She remembered, even if Daji did not, all the eyes upon her in horror. She remembered the clenching teeth, the wave of hands gripping their swords surrounding her. Daji had made her escape, but she had been left to face the whispers. “Witch,” they had hissed. “Witch.”
“Xianniang!” Daji snapped, as if ready to box her ears.
“Yes, Mistress,” she said humbly, forcing herself from her reverie.
“Make me a fire from wet wood,” Daji ordered. “Now.”
She nodded and scurried away like a mouse to gather the wood. But the memories kept returning. As she held a freshly cut bamboo stalk in her hand, she could see the one from so long ago—that long bamboo stalk falling in a sweeping arch from the coffin. And she could still feel the harsh hands of the Emperor’s soldiers clamping upon her as he barked, “What witchcraft is this? Your mistress still lives, doesn’t she?”
Xianniang piled the wood neatly and then, using a trick Daji taught her, glowered at the hill of wood until a small flame began to flicker in its center. As the first stick began to hiss, Xianniang realized that she had hoped, all those years ago, to remain in the kingdom as herself—without Daji.
“Hurry,” Daji said impatiently. “I need smoke.”
As if prompted, a snake of dark smoke glided from the burning wood.
“More,” Daji commanded. “More!”
The smoke thickened in obedience, swelling into a rising grey cloud that made Xianniang cough. It hung above them, ready to smother the earth.
“Good,” Daji said. “I’ll show them that the ocean is no place to be.”
No place to be. Xianniang shivered, still in a fog of memories. “There is no place for witches in this kingdom!” the chancellor had declared. And they had clustered around her, swords pointing, teeth bared and faces full of malice.
What made it different from Daji’s venom? Xianniang watched as Daji’s teeth jutted out in glinting spikes, her face stretching as she transformed back into the White Fox. Daji glared with that same hostility, but, Xianniang realized, at least it did not have the revulsion the soldiers’ faces had. They had looked at her in disgust, as if she had been a poisonous wart that needed to be cut off.
The White Fox raised her nose toward the gloomy cloud and pursed her lips as if about to bestow a kiss. A gentle breeze blew from her mouth, but the cloud glided quickly away, as though it were trying to flee.
A pleased sound rumbled from the White Fox. Xianniang silently transformed into her Red Fox shape to join her. Xianniang had accepted the truth long ago. Why was she bothering to think about that now? There was no place for her in the kingdom; there was no place for her anywhere, except where she no longer wished to be—by Daji’s side.
MULAN HAD just settled the strange rock in the boat’s stern as they began to float down the river. Black Wind gave a whinny of farewell from the riverbank, and she watched him turn and walk away, growing smaller and smaller as the distance between them grew. Lu Ting-Pin finished raising the sail, the unfurling red silk suspiciously similar to the sash that had been tied to his sword, then joined her.
It was a wooden, flat-bottomed boat with a single sail and a cloth-covered shelter. But though humble in size and shape, the warm wood was polished and glossy and the sail was a vivid crimson, making the boat a striking figure on the water. Still, Mulan had felt doubtful about its traveling the sea. Lu Ting-Pin had seen her face and grinned. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It may be small, but it will ride through the waves.”
“I’m sure,” the Rabbit had replied dryly, “as long as you don’t get distracted by any old ocean friends.”
“No worries,” Lu Ting-Pin had said, giving Mulan a wink. “We’re too busy for visiting right now.”
Mulan had not understood the wink, nor much of their conversation, but Lu Ting-Pin was right about the boat. Because now, as she stood at the bow, she could see it was sailing through the water as easily and as quickly as a grand ship, its pointed hull slicing into the sky.
“So tell me,” Lu Ting-Pin said to Mulan, removing the bottle gourd from his belt and gesturing to the boat’s storage with his chin, “why did you choose that stone?”
Mulan shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “I guess because it is so odd looking.”
“You know, the townspeople don’t like that rock,” Lu Ting-Pin told her. “They think it’s bad luck.”
“They do?” Mulan glanced at the boat’s stern and frowned. Perhaps the stone had not been a good choice. She looked at Lu Ting-Pin, but he did not seem concerned. She walked over to them and asked the Rabbit, who had been resting by Lu Ting-Pin, “What do you think?”
The Rabbit shifted uncomfortably and Lu Ting-Pin answered for him. “Immortals don’t like to tell what they know,” he said, smiling. “Because they don’t like to admit that not only do they not know everything, but that things can change.”
“The Rabbit tells me things,” Mulan protested. “He has told me stories of almost everything.”
“He?” Lu Ting-Pin’s eyebrow rose and he shot a quizzical look at the Rabbit. “Male today?”
“She met me as a male healer,” the Rabbit answered, “so I decided to just keep it that way for now.”
“What?” Mulan said. “The Rabbit is not male?”
“Oh, he is,” Lu Ting-Pin said, “but not always. The Rabbit can change into any kind of being, from a noble healer to an old peasant woman.”
“Not anymore,” the Rabbit said glumly.
Lu Ting-Pin nodded gravely. “Soon, though,” he said, taking a sip from his gourd. “Take heart, Tuzi. The new moon is not far away.”
“It’s not?” Mulan straightened, alarmed. The long days of travel had lulled the urgency from her, and now a sudden fear filled her. “How much time do we have?”
“Next week is the new moon. We should just about make it,” Lu Ting-Pin said with what Mulan realized was his usual confidence. He patted the handle of the yuloh that arched above his head as he sat, the other end disappearing into the water. “As long as this stays intact,” he said, winking at Mulan.
“Did you enchant it?” Mulan asked, leaning in to inspect it. To her, the long wooden yuloh looked like the ordinary kind of oar attached to the back of the boat, though this was the first time she had been on a boat, so she couldn’t be sure.
“The best I could.” Lu Ting-Pin shrugged. “I’m still rather limited. But it should be enough.”
“As long as no one gets in our way,” the Rabbit said darkly. “Don’t forget the White Fox.”
“Nothing we can’t handle,” Lu Ting-Pin said, waving his hand as if to brush the White Fox away. “The two of us together are as good as a full-power Immortal, and Mulan here is a might—”
“What did you say about Immortals not telling their knowledge?” the Rabbit interrupted loudly, looking at Lu Ting-Pin with a pointed stare. Lu Ting-Pin met the Rabbit’s eyes, smiled sheepishly, and took a drink from his gourd. Mulan looked at back and forth between them.
“What are you talking about?” Mulan said, when it was obvious neither would volunteer the answer.