“Perhaps the girl has tasted it already,” Xianniang said, in mild reply as she realized that the strange ache in her chest was sadness.
“Yes,” Daji said slowly. She was holding the flask that Mulan and the Rabbit had used for water. “But in case she hasn’t,” Daji continued, “I will give her another reason to.”
And with that, Daji transformed back into her fox shape—her white neck arching against the blue sky—and began to growl. But it was not the rasping growl of an ordinary fox. No, this was a low, echoing roar that made the heavens moan. The growl grew louder and louder, and then the White Fox opened her mouth, her sharp teeth glistening in the bright light, and screamed—a scream of rageful command that seemed to split the sky. The sun itself dimmed as if in fear.
The White Fox brought the flask of water to her mouth, the liquid dripping down her peaked face and drenching her fur. When the flask was empty, she let it fall to the ground and raised her pointed nose up toward the darkening sky.
Then, like a cannon, the White Fox spat the water into the air. The water burst upward, and where the droplets touched, the sky filled with gloom.
The White Fox shrieked again, the violence of the sound thrusting forward that murky black piece of sky. Swiftly, it flew to find its victims as her fury echoed against the land.
As the screeching, thundering cloud sped away, the White Fox changed back to Daji—her head held high with satisfaction.
“That will slow them down,” Daji said, her mouth curving with malice.
“Yes, Mistress,” Xianniang replied dutifully, but she was thinking of her long-dead youngest brother, Bouyue.
THEY HAD been riding half a day when they saw the storm. Though, truthfully, Mulan heard the storm before she saw it. The trees had thinned and the earth now rolled out before them in waves of muted green and gold. She had been fighting pangs of hunger (and wondering what their next meal would be) but was determined to be stoic. Ba never complained when he went to battle against the evil Emperor Zhou, Mulan told herself, remembering the stories Ba had told her about his time as a warrior, and how she had secretly longed for those same adventures. He had to ride for days without food and only a little water. I can do the same. But her stomach refused to cooperate and whined continually. So when the thunder first rumbled, Mulan thought her stomach was making its loudest protest yet. The Rabbit, however, suspected otherwise.
“Behind us!” he said into Mulan’s ear.
When Mulan looked, she immediately urged the horse to a fast gallop. For behind them, all had turned dark. An evil, thick cloud had risen over the land, blotting out the sun. Black Wind dashed across the vast expanse, but he was like a child’s toy against the massive, relentless shadow. It seemed to be racing toward them, a beast charging across the sky for its prey.
“We can’t outrun it!” Mulan said. Already the rain was pelting them—sharp, cruel rain, like thrown stones. The wind was filled with shrieks and roars, as if the sky were battling itself, and the Rabbit, though close to Mulan, had to shout to be heard.
“Over there!” he said, pointing. “That house! Go there.”
The ceaseless rain was blinding, and Mulan could only barely make out what the Rabbit was indicating. It was more of a hut than a house and had obviously been abandoned. The earth had half swallowed it, and many seasons’ worth of vines were entwined over the rough wooden walls and thatched roof. But it was shelter, so Mulan steered Black Wind to it.
Mulan left Black Wind under an overhang and entered the house with difficulty, the door crumbling and falling to the earth as she pushed. Mulan grimaced, remembering how she had often broken the door at home like that by accident. It would crash against the wall like thunder from a clear sky, with the sound echoing as the door clattered to the ground. “Not again, Mulan!” Ma would wail. “You are too strong for your own good.” Xiu would try to keep her mouth from curving in amusement, and even Ba, in his patient way, would say, “Perhaps a bit gentler next time, Mulan.”
However, now, as the door hit the ground with a dull thud, there was only silence inside the house. Silence and darkness.
Outside, the wind continued to howl and the storm beat against the house as if frustrated by their escape. But the house was strangely still, as if hushed by years of slumber. When her eyes finally adjusted to the dim light, Mulan could see the outlines of a stove, chairs, and containers; the house was so small that the main room shared the kitchen.
“Light the lantern,” the Rabbit said. He was still bound to her, the carrier clinging with uncomfortable wetness. “There are probably fire-making tools by the stove.”
Mulan lit the stove and the lantern, then released the Rabbit from her back. The light showed her the entry to the bedroom, where she found a wooden bed and cabinet blanketed in dust. She went to the cabinet and was grateful to see some clothes. They were all moth-eaten, with many missing pieces that were likely now part of mouse nests, but she found a tunic and dress that were mostly whole. Mulan stripped off her dripping garments and changed, slightly amused by the old-fashioned style of the dry clothing. As she gathered her sodden robes from the floor, the small flask of honey fell from the sleeve. Mulan picked it up. Her stomach groaned and she thought of how luxuriant it would be to let the sweetness coat her mouth, to let golden syrup slowly seep down her throat. But as she went to unclasp the flask, she stopped. I should share it with the Rabbit, Mulan thought. Yet, somehow, she could not bring herself to show it to him. She found herself frozen in the room, clutching the flask in puzzlement. Finally, she placed it on the ground next to the bed, like a shrine figurine.
She brought her wet clothes to the main room, leaving the honey behind. The Rabbit was already in front of the stove, enjoying its warmth.
“Good thing I made you the Nuanhuo medicine before my bag was stolen,” the Rabbit remarked as Mulan draped her wet clothes near the fire. “You shouldn’t be cold.”
And she wasn’t, though Mulan realized that she probably wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t mentioned it. She wondered what other things the Rabbit had managed without her knowledge. Had he made this house magically appear? Though, as she glanced at the thick-dust-covered room and the climbing weeds growing out of the broken windows, she imagined that he probably would’ve created a place a bit less shabby.
“Whose house was this?” Mulan asked. She felt sudden misgivings, helping herself to someone’s house and clothes even though it all seemed from a time past. It didn’t seem like the owners had meant to abandon their home—there were still clothes in the cabinet and a blanket on the bed. What had happened to them?
But the Rabbit didn’t answer her. He was busy hopping away from the stove and springing on top of a covered vat to inspect the storage containers. “Vinegar,” he said, nosing some small jugs. “Salt.” He tapped the large bin he was sitting on. “This is probably rice,” he said. “It’s closed pretty tightly, so we might be lucky.”
Mulan pried open the lid and was delighted that it did hold rice, just as the Rabbit had guessed. With her grumbling stomach, those white grains were more glorious than an ascending Immortal. She quickly pushed some large empty bowls out the door to collect the beating rain, her guilt of pilfering from lost owners forgotten with the needs of her belly. The Rabbit continued to snuffle around all the jars. “Tea!” he called out. “But I smell…They’re here somewhere.…Ah! Here!” He patted a deep pot, this one covered with a tied cloth. Mulan left the filling bowls and went to remove the top, only to see it was filled with what looked like dried mud. She grinned, grabbed a spoon hanging from the wall, and began to gingerly poke through it. She was soon rewarded with an egg, grey and speckled like a stone.