Chapter 36: Spring breeze blowing for years (VII)

About to return to A Luo’s residence, it was just noon; Tu Laoyao brought along soft, chewy, salted and fragrant stewed trotters, accompanying the appetisers that Wu Qian had made, as well as a pot of aged Shaoxing yellow wine, and the group of people ate and drank in the courtyard. The pig trotters had been soaked to a deep, red-brown colour, the skin melting in the mouth, not even a bit greasy, the chewy tendons pulling at the lean meat adhered to the bone, prompting one to lick the meat stock in the cracks of the bones clean.

The more the group ate, the more aromatic they became, and the more Song Shijiu suffered, covering up her nose and struggling to eat; in the end it was Tu Laoyao who came up with a solution, twisting up a few strips of paper to plug her nose with, and only then did she sit down and begin to use her chopsticks.

Having eaten and drunk to his heart’s content, Tu Laoyao sat on a rattan chair and rubbed his stomach, belching; Wu Qian gathered up the bowls and chopsticks, and A Yin carried the remaining half a cup of wine; A Luo carried a pot, and the remaining people went to Mulan’s room.

In comparison to the noise and liveliness outside, Mulan’s wing was entirely cold and cheerless; she held her knees and sat at the table by the window, having changed out of the other day’s shirt, wrapped up in an antiquated scarlet men’s gown, a black belt tying it up haphazardly, a pair of black boots on her feet, her fine black hair tied up high with a dark red hair tie. Sitting silently at the Republican-style mahogany desk, it was as if she’d stolen the entire era of old age. It wasn’t clear if it was tipsiness, or if the loneliness on Mulan’s shoulders had gone to the her head, but A Yin’s nose stung a bit, and she indifferently lowered her gaze, carrying the wine cup as she leaned against the door.

Li Shiyi exchanged a glance with Song Shijiu, indicating that she go ahead; Song Shijiu nodded and went to stand behind Mulan, and followed upwards along her spine, leaning close to sniff; Mulan’s brows furrowed, about to turn around, but her head was restrained by Song Shijiu’s raised hand, her head tilted, deer eyes flashing, and, exerting herself, she sniffed at the skin at her neck, behind her ear.

Being restrained by Song Shijiu’s hand, Mulan recalled when her posture had been pushed by her in the car, and her fine hairs stood up with anxiety.

Song Shijiu slowly closed her eyes; within the spirit, there was a strange, enchanting, delicate feminine voice saying, Mount Tai’s seat’s fort, the jade hun spirit command strip, the Meng Po soup of the Yellow Springs that hadn’t gone down into the belly, the court’s carved beams, jade beads as precious as gold, a pair of parents in Yuzhoucheng hoping for their son’s return. And what more? There wasn’t anything.

Without solid armour, yellow sands stained with blood, a narrow escape across a distant mountain pass, and an unconcealed chest, an unblackened face, anxious that someone would be able to tell if I was male or female.

The winds erupted within Song Shijiu’s mind, whistling and dispersing the fearful quake, and only after the tea had gone cold and the wine had been drunk did she open her eyes, her pupils as warm and kind as water, and said, “You’re not Mulan.”

Although she’d long had suspicions, Song Shijiu’s pronouncement still caused the remaining withered flowers on the branches to fall, creating a brocade with their splendour, finally ending the era which had verged on collapse.

Mulan raised her head to look at the colour of the sky outside; in over a thousand years, the sun was still the sun, the clouds were still the clouds, and Mulan wasn’t Mulan, herself no longer herself. She smiled as if releasing a heavy burden, and said, “From the moment I betrayed the hun army, I knew that there would be this day.

Song Shijiu asked her, “Then what of Mulan?”

She sighed. “You’ve met her.”

Song Shijiu frowned, and heard Li Shiyi asked, “Within the coffin? Then you’re—”

“Hua Mulian.” Matching up with the mist that had been faintly discernible when enquiring of the coffin of the woman from the Northern Wei.

The group was stunned, and saw Mullian jump down from the table, dusting off her gown, the expression on her face lonely and pointless. “Go before Mulan and ask, then.” She paused, head falling, and walked away.

Two cars waited outside; A Luo had appeared, holding an umbrella up, at the mouth of the door; having come out of the residence’s door, her face had been made almost transparent by the light, and although she had the shelter of the umbrella, she still, unable to bear it, had her eyelashes holding it back. A Yin inclined her head to look at her, and she smiled incredibly gently and dipped her jaw, getting into the car with Wu Qian.

The entire journey to Gubeikou passed without words; the little village was still the same as it had been before, even the old men who were sunbathing were the very same ones, and seeing them wasn’t that strange, and after their gazes followed them for a few steps, they drew back.

It had rained in the early morning, and the tunnel entrance was shaded and moist; the group descended into the tomb one by one, treading in the collected water with splashes, and once again came before the familiar coffin. The coffin chamber was, against expectations, dry, and the descendant nail that Li Shiyi had pulled out laid across the ground, like the sharp, metal head of a pike. Tu Laoyao cast a glance about, and from within a sleeve, drew out a few newspapers, spreading them on the ground, and called out to the others, “Sit, sit.” A few months before, hearing that Taiping story, he’d stood until his ankles had ached horribly, and since then, he’d quietly and soundlessly prepared newspapers, and this time, they’d in fact come to use. Next time, he’d bring toasted melon seeds, and fold his legs and think things over.

A Yin cast a glance at him, and held back her disdainful words, and bent her legs to sit down as well; Song Shijiu sat down near her, and A Luo and Wu Qian at the corner, opposite Li Shiyi’s erect figure.

Mulian gazed at the unremarkable coffin, and calmly spoke. “Mulan and I, we were a pair of twin sisters born of the same mother, appearance and height, waist and legs, each incomparably fine.”

The words which people usually hid for so long were called secrets, and they seeped into the bone marrow, following you through joy and tragedy, telling you these words day after day, and after a long time, the sound of the words would gradually dim, and you would assume that they weren’t, in actuality, that important, until one day you had to extract them and explain them, and only then, from the broken bones and flayed skin, would what the sound of a single hair being pulled and affecting the entire body be heard clearly.

The words were only a single sentence; Li Shiyi and A Luo exchanged a glance, understanding why her date of birth was the exact same as Mulan’s, and why she could achieve her means through underhanded measures, falsely claiming Mulan’s fate.

Mulian was motionless; even near Mulan’s coffin, she didn’t have any thoughts, only rigidly recalling memories, voice a wave yet without even the slightest bit of wavering, as she said, “Mulan enlisted in our father’s place, wearing martial attire for twelve years, her military service outstanding, returning with conveyed acclaim; that day I went to fetch her, an outstanding youth, riding a horse back into the city, the emperor recalling her filial piety, said she had not committed a crime, but rather bestowed her with reward, and our parents cried tears of joy, and thought that the separation of relations had reached its end. But before even two months, the Inner Palace issued a decree, the emperor’s praise for Mulan’s heroics desiring she accept to enter the palace and become a person of rank.” She recalled that court eunuch, who had relayed the message with a face full of smiles, and the shaking shoulders of her kneeling, aged grandmother who had accepted the decree, and the taciturn, paleness of her own sister, who had never feared even going into battle.

What sort of genuine fondness had the emperor had for her? It was clear that it was because her accomplishments were great and her martial talents were the best and she was a woman, he refused to use or abandon her, and instead brought her into the palace to show benevolence and grace.

Mulan’s radiant, lively expression had never before dulled like this, the pupils of her eyes, which had seen massacres, should have been falcon-like, but at that moment were like a young bird who had had its wings clipped.

Mulian lowered her voice and said, “Mulan wasn’t like me; from the time I was a child, I had been an expert in the feminine arts, good at cooking; her disposition was to like freedom, racing horses and handling spears, not in the slightest like a young woman. And then…” Her throat caught, and she paused tranquilly.

“And then,” Li Shiyi raised her gaze, “you took her place and entered the palace.”

Within the shadowed, dry atmosphere, everyone’s skin inexplicably burst into goosebumps because of this phrase, fine hairs also thinking to raise; Tu Laoyao swallowed heavily, and blocked his ears.

“Mulan could take our father’s place to enlist, so why couldn’t I take her place and enter the palace?” Mulian smiled sardonically, and continued, “I took her decree, and hurried to the Imperial City, leaving a letter to tell her that her body was injured and sick, and her disposition was also reckless, and the emperor couldn’t be made to wait, and our parents shouldn’t be implicated, and I knew the feminine virtues and embroidery arts well, and more than likely could earn riches, honour, and splendour. I also instructed her, to avoid the plot of identity being exposed, and bringing disaster upon our family, to take our parents and move away, and live in hiding.”

Her words, like attire, were incredibly affected, but Mulan understood that stepping into the court was like stepping on a coal fire, and she’d taken her place for her twelve years of delayed freedom.

This word, “sacrifice”, Tu Laoyao still didn’t much understand; there had never been a time when he’d sacrificed for someone, but today, hearing Mulian’s words, he felt that there had been a weight hung on his chest, and no matter what, it didn’t lighten.

“Since then, your fates exchanged, and your lives and deaths were confused,” A Luo murmured quietly.

Mulian nodded, and hurriedly confessed her own alternate course of action. “I was born ordinary, and the the emperor, as expected, wasn’t too overjoyed, and treated me coldly after barely a few months; I had come from the common people, and didn’t understand the internal conflicts of the imperial household much; I committed an offence against the beloved Feng Zhaoyi,^[1] and soon was given poisoned wine, and died violently within the palace.”

When the news of Mulian’s death by illness had come, Mulan had just settled as a peasant household at the foot of the Yan mountains, and her finger was pricked by an embroidery needle, and she’d raised her head, her eyes narrowed to a smallness.

“And afte that, my hun spirit returned to Taishan; originally, I’d wanted to reincarnate and returned to the world, but I was recognised by Fujun, who wanted me to enter the hun army.” Mulian let out a deep sigh, and continued, “I had originally misappropriated Mulan’s fate, and on arriving at the Yellow Springs, I was also announced to have her birthdate and cause of death, and I feared that Fujun would think that the Hua family had committed an offence and deceived the Lord; wanting to return her spirit to the right track, and end her fate, I could only put on a bold face and follow the decree, and train with spears and lead the troops.”

The second year after entering the seat, she secretly returned to the Yan mountains; Mulan had been married off to a good family, and the scene was grand, woodwinds and drums playing; Mulian rubbed the callouses on her hand, and hid herself to sit on the roof and say some auspicious words.

The third year, Mulan gave birth to a big, healthy son, and Mulian held a shiny metal spear and sat on a wooden bench at the side of the feast, hands reaching out to take the red eggs that Mulan distributed.

The tenth year, Mulan retrieved her young daughter from a private school, and, pulling at her small hand along the street, picked a lotus flower, the Mulian who had for the first time won a victory standing with her hands behind her at her back, following blindly behind.

The nineteenth year, Mulan’s second daughter was married off, and Mulian finally learned the art of entering dreams, and, in the sleeping village, saw Mulan, wearing plain cotton clothes, return to her childhood courtyard, and told the old elm the matters at the bottom of her heart.

She said that her fate was one that had been switched with Mulian; she had wanted to be filial to her parents, and educated her sons and daughters, and wanted to live peacefully, securely, with a multitude of descendants.

“She said, she could never let down my hopes.” Mulian smiled.

She was still a slender and elegant young woman, and she saw Mulan die of old age, having completed what was originally meant to be hers: a perfect, peaceful life.

“In actuality, I wasn’t very good at battle,” Mulian said, haltingly, and then her voice cut off.

The sound of soft footsteps rung around the tomb chamber; A Luo advanced a few steps, still not having opened her mouth, and, having heard it, A Yin, sitting behind her, asked, “Then, what of Mulan?”

A Luo shook her head. “After the spirit reincarnates and returns to the world, only Fujun’s Shentu’s command can consult the registry, and find the path it follows. Mulan’s whereabouts, Mulian ought to not know.”

“Yes,” Mulian gazed at the coffin, frustrated and disappointed. “I don’t know where she went, and the only thing that can find her is this insignificant coffin.”

A Luo bowed her head and thought a moment, then said, “Since there was a mistake, the spirits should be returned to their rightful paths. She overturned fate, and the next few lives can’t be peaceful; it would be good to search for her whereabouts, and when she’s brought back to the Yellow Springs, the two peoples’ fates should be exchanged back; that is proper and right.”

“How should she be sought?” A Yin asked her.

“The Shentu’s commend is in my hand.” A Luo glanced at her, and laughed delicately, thinking it over, and said, “If the spirit must be pursued, a strand of undispersed essence should be taken from the bones of her body from before she died.”

Mulian turned her head to gaze at the coffin, hesitating to speak, brows lowering. Tu Laoyao pushed against his thighs to stand up, picking up a spade with familiarity. “Then I should open the coffin?”

Receiving Li Shiyi’s nod, he jumped down, the soles of his feet hitting against the slab, and in one or two motions pulled the spikes out, slowly pushing the coffin open.

The plank disturbed ancient dust, the rotten scent of a corpse at its extreme that had been sealed away thick as if having been boiled, directly assaulting the head, making one’s eyes prickle; Song Shijiu, at Li Shiyi’s glance, was reminded to quickly use her sleeve to cover her nose; a single layer of cloth wasn’t enough, and she borrowed Li Shiyi’s sleeve to cover up with another layer.

Everyone was waiting for the scent to abate a bit, and they saw Tu Laoyao, face creased, his nose pinched between his fingers, suddenly let out an astonished cry.

Li Shiyi opened her eyes and looked at him, and saw him point at that coffin and ask Mulian, “You’re positive that your younger sister is the one in this coffin, the Mulan who died of old age?”

The group grew doubtful, and got up to surround it and look, and, inevitably, the doubts were spread before their eyes.

Tu aoyao had studied some culture and writing intensively, and more or less knew some general knowledge about telling age by breaking bones; within eerily white bones was tangled a head of unrotted, fine black hair, and although it was covered in fragments of dust and dried insect larvae, it remained as pitch black as ink, and a complete set of teeth was attached within the mouth, as if shells that had been neatly ordered. No matter how one looked, it couldn’t be an old woman at the end of her days.

“These bones…they aren’t a young woman’s, are they?” Tu Laoyao cast a glance askance.

Mulian opened her mouth a few times to reply, staggeringly kneeling in front of the coffin, unable to inhibit the alarm in her mind, and shook her head, dazzedly saying, “This is Mulan, this is.” She raised her head, an unbelievable derangement seeping out from her gaze, and her hand stubbornly reached out. “Mulan, Mulan’s right leg had been broken before; look, here’s a heavily fractured bone, isn’t there? Look, isn’t there?!” Her fingertips trembled fainly, almost stabbing the bones.

Mulan’s entire life had been observed to the end by Mulian’s own eyes. Since she’d been interred in old age, then why was the skeleton preserved in this youthful form?

This scene really was incredibly strange; A Luo pensively lowered her head; Li Shiyi let her pursed lips loosen, and raised her eyelids to cast a gaze at A Yin. “A Yin, investigate.”

A Yin nodded, pulling her feet out of her high heels, qipao gathered horizontally into a sturdy knot at the side of her thigh, and with tender, exploratory steps, she made her way to the middle of the pale bones. Dead bones, a living person’s investigation; one for investigating the spirit’s life, two investigating for the dates of birth and death, a third for investigating extinguished lights but unextinguished bones—would it never be fully spoken?

The elegant qipao’s embroidered shape pressed against the loess, the fair and clear legs also sullied by the grit; A Yin opened and closed her red lips, and raised her body out from within Mulan’s bones, eyes turning slightly, looking at Mulian and saying in a hoarse voice without consideration, “Facing death’s door, she said—Feilong, where are you?”

“Feilong?” Tu Laoyao asked doubtfully.

Mulian sat dumbly on the ground, like a puppet whose entire spirit had been drawn out, her throat sliding up and down slowly, her eyelids also pressed closed without any liveliness, and only after a long time did she say, slowly, “Feilong was her warhorse.”

The air suddenly became still, like a firecracker that had gone into water, the press of the unreconciledness of unexplained losses. Li Shiyi rose, lips pressing together, and let out an understanding, bitter laugh. The one who had died of old age was Mulan, yet also wasn’t Mulan.

“Mulan, in fact, died long ago, just like you.”

She’d died on that day of perfect destruction.

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Translator's notes:

[1]: Emperor Xiaowen’s favoured concubine and second empress, during the Northern Wei dynasty.