The matches were meant to be friendly. But in time, the friendly rivalry turned fiercely adversarial, even occasionally deadly. No longer contests, but duels.
The one that crippled Father ended in a tie, the reason the Hua family and the Peng family each hold one sword at the moment. Yuan Kai’s mother is a daughter of the Peng family, and it is acceptable for a descendant carrying a different surname to represent the clan, if no one else can.
Carefully I remove our legendary sword from its black brocade cover. Sheathed, it doesn’t appear all that extraordinary: The pommel features a fish-scale pattern, the scabbard a carving of magnolia blossoms. The whole effect is elegant but age-worn, something an antique dealer might consider not quite worth his time.
But the moment the blade is exposed, the dealer would change his mind. I have never held a naked Heart Sea without feeling a chill slither across my skin, its menace unmistakable. Forged from bronze, it is strong yet flexible, unmarred by rust after long centuries. It is also beautiful, its surface adorned with a shimmering checkerboard pattern that the smiths of our lesser era no longer know how to produce.
I trace a fingertip over the inscription on the sword. The ancient, spindly script is difficult to read, but as somber and stately as an emperor’s tomb.
“Come here, Murong. Let me show you something.”
“What is it, jiejie?”
“Hold the sword, edge up.”
Murong does as I ask. I pluck a hair from my head. “Watch.”
I drop the strand of hair. It falls gently across the blade and cleaves in two.
Murong sucks in a breath. “That is sharp!”
I take the sword from him. “Yes, it is.” I smile. “Mother once said that the blade contains a bit of metal from a star that fell to earth.”
He looks appropriately awed.
“Go to the kitchen and see if Auntie Xia needs help.” I sheathe the sword and squeeze my brother’s thin shoulder. “She’ll be cooking a lot for tonight.”
He leans against me for a moment before heading out. Carefully I cover Heart Sea, my fingers lingering for a moment on the carved magnolia on the scabbard. Mulan, I think to myself. Mulan means magnolia. I am named for the flower, which Mother loved for its noble beauty, rather than for Heart Sea. But still I feel a secret connection to the great blade, as if it were always meant to come to me.
I leave my room to speak to Father. But as soon as I’m in the courtyard, I hear his voice. “. . . my fault. I have ruined us. Whatever I do, I cannot escape the ill fortune that I have created.”
The pain in his words is a hard pinch on my heart. I step back over the threshold of my room. I expect a reply from Auntie Xia. But her voice, greeting Murong, arrives from the direction of the kitchen.
Father is in his own room. He must be speaking to Mother’s spirit plaque, hoping that her benevolent spirit from the beyond will help us in the here and now.
There is much that Father doesn’t tell us. Sometimes I wonder why. It isn’t as if I can’t see that he still misses Mother desperately, or that he is deeply troubled he brought us to a lesser life in the North.
Then again, it isn’t as if I tell him much, or anything at all.
Since Mother’s passing, at Father’s command, I have not gone out except dressed as a man. Or sparred with a partner except dressed as a man. Or represented him in any capacity except dressed as a man—and introducing myself as Hua Muyang.
Muyang is gone. No matter how I pretend, I can never be him. Why can’t you see that? Why can’t I be enough as Mulan, your daughter? What must I do so that you will stop treating me as the inferior imitation of your son?
But these words I repeat only to myself. To him I say, again and again, Yes, Father.
I take some time to collect myself before I cross the courtyard and enter his room. He is seated, grinding ink, a piece of paper weighed down on the low table before him.
He glances up. “I will reply to Yuan Kai and accept the postponement.”
“Yes, Father.”
When I do not say anything else immediately, he asks, “What is the matter?”
“Murong brought me Heart Sea, Father. Are you sure I should take it with me? What if—what if I don’t bring it back?”
He frowns as if I’ve asked a stupid question. “Of course you will bring it back.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. Do I really need to point out that I might die in this war?
But his expression is so forbidding I lower my head and say, “Yes, Father, of course.”
“Use it well. Do not make me regret sending it with you.”
The great swordsman has spoken. I have no choice but to bow.
“Thank you, Father. I will bring back Heart Sea safely.”
♦ ♦ ♦
At dinner, wine flows freely. Auntie Xia becomes a little drunk. Father too, but he is better at hiding it. By and large, I refrain. At the end of the meal, Auntie Xia presents a steamed cake made from ground lotus root and osmanthus honey.
Murong, who has been quiet for most of the evening, gives me his portion. “Auntie Xia says you won’t have anything good to eat in the army.”
I’m much more worried about how to keep my true identity hidden, living among so many men. “They’ll have to feed us something halfway decent. Hungry soldiers can’t fight.”
“Only dried flatbread and pickles, Auntie Xia said.”
“Huh. Guess I’ll be one of those soldiers who steal livestock, then. Or do you think they’ll let us raise a few chickens in the barracks?”
Murong is intrigued by the possibility of a steady supply of eggs. Auntie Xia leaps in with thoughts on what scraps I can save to feed those chickens. Even Father contributes what he knows of animal husbandry. For a moment, this could almost pass for any other feast-day meal.
Then bleakness returns to Father’s eyes.
When I first dressed as a man, Auntie Xia would study me and frown. But you just look like a girl in boys’ clothes. I didn’t want to look or act like a man, but I wanted even less to be given a task and not do well. I stood with my shoulders back. I pulled my hair into a tighter topknot and made my face more angular. I walked faster, moving my upper body aggressively, taking up a lot more room.
But nothing I did was enough.
Until the day I put on Father’s expression. It is not the expression he wears most often, but it’s the one that immediately comes to mind whenever I picture him in my head. A severe look, just short of outright disapproval. A hard, unyielding look. And beneath the refusal and the near belligerence, a bleakness that somehow seeps through.
A bleakness that makes me wish, despite my pride, and despite my resolute lack of any desire to be a man, that I were indeed his beloved son.
I eat the steamed cake in too-large bites and almost choke.
♦ ♦ ♦
The next morning, well before dawn, I dress and join the rest of the household by the altar. Father prays for the ancestors’ blessings while I abase myself before their spirit plaques.
I barely slept during the night, lying in my bed, blinking up at the dark ceiling. And now a muddled fatigue has taken hold of me. Father’s prayers seem to come from a great distance, and I feel nothing beyond a woolly dread at what this day will bring.
It is still dark when I strap Heart Sea onto my back and take my leave. I squeeze Dabao’s arm, hug Auntie Xia and Murong, and kneel before Father. “I’m going now. Everyone, please take care.”