering a hundred years of memories. It was only then, seeing him again after so long, seeing him bleeding on the ground, that she realized what it was he had felt that made her turn from him.

  Pity.

  He had pitied her and she, unknowingly, had hated it. She had hated it so much that when Daji…

  The White Fox hissed at her impatiently, her tails swaying as she stalked away.

  She shook her head, trying to force aside her thoughts. Then, quickly, she ran after the White Fox. She knew better than to keep Daji waiting.

  MULAN CREPT into her house, even though the Rabbit had told her the villagers would not waken even with the loudest of noises. The moonlight trailed into the house, the delicate light shielding the sleepers from the darkest part of the night.

  Quickly, she gathered supplies—food, clothes, blankets—and shoved them into her pack in a disordered manner that would have horrified Ma. But Ma didn’t see her now. As Mulan quietly passed her parents, they both stood silently with their eyes closed, wheezing peaceful sounds of slumber. Ba was leaning over awkwardly and Mulan could see the bindings that held his bad leg. “After we defeated the evil Emperor Zhou, the new emperor needed warriors to fight the invading Rouran, and my leg was badly damaged,” he had once said to Mulan, recounting his mighty warrior days as she listened with starry eyes. “But I would do it again, and more. Nothing is too much to sacrifice to bring honor to our ancestors.”

  Would traveling with the Rabbit be honorable? Mulan wondered. She knew Ma would not approve of her going on a journey. “You must learn to diligently care for your family, Mulan,” Ma had said to her. “A girl brings honor by care. Not by boldness.” Mulan looked at Xiu and the cold, clammy whiteness of her sister’s cheeks. Whether this was care or boldness, she knew she must go.

  “I’m going to help get something that’s going to save Xiu,” Mulan said to her parents. She gulped uneasily and then said, with more hope than force, “I will not dishonor our family.”

  Her last words seemed to hang in the air as they all remained still. Mulan felt as if her chest was cracking—it was so full of love and worry and fear. She looked at the cloth rabbit dangling from the pole behind her motionless sister. Mulan reached out to touch the toy’s soft, worn silk, the shabby threads as delicate as a newborn’s hair.

  Mulan slipped the cloth rabbit out of the loop of string and pressed it to her chest. She would take it with her. It would remind her of home while she was away. Mulan swallowed, wondering how far away she would go.

  She turned back toward the static figures of her family. She bowed a farewell to each of them, feeling slightly as if she were honoring shrine statues. Then, grabbing Black Wind’s riding gear, Mulan left her home to find the Rabbit.

  The Rabbit was waiting for her just outside the tulou’s doors. It was strange how ordinary he looked, just a rabbit sitting in wait by a silk bag. Though, Mulan realized, if you looked carefully, you could see the difference. There was an unusual luster to his fur, a silvery iridescence. But it was more than that. It was the way he sat so calmly and proudly, his head arched upward with a kind of regal majesty. Not much like a common rabbit, after all, Mulan thought.

  “You can call Black Wind,” the Rabbit said, in way of greeting. “He’s awake.”

  Mulan nodded without question as she realized that rousing a horse was probably well within the powers of an immortal rabbit. She whistled and heard the sound of a faraway whinny. She knelt down and began to rummage in her bag, various items falling out as she finally pulled out the blanket.

  “What’s that?” the Rabbit asked, pointing at the cloth toy.

  “It’s Xiu’s,” Mulan said hurriedly as she shoved it back into the bag, embarrassed to be caught with a toddler’s plaything. “Just to remind me of her.”

  “Oh,” the Rabbit said, giving Mulan a strange and pointed look. Mulan felt her cheeks burning. Did the Rabbit think she was a child who needed a stuffed doll? She was surprised when he asked, “How did she get it?”

  “Actually, it was given to me,” Mulan said, “but I gave it to Xiu.”

  “How did that happen?” the Rabbit asked. “Tell me.”

  When Xiu and I were children, my father and I were herding the chickens into the coop. I was very excited because my father told me that it could be my new job. I wanted to show him and everyone else that I could do it well.

  However, as we were rounding up the chickens, one ran away. I rushed after it, determined to get it. But I was so busy chasing the bird, I didn’t pay attention to anything else. I dashed through the courtyard, through the crowd of villagers, causing many to fall over. Soon, behind me, there was a trail of sprawled people, upset bins, and tangled laundry, with everyone shouting and yelling. But I didn’t notice any of it. All I could see was that runaway bird. Even when the hen ran into the village shrine, I kept after it. And, to my great shame now, I accidentally broke the shrine statue.

  Yet that still did not stop me. The hen jumped onto the balcony of the tulou and onto the roof. I climbed up as well, as fast as I could. I charged after the chicken, running along the slanted roof. But just as I was about to grab it, the bird flapped off the roof down into the courtyard, and waddled toward the coop. Xiu closed it in.

  I was stuck on the roof. I saw my father below, hurry­ing toward me, worried. He called to me, telling me to climb down slowly. I tried to do what he said, but with my very first step, I slipped! Luckily, I was able to wedge a stick I was holding into the balcony and use that to break my fall. Somehow, I was able to twist in the air and land on my feet safely.

  No one was pleased with me. All around me, people were shocked, shaking their heads and grumbling. When I looked at my father, I knew I had disappointed him. I had, again, acted improperly and forgotten my place as a young girl.