It was not to be, Mulan told herself. She hugged Xiu’s stuffed toy. She, with her clumsiness and impulsiveness, would never amount to much, but she could at least make sure Xiu fulfilled her destiny. Yet it was poor consolation, and as she twisted and turned through the night, she found herself thinking about the Waiting Wife, who must have had her own sleepless nights upon that same bed.
So Mulan was awake when dawn arrived, the pink and gold light fringing the curtain of darkness. As the sky thinned to silver and then blue, Mulan rose. Quietly, she crept out of the house, careful to step over the sleeping rabbit—though, given the way he was snoring, she suspected that even a treading foot would not wake him.
Black Wind’s whinny welcomed her as the damp wind chilled her face. Mulan patted his head and led him out from the sodden shelter. The world twinkled with starry dew, the morning mist still blanketing the earth. Black Wind nuzzled Mulan’s neck, and she saw an area of the thatched roof that was somewhat dry. She did say she left the house for man or beast, Mulan thought as she tore off an armful of grass. She made a sizable pile, which Black Wind immediately began to eat. She jumped on top of a large stone to reach for more, but a scatter of red in the distance caught her eye. Mulan cocked her head at the scarlet dots on the faraway trees. Cherries? Mulan wondered. No, it couldn’t be; it was the wrong season. Curious, she hurried to the trees, leaving Black Wind to graze.
How the dates had managed to survive the storm as well as greedy birds was a wonder, but there they were—the small crimson fruit, some already wrinkled from ripeness, dangling beneath yellowing leaves. Mulan grinned, pulling herself up onto the branches. She searched out a smooth fruit and popped it in her mouth. She crunched at its sweetness and then spat out the pit, watching it fall to the ground like a copper coin. She felt suddenly rich and, making a basket with the skirt of her robe, began seizing handfuls of dates. These will keep for a long time. Some of them are almost dried already, she thought. Along with the rice from the house, this means we won’t be hungry. It’s so lucky. Mulan stopped picking dates. Was it luck? It seemed it could not be another coincidence. Another Immortal must be helping us, Mulan thought.
And then, almost as if on cue, a tinkling laugh sounded below her.
“YOU’RE LIKE a little monkey up there,” a silvery voice below teased.
Mulan looked down, and there was Daji in all her splendor and beauty. Again, her hair and robes flowed and floated around her, sparkling with more brilliance than the morning dew. Mulan shifted uncomfortably, suddenly itchy in the old borrowed robes. Her legs dangled, and she felt like a tattered peasant shedding dirt. She opened her mouth to try to form a greeting, but her words seemed to have abandoned her. Why did she have such a hard time speaking when Daji was near?
“I’m glad you found the date tree,” Daji said, reaching to pick one, her sleeve waving about her like a billowing cloud.
“Did…did you bring it here?” Mulan stammered. “I mean…did you make it so I could find food?”
Daji gave another tinkling laugh. “I’m sure the Rabbit told you that there are some things best left unknown,” she said, her face dimpling with a coquettish smile.
“Yes,” Mulan said, her words coming out as slowly as if they were bathed in thick syrup, “but he thinks another Immortal is helping us. Is it you?”
“Another Immortal… ?” Daji repeated. Beside Mulan, a small brown bird landed and began to peck at the fruit, cocking its head at the two of them between bites. “But of course,” Daji said. “I told you, I’m here to help.”
“The Rabbit is trying…” Mulan felt her mouth go dry and was unable to continue.
“I’m here to help you,” Daji said. “Not the Rabbit.”
“But the Rabbit needs the—” Mulan tried again.
“The Rabbit doesn’t know what he is doing, fussing about with his medicines and herbs,” Daji said, waving her hand as if to brush him away. “Those plants won’t work.”
“They won’t?” Mulan gasped. “But—”
“Mulan,” Daji interrupted, smiling sweetly, “I’m here for you.”
The wind blew gently, making the leaves and branches sway. The cool air filled Mulan’s open mouth, pressing her words down into her throat.
“Everyone wants to save your sister, I know,” Daji said. “You, the Rabbit, your mother and your father—they would do anything to make sure she survives. And of course they would. She is the perfect daughter—graceful, accomplished, and poised. Everything you are not.”
Mulan flushed. She stared down at the dates in her lap and saw that in her climb, she had made a dark dirt smudge on her skirt. Even if she washed it, the skirt would be forever stained.
“But you can be,” Daji said. “I can help you. If you do as I say, you can save your sister and be anything you wish to be.”
Mulan raised her head. Daji stretched her arm out as if beckoning while the sun and the morning mist created a shimmering halo of divine light around her. She looked like a painting of a benevolent goddess welcoming a worshipper.
“Yes, you,” Daji said to Mulan’s questioning eyes. “You could be just as charming, just as lovely—more so, even.”
A breeze brushed over Mulan’s face, as soft as a tender kiss.
“Think about it, Mulan,” Daji continued, her voice coaxing. “No longer careless and improper, always charging recklessly like an ox. No longer accidentally breaking bowls and statues. Your mother, no longer ashamed of you. Your father, no longer in despair over you. Instead, Mulan, you could be the pride of your family.”
Mulan felt Daji’s words curve up toward her, a stretching vine with tendrils of yearning. The bird hopped closer to her, a piece of date clutched in its beak. Could Mulan truly bring pride to her family?
“Yes,” Daji said, answering Mulan’s silent question. “You could be as beautiful and as graceful as the magnolia flower you are named for, and save your sister, too. But it is not the Rabbit’s plants that can do it.”
Mulan leaned forward and a handful of dates spilled out from her lap, thumping on the ground like heavy raindrops.
Daji gave her silvery laugh and, with a lithe movement, plucked one of the fallen dates off the ground.
“When you get to the Queen Mother’s garden,” Daji said as she placed the date in Mulan’s lap, “don’t waste your time with the Rabbit’s little herbs. What you want is the peach.”
“The peach?” Mulan asked, the words popping out from her.
“Yes,” Daji said. “A bite of the Queen Mother’s peach will save your sister and give you all you ever wished.” She reached up to grasp Mulan’s chin in her hand. “You must pick the peach from the Queen Mother’s garden.”
“The peach,” Mulan said, finding that she could only repeat the words dumbly.
Daji smiled again. “Remember,” she said, releasing Mulan’s face, “it’s the peach you want.”
Daji withdrew her hand, and Mulan saw that the tips of Daji’s long, slim fingers were tinged bloodred from the fruit. But before Mulan could even react, the bird gave a quavering trill and flew in front of Mulan’s face and up into the air. Mulan’s head jerked, and for just a moment, she gaped up at the small bird fading into the sky. When she looked back down, Daji was gone.