Spirit of Magnolia

In the words of the Prophet

The marketplace was usually a loud and noisy scene, and all sorts of people could be found there. It was supervised by a patrol of guards that looked out for any mischief, but for the most part everyone from noblemen to ragamuffins could be found there. Beggars knew to steer clear of the wealthy, of course, and often troubled the other poor, who sometimes knew enough of the hardships of survival to afford a little sympathy, whatever their own plight.

The Daoist was simply absorbing the scene as he mingled among the crowd, but he saw a young man step out through the doors of an inn and that, quite abruptly, changed whatever plans he might have had. Grinning, he glided smoothly between the mess of moving bodies to approach the man from behind.

It was always endearing when an honest soul becomes so absorbed in his work that he notices nothing else.

"Ahem."

The man looked up, not quite startled but rather alert. His face went from a blank mask to a matching grin.

"Bo-xiong*!"

"Yan-di**!" The Daoist laughed, and clasped his hands in front in a proper greeting as the man rose. "I knew you had left our hometown, my friend, but I did not expect you to make such an establishment here!"

"Bo-xiong! You have no idea how pleased I am to see you! Come in, come in! Erti! Get that table over there and some tea! Bo-xiong, aiya! It is so good to see you!"

The waiter prepared the table and served the tea, and the two sat down to talk; Bo laughed as his younger friend Yan remark on the years since they had seen each other—how long was he staying? Where was he going? How had he been all this time?

"I would tell you, but for the ears all around us," Bo assured Yan, "Little has happened in recent years, but from the energy in the air, that may change soon."

"I hope not!" Yan exclaimed, "I am not the kind of man who seeks excitement. Marrying my bride is excitement enough for me! Let me tell you, she is a darling—when I was younger, fool that I was, I had the nerve to be dissatisfied—she is a bit of a dark little thing, let me tell you, but you know what? Beauty does come from within, and hers is the type that grows on you. I would never have been able to establish this inn without her help. Half of the credit goes to her."

"Of course," Bo nodded.

"I use to think that Eldest Brother was so lucky," Yan went on, "He gets the family inheritance and can pick up our father's trade, and I had to figure out how to start from the beginning. Well, not quite the beginning, obviously, for those who wish to start an inn and were farmers all their lives, they do not have nearly the experience or connections that I had, even without my dear bride. Now, though," He chuckled, "Amazing the difference a woman makes."

"Amazing, indeed," Bo agreed. "A good bride brings a man great fortune. A bad one takes it away."

"Heaven knows!"

They conversed some more, sharing childhood stories and elaborating on what happened when Bo left to become an apprentice to a master Daoist. Yan asked for some demonstration of the famous powers such individuals were reputed to have, but Bo declined to do so in such a public setting. Perhaps some other time, when there are fewer people around. Heavenly arts were not meant for triviality, after all.

The tea ran out, and Yan waved his hand at the waiter to summon him. Erti, however, was staring out through the window.

"Ai!" Yan exclaimed, "What is that lad doing? Daydreaming? The other patrons are waiting as well! Lazy brat!"

"Now now," Bo laughed, "I have drunk enough liquids for the day. I intend to be on my way soon enough."

"That may be, but he should still be working, not staring off into space!"

But Erti was not staring into space. He was looking at a girl who was definitely younger than sixteen, for she wore her hair in multiple buns instead of the single knot of womanhood. The child had pretty features, though her skin was tan, as if she spent most of her days out in the sun rather than indoors. She was smiling at one of the outdoor vendors, the expression sweetening her face. As she turned, she looked in the direction of the Daoist, though she did not see him.

He, however, saw her very clearly, and did not miss the intense spirit in those orbs.

"Who is that there?" He asked, before the innkeeper could launch into reprimanding the waiter.

"Ah? Who now?" Yan followed the Daoist's gaze. "Ah, her. Funny you should mention her. Quite an odd lass, that. Daughter of War Hero Hua, Mulan is her name. She comes out to the market from time to time. Rumor has it, she fights as well as a man. Heaven knows what her father was thinking, training a woman like a soldier, but then she was said to be good at the loom and needle as well, so a maiden of many talents. I have no idea what man would want such a woman for a bride though. Competence is one thing, and no man worth his weight would shirk that, but what man can handle someone so…so…" He made a vague gesture with his hands. "But one thing is for sure, whoever she weds better watch himself. She would never suffer to be abused, that is certain."

"Hua Mulan," Bo murmured, stroking his beard, "Quite the flower hiding daggers. Is she the only such a maiden from the house of Hua?"

"If you mean of her peculiar idiosyncrasies, yes, she is probably the only such maiden in the whole of this great Empire. If you mean if she is the only offspring, nay, she has one sister elder and one brother younger. Her sister, they say, is quite a beauty by contrast—skin as fair as snow, modest and demure."

Bo was waving his hand in dismissal. "The tan is hardly important. Obviously, it is due to her particular lifestyle. I take it that her sister is not as enthusiastic about the arts of combat as she is?"

Yan chuckled, though rather bemused, "Why, Bo-xiong, you are taking quite an interest in the girl."

Bo did not deny this. "Is she not interesting? She stands out from among all the other maidens."

Hua Mulan did, in a subtle yet undeniable way. It was in her posture, the way she held her head, that energy that coiled within her beneath the surface of tranquility. Like the glow of a lantern, not quite bright, but warm and defiant against the night.

"I think I would like to talk to this Maiden of Many Talents," Bo declared.

"Hm, I am not sure," Mulan was saying, "The fabric is quite thin, and you charge the same price as for the one here. I would say, I would pay no more than half of that, if not less."

"For you, two-fifths, what say you?" The merchant offered, "Finest silk, as would not be afforded elsewhere!"

"For my mother, I will do it."

"Ah, a good daughter!" The merchant chuckled, "And there is my good deed for the day."

"Oh come, you have made a profit still." The merchant just laughed and did not answer.

She was rolling up the fabric and turning when she caught sight of the Daoist staring at her. People often did that, but usually Mulan knew why. This time, she was not so sure.

"Ah, Honored Sir," She greeted, when his gaze did not relent, "Is there something I can do for you?"

"I just want to talk."

"…Oh."

Daoists were a strange lot. As far as Mulan knew, they knew the secrets to longevity, and had mystical powers over the environment and people's fates. They tended to be benevolent and generous, but also dangerous, and while she was not sure she wanted to indulge this stranger, offending one of their order was…not wise.

"My surname is Yi, given name Bo," Said the Daoist, raising his hands to present his greeting.

"Good day, Yi-shu***. My surname is Hua, given name Mulan."

"Pleasure to meet you, Flower Maiden," The Daoist smiled benignly enough, and Mulan found herself relaxing a little. "Shall we step somewhere a little less busy?"

They ended up going to the inn, where the innkeeper seemed familiar enough with the Daoist that he was actually more confused by Mulan. Yan was a gregarious host, and his bride was a stern but fair woman, without equal in the kitchens. Mulan's father, Hua Zhou, sometimes hired Yan's catering services during special occasions, such as her mother's birthday. This year, her mother did not want such fanfare for some reason. She had been brooding as of late, though she always remarked that she was fine when asked.

"What brings Yi-shu into our humble town?" Mulan inquired.

"I am passing through. How familiar is the Flower Maiden with settlements elsewhere?"

"This maiden can only claim to have heard or read of them."

"Ah," The Daoist smiled, "Perhaps that will change one day."

Mulan blinked. Was that a hint?

"Silk for your mother? What do you intend to make, flower child?"

She blinked again. "Ah, Mother's old scarf is getting…well, old. She loves that scarf—she wore it since she was my age. I intend to embroider this one exactly like hers, so that she might discard her older one without pain."

"Your needlework is to be envied, I hear."

Mulan ducked her head bashfully. "I would not say that."

Something flashed toward her, and Mulan's reflexes kicked in before she could think better of it. She stared at the fan caught in her hand with shock.

"Good agility too," The Daoist chuckled, withdrawing the fan and stroking his beard.

He must have heard about my combat training, Mulan realized with a little bit of chagrin.

"You will go to great places, child," The Daoist told her, "Such that songs will be written in your name."

Of the three children in the Hua family, young Rixi, often called by his petname Baobao, was undeniably the most precious in general. After some long years of trying, he was the only son and the only heir, and everyone doted on him, from their eldest, Yilan, to their second, Mulan, and the child was sweet and good-looking, with bright eyes like his mother, so everyone took this in stride. He was their little miracle, after all, and the one who would keep the family going.

For each parent individually, however, there were other favorites. Fa Li was closer to her eldest daughter, for Yilan was the epitome of everything the woman would want for her daughter. Fair, beautiful, mild-mannered and graceful, she was the most promising in terms of finding a good match, and Yilan was good to her mother in that responsible manner eldest siblings tended to possess. She was generous almost to a fault, and as a father, Hua Zhou often worried that she might be taken advantage of by her husband. No young brat, after all, would know how to treat his daughter as well as he would, and that was why he kept Yilan close even though she was eighteen and well past the start of her nubile years.

Mulan, however, was Hua Zhou's favorite, and remained so even after Baobao came to them and he no longer thought of her as a surrogate son. They say that the middle child is always the cleverest, and that seems to hold true for Mulan. She was seven years older than her brother and a good enough sister when Yilan was preoccupied, while simultaneously a mischievous rascal of a girl, just shy enough to refrain from pulling harmful pranks, but bold enough to be surprising. To give Mulan away would be painful indeed! Just the thought of it hurt, so Hua Zhou tended not to think about it. Mulan was but fifteen, not even a woman yet, and she had many more years with the Hua family before she would leave.

Fortunately, Mulan was not particular about leaving either. She had always been a peculiar child, bright and creative and charismatic, and yet not close to anyone except her own family. When the other girls began ostracizing her due to her odd interests, Mulan never seemed too despondent. Often when she was not at the loom or helping in the kitchen with her mother and sister, she would ride the black stallion, Kehan, and not come back until hours later. Several times, Hua Zhou secretly rode after her to ensure she was not up to some mischief, but all Mulan did was ride to a particular glade, where she would let her horse graze while climbing a tree and sitting in its branches. She often brought books, which she brought out with her to read. Why she could not read at home like any normal person was a mystery, but Hua Zhou had long decided not to question his daughter's ways, so long as she was not doing any real harm to herself or others. As time went on, other people began eyeing his daughter with disapproval, finding her strange, wild, perhaps unbecoming. If young men approached Mulan, it was more to spectate than anything else, this odd creature that could plant their faces in the ground as easily as any man. Fa Li never really forgave him for introducing Mulan to the martial arts; she often claimed he ruined their daughter, but it kept Mulan close by his side, away from the lecherous paws of others, and even with all the inconveniences to come, Hua Zhou could never bring himself to regret helping the child fulfill the full potential of her strength.

And she was such a good elder sister to their precious son…perhaps if Mulan truly could not wed, Rixi could be troubled to look after her? Hua Zhou knew better than to expect this of his son; siblings usually get too irritated with each other for such an arrangement, but he thought of the scenario often enough. And perhaps, someone might come along after all, who would allow Mulan to be close to her parents, so that as long as Hua Zhou was alive, he could always protect her.

"I am home!"

Mulan's voice broke into his thoughts, and Hua Zhou turned his head as the front door shut. He heard the innocent voice of Baobao shouting for his sister as his running footsteps echoed on the wooden floors. He always ran to his second sister like he had not seen her in years.

"Look at what your sister got for you!" He heard Mulan croon, and Baobao's corresponding shriek of delight. The boy ran off, shouting for his mother, while Mulan's footsteps approached Hua Zhou's room.

She hurried in without knocking or so much as a "by your leave", sliding a package behind his bookshelf. It was improper, but Hua Zhou knew what she was up to.

"What did you get?" He asked.

"Silk. Her old one is getting, well, old. I thought I would make her another."

"How are you going to work on it without your mother noticing?"

"Bai Na said I could go over to her place to sew," His daughter smirked. "Father, how are you?"

"My children intrude into my rooms without permission, how do you think I am?"

"Ah, but you will forgive me, for it is for a good cause."

"Did you get something for yourself in the market?"

"Hm," Mulan paused, "There was nothing I was interested in. I did run into someone though."

"Oh?"

"He was a Daoist," His daughter tilted his head, "A man in his late thirties, I think, with a handsome beard. He wanted to talk to me specifically, for some reason, said something about my needlework…he knew I learned martial arts, Father. And then he said I will go to great places, and that songs will be written about me."

An uneasy feeling coiled within his stomach, but he disregarded it. "If you teach your brother to tidy up his room by himself, I will personally write a song in your name, called 'All hail the flower Magnolia, that can teach a boy the meaning of chores'."

Mulan had to cover her mouth with both hands to keep from laughing too loudly. "Good day, Father," She remarked once she collected herself, and left the room still chuckling.

*Xiong: Elder Brother

**Di: younger brother

***Shu: Uncle