Mulan stood by the threshold and felt the familiar, infuriating speechlessness fix upon her lips. She nodded a greeting.
“How are you?” Daji asked, concern growing on her face. She beckoned Mulan over to her and Mulan came slowly, as if walking upon ice. “Oh, Mulan, you look terrible. Look at you, so filthy and ragged. You could be a beggar child.”
Instinctively, Mulan’s hand flew to straighten her hair, but Daji caught it in hers.
“You’ve been so uncared for,” Daji said, clasping her hand. “Has the Rabbit been ignoring you?”
Mulan shook her head vigorously. Perhaps she could not squeeze words from her lips, but she could at least make herself understood.
“Of course he has,” Daji said. She pulled Mulan to a covered table. Daji plucked off the draped cloth and wrapped it around Mulan’s shoulders. The rich fabric was warm and soft. Mulan couldn’t help letting the lavish folds envelop her, the silk sumptuous as it brushed against her hands.
Daji took a napkin from the table. She caught Mulan’s chin with her slender fingers, and then, as if Mulan were a small child, rubbed her face clean.
“Now you are ready to eat,” Daji said as she finished. Mulan winced at the once dainty, now crumpled cloth, grimy and grey in Daji’s snowy hands. “I have some treats for you.”
Daji stepped aside, and suddenly Mulan was overwhelmed with the rich aroma of food. A pot of tea, the steam curving from its spout like a beckoning snake. A dish of deep crimson pork, glistening in dark, sweet sauce. A plate of lychees, luscious and large, delicate and glossy in golden syrup. The table was abundant with delectable luxuries that Mulan had only heard of in stories.
“Here,” Daji said, placing a teacup in her hand. “You need some comfort after all the Rabbit’s neglect.”
Mulan felt the heat of the tea through the cup and brought it close to her face. As she looked into her cup, the amber liquid reflected her image, and she felt a small shock. Was that her? The tea’s surface showed her a lovely milk-white face, arrayed in fine silk. The girl was completely unrecognizable except for the eyes. The eyes were her own; they stared back at her, troubled and worried.
“The Rabbit didn’t neglect me,” Mulan said, her words like ripping paper. “You did.”
“Me?” Mulan could see that Daji was truly startled, as if Mulan’s voice were thunder from an unexpected storm.
“I called for you,” Mulan said, pushing her words out like boulders from a well. “On the ledge. On the cliff. I needed help.”
“Oh, Mulan, I cannot just come whenever you want,” Daji said, the charming expression on her face suddenly frozen. “And look at you now. You are fine.”
Mulan frowned. The teacup suddenly felt small in her hands, fragile and flimsy.
“Why don’t you eat?” Daji soothed. “I think you’ll feel better after you eat something.”
Daji lifted the plate of lychees with her ivory hands and offered them to Mulan. She picked up one of the fruits with her fingers, creating tiny glistening threads as the honey pulled away from the plate. Mulan froze. Honey. The swarm of bees. She brought the Scholar a plate of honeyed plums, the Rabbit had said. He had eaten a great deal of her poison.
Mulan dropped the lychee as if it were on fire. The silken wrap fell to the ground, exposing all her stained clothing, her scratched arms and dirt-caked shoes. “You…” Mulan choked. “You…”
“What is it, Mulan?” Daji said, a careful look of concern glued onto her face. “What’s wrong?”
Mulan clutched the teacup with both hands, pressing it tighter and tighter as she felt her words and thoughts collide. The delicate cup begin to crack, warm drops bleeding onto her fingers. Was Daji…was she… ?
In a swift motion, Mulan threw the tea at Daji. The liquid flew into the air, scattering like rain. Daji shrieked, raising her arm and whirling wildly to shield herself from the shower. But as she turned, Mulan saw what she was looking for. A fox’s tail.
The teacup broke into sharp pieces in Mulan’s hand. “You are not an Immortal helping us!” Mulan shouted, her voice raw and ugly. “You are the White Fox!”
Daji froze, her exquisite face suddenly pinching into hideousness. “Yes,” she hissed, “you stupid, annoying girl! Why can’t you do anything right?”
“Go away!” Mulan said, grinding the shards of porcelain to dust and throwing it as a cloud to the earth. “I never want to see you again!”
“Oh, you will see me again,” Daji sneered, and Mulan couldn’t imagine how she had ever thought Daji was beautiful. “And you’ll be sorry, too.”
With that, there was a loud clap in the air. Daji vanished in a flurry of white, and then an eagle darted up from her place into the black sky. Mulan, trembling, stared at the white shape piercing the sky and then back at the empty space in front of her.
There was a sudden rustling in the trees behind her. Mulan, bracing for an attack, spun and scanned the night gloom. Two eyes glimmered at her and Mulan saw the dim silhouette of pointed ears. The Red Fox. The Unwanted Girl.
“Hello?” Mulan whispered.
The eagle screeched above, a sharp, harsh sound of fury that split the sky. The fox-shaped shadow shuddered and then disappeared into the small silhouette of a bird. The bird shot up into the sky and Mulan watched it fly after the eagle, melting into the blackness of the night.
IN THE morning, the trees sifted the radiant light pouring from the sun. Mulan, however, did not need the sun to wake her. She had barely slept, troubled by the experiences of the night. When she had left the thicket (along with Daji’s finery and delicacies), the lanterns had extinguished, and Mulan had stumbled back to the camp, scratching and bruising herself even further. Yet, despite her exhaustion, she tossed and turned the remainder of the night, the image of Daji’s face twisted in anger returning each time she closed her eyes.
The new golden light reminded her of something she needed to do. She pushed herself up and quietly tiptoed away from the sleeping horse and rabbit. Then she took the bottle of honey out from her sleeve. It was smooth and fine-grained, its creamy color the same white jade as Daji’s skin. Mulan shuddered.
Mulan uncapped the bottle. She gently pulled the stone top off, slightly afraid something sinister would come slithering out. Nothing. Mulan peered in, but could only see blackness through its narrow neck. Bringing the flask close to her face also brought the aroma of honey. It was a thick sweet scent—rich and heavy. As she breathed in the fragrance, Mulan felt again the luxurious silk cloth, the warm tea, and Daji’s smooth fingers pressing against her hand.
A sudden rush of wind flew across Mulan’s face, pushing away the honey’s fragrance and, instead, filling her nose with bracing, cold air. Mulan shook herself, gasping as if she had been submerged in water. She looked at the bottle in her hand, dread filling her. She needed to be rid of it.
Keeping the bottle an arm’s length away, Mulan turned it over. A viscous golden stream slowly oozed from the bottle’s neck, glistening and shining. She watched it stretch from the bottle, a rope of liquid sunlight falling leisurely.
But when the honey touched the ground there was a hissing sound, like sizzling drops of water on a heated cooking pan. Mulan jerked in surprise, pulling the flask back slightly. The sibilant sound continued, and Mulan saw that the honey had burned a dark line onto the earth. Her eyes widened in horror. The syrup continued to fall and burn, smoldering into a sooty shape on the ground. The honey was poison. Daji had planned to destroy her from the beginning. Madly, wildly, she began shaking the flask empty, the burning marks spotting like black drops of blood.