The fire still crackled, casting a dim light on the Rabbit, who was in the deep sleep of the guiltless. Black Wind nickered as if feeling her unease, and she patted his nose. Then, careful not to disturb the sleeper, she crept to their bags and untied the red string the Rabbit had used to fasten their belongings together. She groped through their things, finally pulling out Xiu’s stuffed toy. Her fingers stroked the silk embroidery threads, smooth and fine like the hair of her gentle sister. Mulan hugged the toy to her, wrapped herself with a blanket, and lay back down. This time, when Mulan closed her eyes, sleep fell upon her heavily, swaddling her so tightly that she did not even stir when Black Wind’s squeal filled the air.
Morning came abruptly. The sun glared into Mulan’s face, but it was the Rabbit’s sound of dismay that forced her up.
“It’s gone,” the Rabbit groaned.
“What’s gone?” Mulan said, alarmed.
“Everything!” the Rabbit said.
And everything was gone. The Rabbit stood forlornly next to the burned-out fire, ashes blowing in the wind like snowflakes. Mulan’s plain cloth bag with the food and clothes and supplies was nowhere to be seen, as was the Rabbit’s rich silk bundle.
“Where’s Black Wind?” Mulan asked, panicked. She whistled and was relieved to hear a whinny and approaching hooves in the distance.
“Smart horse,” the Rabbit said approvingly. Black Wind nuzzled at Mulan, who gratefully wrapped her arms around him. “He ran away before they could get him, too.”
“Before who could get him?” Mulan asked, clutching the horse close. “Did someone steal our things? Who would do that?”
“The foxes, of course,” the Rabbit said. “They’ve been following the whole time, you know.”
“They have?” Mulan said. She released Black Wind and fixed her gaze on the Rabbit.
“Yes,” the Rabbit said, “just waiting for the right time to cause mischief. I wonder how she was able to finally undo the red thread?”
“Red thread?” Mulan said, a stone in her throat. “I…I untied the red thread.…”
“You?” the Rabbit said with surprise.
“I—I wanted to get something…” Mulan stammered, “in the middle of the night…so…”
The Rabbit sighed. “She seems to always know how to do the most damage with the least effort,” he said, shaking his head.
“What do you mean?” Mulan asked. The Rabbit had made no admonishments, but Mulan felt the way she had when, as a child, she had once again accidentally broken the village’s guardian statue—this time playing ball with the boys. “Why can you not play dolls with the girls?” Ma had asked impatiently. “Why can you not be like Xiu?”
“They took everything,” the Rabbit said. “But she knew my bag was the most valuable thing. All my medicines and herbs were in it.”
“Was there a medicine you needed?” Mulan asked, concerned.
“Yes,” the Rabbit said, “the one that I needed for your sister. Remember, to cure hupo poison, I need both Dragon Beard Grass and the Essence of Heavenly Majesty. I had the Dragon Beard Grass. Now, I have neither.”
Mulan’s heart suddenly had the weight of a mountain in her chest. “Is the grass hard to find?”
“It only grows on Green Island,” the Rabbit said, “but it is abundant everywhere there.”
“Can we go there?” Mulan asked, trying to swallow.
“We will have to,” the Rabbit said, sighing again. “She’s trying to slow us down. She knows we only have until the new moon.”
“Who?” Mulan asked. “The White Fox? Why is she still after you, after all this time?”
“She’s not after me,” the Rabbit said. “She is after you.”
“ME?” MULAN gasped. Another gust of wind blew over them and the chilly breeze swirled the ashes over Mulan like a grey cloud. “Why?”
The Rabbit hesitated. “I am not sure I should tell you.”
The ash that had settled on her began to itch. As she brushed it away, her hands were dusted a dull white, the same color as a funeral robe. “I need to know,” Mulan insisted. “Tell me.”
The Rabbit sighed. “It is another long story,” he said.
Through trickery or cleverness, the White Fox was able to gain many favors, and with her various guises, she lived often among mortals, enticing one to become her attendant: the Red Fox. She created havoc and drama wherever she went, and almost all the incidents ended with her fleeing while the Red Fox was left behind to safeguard her escape. After one such affair, the White Fox found herself alone at the site of the ancient bonfire.
Centuries had passed and the trees and moss had long claimed ownership of the place. But the White Fox, her keen nose heightened by magic arts, knew where she was. She could still smell the acrid odor of the Rabbit’s burning flesh and the tiny particles of ash in the air. And something else…Her nose wrinkled and she began to sniff furiously, smelling the earth. Yes, she thought, it is here.
And then, she began to dig. It was difficult digging—roots and tubers clung to her claws and fought to keep what she was searching for in the earth. But the White Fox was persistent, and finally she had pulled out what she wanted—a bone.
It was an ancient bone, cracked and crumbling, yet the White Fox treated it as if it were a phoenix feather. By then the Red Fox had rejoined her, and she could not help shivering when she saw the glint in her mistress’s eyes. The Red Fox knew how the White Fox resented her latest forced departure, and this was the start of a vendetta.
And soon enough, the Red Fox found herself on the docks of a verdant island, again in the form of an attendant to the White Fox’s noblewoman. The White Fox had adorned herself in opulent splendor; embroidered peonies gleamed on her silk sleeves and elaborate gold ornaments dangled from her hair.
“Him!” the White Fox hissed to the Red Fox, nodding toward a young man disembarking a ship. He was obviously a scholar, and a poor one, judging from the plainness of his robes.
The noblewoman glided toward him with her maid dutifully following, carrying her mistress’s trailing finery above the many bird droppings decorating the ground, as well as ensuring that her fox tails were hidden. The noblewoman’s willowy body swayed as she moved, and the faint scent of sweet honey rose around her; all eyes, from fishermen to fish, turned in admiration. The Scholar bowed as they approached him, the surprise evident in his face.
“May I help you?” the man asked.
“Yes,” the noblewoman said, her rank and refinement displayed with every enunciation. “I have heard that you are a great scholar, the only one with the talent to do the job I need done.”
“I will help you if I can,” the Scholar said. “What is it that you require?”
“I need you to transcribe and translate this,” the noblewoman said, waving her hand.
The maid stepped forward and presented a small gold casket, elaborately wrought and encrusted with jewels. With a nod from the noblewoman, the maid opened it, revealing an ancient, blackened bone.
“An oracle bone!” the Scholar said in disbelief. He stepped closer and peered at it keenly. “Very old…extremely old…”