“What plant?” the Queen Mother asked, slightly suspiciously.
“The…the…” Mulan’s mind raced as she quaked inwardly. What was the plant called again? So much had happened since the Rabbit had told her…it was a long name.…“The…um…Essence of Heavenly Majesty!” Mulan almost shouted, so thankful to have remembered.
“Ah,” the Queen Mother said, looking at the Rabbit carefully. “Hupo poison.”
Mulan nodded with relief, tiny drops of perspiration forming on her brow. One of the Queen Mother’s attendants waved her pheasant fan, causing a gentle breeze.
“And why should I allow you to take this plant?” the Queen Mother said, now looking directly into Mulan’s eyes. Mulan felt herself squirming from the force of the queen’s gaze, but there was something in the look she was giving her. A bit like the Rabbit’s—slightly amused—but also something else. Suddenly, Mulan realized the Queen Mother was testing her.
“What have you done to deserve it?” the Queen Mother went on, her eyes expectant. Mulan gaped back, at a loss. Again, the attendant waved her fan, and a tip of one of the pheasant feathers drifted down. Suddenly, the hovering feather trembled and began to flutter, and Mulan saw that it had transformed to a dull brown butterfly. It landed on the bottom hem of the Queen Mother’s robe, precisely in front of Mulan. It opened its wings and, to Mulan’s surprise, revealed a shimmering pattern of vivid blue and green—the color of the sea and grass of Green Island.
“The Butterfly Fairy,” Mulan gasped, and she looked up and met the Queen Mother’s watchful eyes again. But this time Mulan sensed a hint of pride. Suddenly, Mulan understood.
“You?” Mulan gasped. “You are the Immortal who helped us! You brought us to the Butterfly Fairy’s house and put the Odd-Shaped Rock and the Stone Statue in my path. It was you!”
With that, the Queen Mother smiled at her with such a look of gratified satisfaction that there could be no doubt that Mulan was right. The blue-green butterfly flitted up and landed on the Queen Mother’s shoulder, quivering. The queen’s face softened as she turned her head toward it. “You were always one of my favorites,” the queen said gently.
As Mulan watched, she suddenly felt a heart-wrenching pang. Ba often looked at her that way, with that same tender smile mixed with sorrow; and Mulan realized it was the pain of loving someone without being able to stop their suffering. To see the powerful Queen Mother of the West, the Queen of the Immortals, with that same grief was like seeing her illuminated with light. Mulan realized that, through all the grandeur and ceremony, the queen was a being of true compassion and kindness. How foolish she had been, thinking that Daji with her simpering manipulation was a deity! Now, in the presence of the Queen Mother, Mulan felt as if she were seeing a real peony for the first time after only looking at paper flowers.
“You have done me a favor,” the Queen Mother said, turning back to Mulan. The veil of coldness had returned to her face, but Mulan was not deceived. “So I suppose it is only fair for me to return it. Though I will probably regret it, and I know the gardeners will be quite vexed, you may enter the garden.”
Lu Ting-Pin’s head popped up and he looked at Mulan with excitement.
“But,” the Queen Mother said, holding up her finger, “you may pick only one item. Nothing more. And only you can pick it,” she said, looking over her nose at Lu Ting-Pin. “Not him.”
“Can…may…he come to the garden with me?” Mulan asked.
The Queen Mother looked again at Lu Ting-Pin as if he smelled of dung. “Fine,” she said, finally, flicking her sleeve. “I don’t want him sullying up the palace, anyway. Pick your plant and then leave, and make sure you take this stupid egg with you.”
“Oh, thank you, Queen Mother! Thank you!” Lu Ting-Pin burst out, throwing himself on the ground in humble gratitude—but not before Mulan caught a glimpse of a satisfied grin. The prankster had gotten away with another joke, she realized, and Mulan wished she could see the Rabbit roll his eyes.
THE SKY was a lovely azure blue, the same color of Emperor’s robe when he made his offerings to the Heavens. The white clouds, shaped like soft, puffy steamed buns, floated gently across it. It would have been the ideal sky, one out of a painting or story, except for the two screeching birds skimming across it. Their dark silhouettes were like brown stinkbugs on a silken shirt, ruining the perfection and making one cringe.
However, no one saw them. Xianniang had lost sight of the boat long ago, but not before being impressed by the girl’s ramming it into the sea creature. Daji, of course, was more furious than ever.
“Impossible!” Daji had sputtered after they’d watched the beast bubble down into the purple-black water. But for the first time, Daji was at a loss. Even though they could now see only the straight line of the sea, Daji glared at it with a cold look of venom. For once, a smile did not creep upon Daji’s face, nor did her eyes light with wickedness. All of Daji’s schemes and tricks had failed—failed as they had never had before.
“Their luck will break eventually,” Daji said, finally, the bitterness seething in her voice. “If they make it to the garden, we will stop them there.”
“Stop them?” Xianniang asked, trying to keep her questioning tone humble.
“We just need to make sure they do not pick anything before night falls,” Daji said, her face as if carved in stone. “We will wait and watch.”
“And if they find it?” Xianniang asked.
“Then we attack,” Daji said. “And I will kill him.”
“Kill him?” Xianniang asked, her surprise overcoming her pretended timidity. Daji had never planned to outright kill someone before—that was too crude, too messy. She usually preferred to let someone or something else strike the final, mortal blow.
“Lu Ting-Pin, of course!” Daji said, mistaking Xianniang’s confusion. “Him and his silly sword! It’s all his fault! That girl would be at the bottom of the sea by now if it weren’t for him.”
It was strange how Daji kept dismissing the girl, Xianniang thought. From the beginning, the girl had overcome every trick Daji had used, yet it was Lu Ting-Pin that Daji believed was responsible. Yes, he was an Immortal—or at least used to be—but the girl was not as powerless as Daji presumed.
But when Xianniang looked at Daji, she saw the immovable clench to Daji’s jaw and the boundless fury in her eyes. Xianniang realized that Daji’s wrath had passed reason. This was not about her beloved Emperor Zhou. This was about being thwarted, something Daji was not used to, and it created an insulted rage deeper in her than any passion caused by mere affection.
Daji had not lost any of that ire even when she transformed into an eagle. Her sharp, curved beak looked as if it could swallow the sun and her scolding shriek at Xianniang’s lagging hawk shape was harsh enough to tear the sky. Xianniang pushed herself forward, trying not to let the fatigue of flying over the endless ocean slow her wings.
Finally, the Isle of Kunlun Mountain came into view. Xianniang knew it was a gorgeous paradise, but she was too weary to appreciate it—and she had long become numb to things with beautiful appearances.