Mulan did her best to honor that legacy by leading the village militia alongside her mother. Once, when a vicious group of raiders invaded from Northern Samahara, Mulan had led the ambush that decimated their supply camp and forced them to retreat before the army arrived.
She had been thanked for her service and summarily dismissed while the army handled the rest. Women were allowed to fight at home, but they could not serve in the emperor’s army. It was, in her opinion, an unfair schism of their society.
Her dark thoughts kept her company as she made her way into the village. Songshi had a central square surrounded by four shops, two dining establishments, and a teahouse. The village artisans and craftsmen built their workshops on the road leading west from the square, with the blacksmith’s forge located at the far end. To the east were the communal gardens and orchards for which Songshi was renowned. The most beautiful statue of Empress Li-Song to ever be carved in stone resided there.
Following the cobbled path, she made her way to the alchemist on the northern edge of the square. Bells chimed when she drew aside the curtain and stepped inside a chamber redolent with resinous incense and freshly cut herbs.
“I’ve been expecting you, dear,” a reedy voice called from the back. “Come, it’s almost ready.”
Mulan had long ago abandoned any attempt to decipher how Lanfen knew things no one should. The village physician claimed to have no magic, and yet she worked miracles and wonders with her ointments and teas, offered sage advice, and always had a knack for knowing exactly what a person needed—sometimes before they did.
“Good day to you, Lanfen,” she said in greeting once she reached the archway that led to the back room. She bowed deeply to the statue at her right—an altar to the scarlet dragon-god of medicine—before entering. “How did you know?”
Despite her age, Lanfen stood with a straight spine, her silver hair drawn up in an intricate topknot secured by a ruby-studded gold comb. Her smooth skin made her appear younger than her years, only a few wrinkles seen at the corner of her brown eyes. Mulan hoped she would age as gracefully.
“The rains this time of year, my dear, always bring back old memories. Our bodies often remember that which our minds choose to forget.”
The elder’s words brought back a memory from Mulan’s childhood. It had been a spring day exactly like this when her father arrived home in a wagon. The army medics had splinted his ravaged leg instead of applying the necessary medicine, and they’d left his high fever untreated.
Mulan would never forget the concern on her mother’s face as she sat long, silent vigils at her husband’s bedside. So many hours had been dedicated to changing bandages, boiling soiled linens, and spreading ointment over the infected wound. At the time, Mulan had been too young to understand the army surgeons hadn’t expected her father to live, sending the man home to spend his final days with his family.
Both her mother and Lanfen had proven them wrong.
“Thank you,” Mulan said in a soft voice. “I don’t know what we would do without you, Lanfen.”
“Oh, you’d carry along fine, I’m certain. Here, grind these leaves down for me. The smoother the paste, the better they numb the pain, but in a tight spot you can always chew them and apply to a wound.”
Mulan laughed and did as she was bid. Lanfen’s apothecary was a second home, in a way. She enjoyed watching the woman make her salves. An abundance of medicinal plants grew in the jungles around their village, and she had accompanied Lanfen many times on her harvest journeys.
“You have more on your mind than picking up medicine, I think,” Lanfen said after a few silent minutes passed. “Are you not looking forward to my tea in two days?”
“You’re preparing the tea?”
“Who else would you trust to concoct the brew that will reveal the inner heart of your potential suitor?”
Mulan scoffed. When Lanfen remained silent, her stare heavy on Mulan’s back, the younger woman relented.
“Fine. I have doubts.”
“Why?”
“Because I know almost all of those…those boys! They’re still children. Who says my fate must be dictated by someone other than myself?” Even as she spoke the words, she felt like a child pushing against destiny and tradition.
Am I any better? What am I, if not a child, for refusing that which has been set for me?
A sly, knowing smile curved Lanfen’s lips. “You have always dreamed bigger than this village, Mulan. Perhaps it is your fate to venture away from home. Meet someone or don’t. There is no law requiring marriage. Live. Experience the world. Travel beyond Liang’s borders if you must and see distant lands.”
“With what money?” Mulan stared at Lanfen, aghast. “Even if I could afford to travel, you know I can’t leave.”
Lanfen made a tiny, disapproving sound in the back of her throat.
“What?”
“You can do whatever you like.” Lanfen pressed a small pot into Mulan’s hands. “Your family would agree.”
“They want me to marry. Mother spent must have spent at least a hundred hours sewing that dress by hand. I can’t…I can’t disrespect her by refusing to wear it.”
“They want to see you happy. Talk to them.”
Mulan wished she felt as confident as Lanfen seemed to be, but rather than argue, she smiled and bowed. “Thank you for your counsel, and the medicine.”
“You are welcome. Now hurry home. I feel a dark wind coming.”
Outside the shop, several villagers had gathered in a small group talking in hushed voices. The sight was nothing too far out of the norm, except for their matching frowns. Another glance around the square revealed the presence of unfamiliar horses wearing the black and gold barding of the Imperial Army.
A chill ran up her spine.
With hasty steps, Mulan started up the mountain road. The first home she passed had imperial visitors, two guards with stern faces who spoke with Caori Shimpur, an artisan who painted the most beautiful landscapes. Mulan hurried past, and when she saw more soldiers at the next home, she broke into a run.
“Mother! Father!” she cried as she raced into their front courtyard. Her father remained where she had left him, sitting on the porch, but he rose at her cry.
“What is it, Mulan?” he asked, joined by his wife.
“Soldiers in the village,” she said, barely out of breath even after her run. “And at the first three homes on the mountain. I heard them riding behind me.
“For what reason would the army come to Songshi?” her mother asked.
“I can think of few…” her father murmured as a rider approached their open gate.
Her father hadn’t given voice to his thoughts, but she could easily guess. Only one thing ever brought the army to every house in a region.
“Hua family, where is the head of this home?” the armored man demanded.
Back straight and his chin held high, her father approached with measured, careful steps.
“I am Hua Hu.”
Without dismounting from his horse, the imperial messenger extended a scroll in one hand. “You are called to serve your emperor,” the man declared in lieu of the proper greeting. “Every household must offer a sword to service. Where are your sons, General?” His lip curled in a sneer that filled Mulan with rage.