A/N: They silly.

Mulan flung the bed covers like a busy owl, her wings wide and fluttery. There's much more laundry to be done with their guests. She makes up for it by working faster. Rigorously dunking blankets, linen, and cloths in the wash bins.

She always plays a game in her head while doing the laundry. Today, she pretends she's on a ship (although in reality had never stepped foot on a vessel, but Baba explained it in great detail), and imagines she's hauling fish from the sea. Soapy suds become ocean bubbles. And the fish are brighter than any pond catch she's seen.

That's something she's actually enjoys — fishing. Of course, only with a simple rod. She doesn't know about netting and hauling, but over the years she's watched the villagers do their work. Girls her age weren't supposed to fish anymore, but she still sneaks out occasionally and fishes in the valley creeks. Baba often joining her, and pretending as if he didn't know what she'd been up to all along.

I wonder when we will go again… Mulan thinks to herself.

Her father has been constantly busy; returning home, getting back to his business, reassuring Mama, and of course the most time consuming — his new friends. Baba seems to have no time limit when it comes to Shang and the General. When she reaches Shang's red cape in the wash, she throws it into the water, hard, and angrily folds her arms.

Shang has been accompanying Baba's business trips. She was only a little jealous at first, watching them ride off together. She'd always been the one to gather the horses for her father. But ever since the incident on the bridge, she's feels sour whenever she sees the young man. All she wants is to be safely settled in her parent's good opinion, even if that is occasionally a tiresome task.

Shang threatened to risk her father's disappointment in her behavior. But she didn't actually yell at him… she only argued. And then told a grown man he wasn't the boss of her.

"Ai-yah," Mulan groans, thinking of the humiliating moment. "What am I to do?"

But to his credit, and her surprise, Shang has not said anything to Baba.

Maybe he's too preoccupied with his own father, who isn't even eating anymore. The bowls of food are returned right at their door, and when she comes to pick them up, she feels a sadness all around the room. It makes it difficult for her to hold anger inside when she passes by.

He still talks with Baba — who sits with them in their sad room. He has plenty of opportunities to tell her father the shameful things she said on the bridge.

But for some reason, after the initial surprise settles, she has a feeling he won't reveal her. Even if seeing him was uncomfortable and drove her to anger, as it serves a reminder of her possible failure, she senses a quietness about him. One that doesn't feel caused by his father's injury, but born much earlier.

She's witnessed men shame women before — eager to cause them misery. Shang doesn't seem eager at all. He seems like he wants to hide from it. Every time they've since interacted, he's red faced with downturned eyes. She suspects she won't stay mad for too much longer…

"Have you finished?" She hears Mama call, interrupting her thoughts.

"Washed and ready," Mulan deadpans, and waves to the extra loads of laundry hanging to dry. "We should start our own business."

Mama rolls her eyes. "When I was a girl, I had three brothers, my parents, and a grandmother and grandfather to wash for. You should count yourself lucky."

Instead, she ducks and rubs Little Brother's belly, who follows her mother everywhere. "Why do you love Mama so much, when I'm the one who plays with you."

"You don't play with him enough, you use him as cattle. He's a dog, let him guard like he's supposed to."

"Well, he's a lucky dog to do so, just like I'm lucky." Mulan smiles as her Mama laughs.

She wipes her eyes. "You are fresh mouthed."

Mulan shrugs happily. "You're one and only."

"Yes." Mama reaches out and gently touches her chin. "My one."

It's so nice to see her mother laugh and be a little carefree. She's been so busy lately.

"Now, come. Let's deliver some tea to the general."

As they walk to their room, they both knew the tea will be left untouched. But it was their duty to keep trying. They reach the hall, where the stench of blood and puss is rank, and Mulan wants to hold her nose, not because she is squeamish, but to quell the sadness. The sadness was everywhere. She could feel it like a casting shadow.

"Wait." Mama suddenly stops, before they enter the door way. They hear the Yi Healer and Shang arguing.

"Come away," she whispers.

But Mulan shakes her head and motions for them to stand in secret.

"Mulan," Mama mouths silently.

"Wait," she whispers. "We should know."

Mama gives a stern look. But they stand still, and crane their heads.

"I ought to bring him to the Imperial City, where the Emperor's own personal physicians can…"

"No, he'd never survive the journey. His body is working too hard to fight off the festering."

"But how long can he go on like this, it's too much!" Shang yells, frustration getting the best of him. "Something else must be done."

"My boy, I will…" Yi begins.

"I'm not a boy, I am a captain of the Emperor's Imperial army, second infantry. And my father is the great General Li."

There's a heavy sigh. "There is one procedure left I am considering. If he does not improve today, then I'll begin tonight. It's risky, but I do agree something must be done. His body cannot take this deterioration. He needs to drink or eat, or he'll just waste away."

There's silence. Mulan pictures Shang's face — probably motionlessly contemplating.

"He'd die on any journey. Believe me. Don't take him to the Imperial City." Mulan silently prays they'll stay. The healer was very experienced. But will a high ranking Captain listen to a village healer? She has a guess…

"Alright," Shang says quietly.

Immediately, Mulan has a simultaneous rush of feelings: triumph that her guess was right — he said yes, and also was impressed he'd do so. He listened.

"Okay," Mama whispers, and motions them forward. It's safe to enter now.

They bow and leave the tea. But before they can leave, the healer informs her mother they'd be needing supplies tonight. Buckets of water, bandages, baijiu (the liquored grain), and plenty of herbs Mama knew, but she couldn't name.

As Yi talks to her mother, she watches Shang sit next to the ill and broken man. And she wonders what he sees — his father or the General.

The Yi healer said he hoped it wouldn't come to this, but he was making a small incision around his father's wound. Hopefully, it would clear away some of the infection.

Fa Zhou led him out of the room when it was time. "This is no place for a son, go be useful and pray."

Well, he does pray. To all his ancestors, old and new, but mostly to his mother; may she guard his father's spirit. They didn't talk of her much, but he knew why his father never remarried. In a way, it kept her sacred, like the shade of the wind — never fully seen.

He doesn't pray in the Fa's family's ancestral temple. Instead, he lit a candle near their flowing pond. But like all parts of life, it fans out quicker than expected. Shang let it fall into the water once his prayers are finished. He hopes they didn't sound false to the ancestors. He always struggled with praying; not knowing quite what to say. He preferred the recitation prayers rather than going off-book.

It was almost certain his father stopped praying. The general once said, "Men shouldn't drag the dead onto the battlefield." It was odd to think of him dead alongside them. Suddenly, Shang's chin trembles and he quickly shakes his arms out, wanting to walk off this dreadful feeling.

He passes a lush cherry blossom tree, and stops to appreciate its loveliness. He hasn't seen one in over a year. They were always his favorite, if men are allowed to favor such a fruitless thing. He plucks a pedal, and it's smooth and fragrant. But the wind grabs it, and the flower lands in the water near the bridge.

The water, again.

Is that where he'd send his father off? Or would he bury him in this land, so far from home. They hadn't lived in a real home for a while, so he guesses it doesn't matter.

His throat grows dry and hoarse, with stinging eyes, and he can't deny what's happening. The last time he cried, other than unconscious tears that fell in battle from shock at being alive, or the pain of training and your eyes water from agony, was when he was twelve years old. His father was just promoted to general. And he couldn't tote Shang to the military camps anymore —"I'll be leading them now, just like you will one day." He wept as his father departed, not knowing how long he'd get to stay with Li Wei, the high-ranking military official, before being shipped off to a boy's camp. He'd live there until he was old enough to join the army himself, which would be soon enough. "Don't cry, men don't cry," Li Wei quickly scolded.

There was never enough time in this world. Not for men like his father. Shang thinks he must be a fool to even have considered that after the war, there'd finally be time for the two of them. He feels weak of heart to have wished it in the first place.

Tears are both warm and cold on his face, as he turns from the blossom tree, and slowly walks until he reaches that wretched bridge.

For a short moment, the tears cease as he pictures Mulan drenched and angrily explaining her actions — as if he was the one hopping along a bridge's railing for no good reason. He almost had a stroke when he saw her, stirring him from what was supposed to be a peaceful stroll. He huffs a small laugh, unsure if he's amused by the absurdity, or it's just the mix of confusing emotions clouding his head.

For whatever reason, maybe for comfort or a distraction, he sits down in the middle of the bridge; feeling hidden. It's not very large, and he must crouch his legs, but at least he'll be out of the Fa family's way.

Shang stares at the dusky sky. It would be nightfall soon. Perhaps, this is the last night his father will breathe in this world.

He tries memorizing the heaviness of the clouds, the number of stars, so when the emperor's scribes ask questions about the great General's last night, he'll remember all the details for them to write down. But he feels too numb from crying to summon any poetic words. He's never been talented at that sort of thing, anyway. No, that was his father's expertise — storytelling. Soldiers always stopped and listened to any story the General offered, and Shang remembers like a bolt of lightening the bedside tales he had as a child. His throat tightens.

It seems dusky blue all around him, like the setting-sky bled into the ground. He gazes across the bridge, and jumps alert when a shadow emerges at the edging.

But it's only Mulan.

He's not even surprised to see her. Of course this loon came back to skip more stones. Resignedly, he accepts her presence and continues his pitiful sitting, too weary hearted to get up.

Mulan looks painfully guilty, like she'd rather fall right back in the water. But instead of slinking past him, she leans against the railing. Now that she's apparently staying, he looks away, hiding his face. Ever the pragmatist, he doesn't want to reveal his shame.

"I hated watching him go." Her voice is quiet.

His neck slightly inclines to listen.

"When my father's name was called for conscription notice, it was like watching him march towards death," she continues. "It's supposed to be an honorable moment, accepting responsibility on behalf of China. All the villagers watched him with respect... even after I dishonored him by trying to tell the Emperor's counsel he already served…"

"You did?" He automatically perks up at this detail of the story. "What'd they say?"

"That my father would do well to teach his daughter to hold her tongue in a man's presence…" She watches him cautiously as she did that very thing again.

"Hm." He fully turns toward her, hoping it's too dark to catch his red eyes. He's seen most of the Emperor's counsel, and curiosity unhinges itself. "What did he look like? The counselor..."

"Skinny, with a stringy mustache," she muses, and then settles on a sardonic tone. "Shrill."

Shang scoffs, without humor. "I know of the man."

She tilts her head in interest.

"You wouldn't care to know him, either." The Emperor's advisor was worse than a snake. Cowardly and seething at the same time. He wasn't surprised to hear how he'd spoken to Mulan, but it didn't make him care for the man any more than he already did.

Then, he nods for her to continue the story.

Mulan seems more at ease with the gesture. "But I saw no honor it though, just my father being taken away. That life was over for my family. We all imagined he'd die in battle, maybe even in training. I thought I'd never be happy again."

Shang's mouth hangs open at this speech. Such bold words. But he immediately relates to them, and feels a little better. A little less ridiculous for crying.

"But he lives because fate intertwined with your father. He wouldn't be here without the General." Mulan holds her hands earnestly.

Shang pauses, and weighs that acknowledgment. It's true in a sense — Fa Zhou would never have survived as an infantryman. His battered leg could only carry him so far. He feels a gush of pride over his father's kindness.

"The ancestors guarded my father, but maybe... they're taking yours, instead…" she whispers. "And I'm sorry if that's the truth. I wish I could do something to change it."

His eyebrows raise in bewilderment. Truly, he's never heard such honest sentiments. Remorseful and raw all at once. What could she even do to change it? Why even wish that? But somehow, he believes her when she says it.

And also, he wonders if it was true? Did Fa Zhou live, only so his Father could die? Their fates intertwined? It's a buzz of thought; easy to swat away like a pestering beetle. He'd never hold it against the Fa family. He looks over Mulan. She probably needs her father more than he does. She's a young woman, unmarried, with only two women to care for her. He's a grown man with a sleeve of army titles. He can go anywhere.

Yet, how odd it is to feel a deep stab of envy at her luck. The way of the afterworld is not something the living can understand. But still, she'll keep her father for many more years. He's rarely encountered jealousy — it's not often his nature. Competitiveness, sure. But he's certainly never been jealous of a woman... until now.

She's a lucky one, he realizes. Not many people are chosen by luck. But, somehow, it makes sense that she would be. Maybe it could explain how life seems to move around her, instead of the reverse.

"And I'm sorry for what happened," Mulan continues.

Shang cocks his head.

"You know." She motions around them. "On the bridge."

He wonders how he should apologize for his actions — for making her slip, or more importantly for alluding to tell her father. He should never have said that, because it was her own business (even if it was curiously uncommon business). But she was right — he's not the boss of her.

"…When I provoked you?" she says deliberately when he doesn't answer, like he's slow of hearing.

"I'm sorry, too." He doesn't know if he should elaborate. Would it sound ridiculous? But she seems to understand. Her face clear in the moonlight. Her inked-smudged eyes. Shang almost forgot he's sitting on a bridge trying to wait-out the night. His head is less fuzzy, his heart less heavy.

"The healer was finishing when I left," Mulan says gently. "Do you wish to return inside?"

And he nods, somehow feeling ready even if fate was uncertain.