“Well done,” he said to Mulan, handing her the bowl. He said no words to her about the search for the flower or the White Fox, but when he met her eyes, Mulan flushed with pride, her heart nested in as much pleasure as if he had awarded her a prize.
The deep purple curtain of dusk was drawing over the sky, and the Rabbit frowned. “We should go,” he said. “Your sister waits.”
Mulan jumped up. Xiu! Ma and Ba! Home. The Rabbit’s words were like the very last heft of the shovel while digging a well—her dull, constant pain cracking open to a rushing spring of yearning. It was time to go home.
“Need any help?” Lu Ting-Pin asked. He had changed, too, Mulan realized. The paleness had left him, and he seemed taller and more vivid. His hair was blacker and his eyes sparkled brighter. Even his robes were bluer—before they had been the dull color of open sea, and now they were the brilliant hue of the afternoon sky. However, the biggest change was the sword in his hand. While the Rabbit had been regaining his strength, Lu Ting-Pin had been wiping away the soot and grime from his blade. Now it gleamed, and it was the gleam of metal, not wood.
“That counted?” the Rabbit asked dryly.
“Apparently,” Lu Ting-Pin said, grinning. “The terms of the punishment were that the sword needed to kill ten thousand demons. They forgot to specify that I had to be the one wielding it.” He winked at Mulan.
The Rabbit rolled his eyes. Mulan smiled.
“So, let me,” Lu Ting-Pin said. “It’s been so long!”
“Fine,” the Rabbit said. “But hurry up. Mulan wants to get home.”
Lu Ting-Pin took the pouch Mulan had used to carry the grass and placed it on his belt. Though it had been empty, he took from it a small piece of paper and a paintbrush. He painted a cloud and showed it to Mulan with a smile. The Rabbit sighed.
Then, with a flick of the sleeve, he tossed it. The paper dissolved into the air before reaching the earth, becoming white smoke. The smoke grew thicker and fuller until it formed a huge, iridescent cloud, as large as a bed but shaped a bit like a steamed bun, hovering above the ground.
“Your chariot,” Lu Ting-Pin said, gesturing at the cloud with a flourish. “This will whisk you back to your sister and family.”
“You could have transformed one of these lotus flowers,” the Rabbit grumbled. “One fewer for the queen’s gardeners to pick up.”
Lu Ting-Pin just waved him away with a grin. “Good to see Tuzi is back to his old form,” he said to Mulan. Then his face softened. “But this is where we say goodbye.”
“But your gourd!” Mulan said, holding up the bowl that was cupped in her hands.
“Oh, I’m glad to be rid of that one,” Lu Ting-Pin said. “Now that my penance is over, I’m going to get a gourd that makes wine. Anyway, you need it.”
Mulan looked at him, unable to put into words all that she wished to say. “Thank you, Master Lu,” she said, finally.
“Ah, don’t thank me! I thank you,” Lu Ting-Pin said, putting his hands on her shoulders. “I thought it was strange that the Rabbit did not want me to tell you who you are. But I see now that you already know.”
Mulan frowned in confusion, but before she could reply, the Rabbit was pulling her to the cloud.
“We must go,” he said to her. “Come.”
They stood in front of the cloud, shimmering with opalescent light.
“Farewell!” Lu Ting-Pin called, bowing. “The greatest joy in life is seeing a friend unexpectedly. I hope to have that joy with you soon.”
The Rabbit nodded at Lu Ting-Pin nonchalantly, but Mulan saw the look of affection that passed between them as the corner of Rabbit’s mouth curved. She bowed as low as she dared while holding the bowl of liquid, the water now the color of the sky at dusk. It was time to go. Mulan stepped one foot onto the cloud.
“Oh, wait,” Mulan said, remembering the cloth rabbit she had left on the stone bench. “Xiu’s toy!”
But it was too late. Because instead of stepping on a puffy, cushion-like surface as she expected, Mulan’s foot went through the cloud. And as soon as her toe entered it, a mist rose over her, covering her so that all she could see was thick white fog, silencing all sound. Disoriented, Mulan brought her other foot down to steady herself, but to her dismay, there was no ground for her foot to find! Mulan wobbled precariously, unbalanced and dizzy. She was falling through the cloud.
MULAN’S FEET finally found the earth and she stumbled forward. She shook her head, trying to rebalance herself, and as she did, the fog of the cloud dissipated to reveal…a kettle?
Mulan blinked and then realized that the kettle was familiar. It was the same one she had used tens of hundreds of times. She was in the kitchen. Her kitchen. The jars of oil and soy sauce, the clay vats tied with cloth, the baskets hanging from the ceiling, and the bamboo tub—they were exactly as she
had left them.
However, it looked different, too. Everything seemed crisper and thicker and more solid. It was as if the cloud had wiped away all the enchantment and magic that Mulan had been able to see.
But not quite all.
For as she looked down, she saw that she was still holding a bowl in her hands—an old earthenware bowl that she had used for years. But the liquid inside it was a shimmering, silvery violet—as if it were filled with a piece of the sky at dusk.
Then Mulan heard voices in the other room. Ma! Ba! Xiu.
Still clutching the bowl, she rushed through the door, bursting into the other room.
“Gently, Mulan,” Ma admonished her. “You needn’t barge in like an ox.”
“But…” Mulan said, glancing all around. Her parents stood together as if in the middle of a serious conversation and looked at her curiously. Xiu was still and silent on the bed, and Old Auntie Ho leaned over her. Through the window, a purple gloom had covered the colorful remnants of the departed sun, lining the sky for night’s entrance. Had she imagined it all? The Rabbit, Lu Ting-Pin, the White Fox? That steam that had hit her face…it seemed so long ago, but maybe the medicine was so powerful that it had dazed her and created a wild fantasy in her mind. She shook her head in confusion.
Next to the window, a tall man was tying a cloth toy to the leaning pole. He looked at Mulan.
“Just returning this,” the Healer said. “It must have fallen off.”
Mulan studied him. He was the same Healer she remembered, tall and aristocratic in his rich robes. His finely featured face did not give the smallest hint of miraculous secrets or Immortal powers, but she couldn’t help staring at his amber eyes and his silver beard, as lush and soft as rabbit’s fur.
“Mulan!” her mother was scolding, as Mulan realized she was gaping in a way that no well-behaved young girl should. Mulan dropped her head.
“Is the decoction ready?” the Healer asked, coming toward Mulan and taking the bowl. He inspected it and nodded. “Yes, this is right. Well done.”
Mulan looked up at his last words, and when he smiled she could not help feeling disconcerted. That smile was so familiar. It was the Rabbit’s smile.
The Healer brought the bowl to Xiu’s bed and Auntie Ho shifted Xiu to a sitting position. Then, with her parents and Mulan crowding around and watching, the Healer eased the liquid through Xiu’s lips.