3

As the days passed, Mulan tried, and tried, and tried to be the honorable daughter who would make her family proud. She dutifully sat by her mother’s side and practiced weaving. She let the occasional chicken wander away even though her feet itched to give chase. When the boys of the village gathered in the courtyard to play, she did her best not to kick the wayward ball that stopped in her path.

But despite her best intentions, it was hard to always be good. Sometimes Mulan couldn’t control her impulses. Like when she just had to nudge the ball back toward the boys, and it was not entirely her fault that when she did, the kick was harder than she anticipated and the ball happened to hit the poor phoenix statue, knocking off its head. Or when she rode her horse, Black Wind, in from the fields a little too fast and knocked over the neighbor’s laundry . . . again.

As the days, and then years, passed, Mulan continued to tamp down reckless urges. She worked on making sure her hair was pulled back in a neat bun—at least when the day started. And she stayed far away from the shrine and the chicken coop . . . for the most part. By the time she turned sixteen, she had grown into her long, lanky limbs and was tall, lithe, and beautiful. But every so often, the little girl who had broken the phoenix statue would appear—eager to do something wild and daring.

Arriving home one afternoon from the countryside, where she had been racing with Black Wind, Mulan hastily jumped off the horse’s back and put him in his stall. She could smell dinner and knew that she was late. She groaned. Her mother was not going to be pleased. Quickly, she made her way across the courtyard and into her home.

Her family was sitting at the dinner table. Rushing in, Mulan grabbed a plate and joined them. “Black Wind and I rode alongside two rabbits running side by side,” she said, picking a piece of rice out of the bowl. “I think one was a male and one was female . . .” Her voice trailed off as she realized her family hadn’t moved. They were all looking at her, the room silent except for her own voice. “What?” she asked, growing worried. Had she left grass in her hair? Was there mud smeared on her face?

Li nervously wrung her hands. She opened her mouth and then shut it. Mulan’s eyes narrowed. This couldn’t be good. Her mother was never one to shy from stating what was on her mind. But now she seemed almost . . . scared.

“What is it?” Mulan pressed.

“We have excellent news,” Li said, though her voice betrayed her uncertainty. “The Matchmaker has found you an auspicious match.”

Mulan’s breath caught in her throat. She felt the color drain from her face and reached out a hand to steady herself. Matchmaker? Auspicious match? Those were the words she had been dreading ever since she had turned a marriageable age. For months, she had heard other girls in the village giggling about their own matches and had secretly been thrilled when another day passed with no news from the cranky old woman who made her living setting up the eligible girls of the village. Her dream had been that perhaps no match would ever be found. That she could continue to live her life the way it was—free.

Her sister was the one who daydreamed of an auspicious match. Whenever she could, Xiu talked about the joys of being a wife. On any given night she would tell Mulan about the recipes she hoped to cook, the clothes she would weave. Xiu rambled for hours about the ways in which she would live to serve the man who would be her husband. How happy she would make him—and her family. To Mulan, that life seemed confining and devoid of adventure.

Mulan knew it would not bring the honor her family wanted, and she would never admit it out loud, but she did not want to get married. She could stay and help her parents instead, she reasoned. Perhaps make them proud of her in other ways. Mulan looked to her father, hoping he might say something to put an end to this conversation.

Seeing her daughter’s desperate look, Li’s expression hardened. “Your father and I have spoken about this,” she stated.

Zhou nodded, though he looked sad. “Yes, Mulan. It is decided.”

“But—” Mulan started to say.

Her father cut her off with a shake of his head. “It is what’s best for our family.”

Mulan lifted her head and met her father’s gaze. In that moment, Mulan felt time pause and then rewind. She remembered being in the shrine, staring at her father in much the same way she did now. She remembered looking down at the broken wing of the phoenix statue. The Phoenix who, her father said, would protect her. She had to believe that the Phoenix was looking after her now and would continue to look after her, even after her marriage. Phoenix or no Phoenix, Mulan had made a vow to her father that she would bring honor to her family. Even if it meant sacrificing her own happiness.

Taking a deep breath, Mulan nodded. “Yes,” she said, her voice soft. “It is best. I will bring honor to us all.”

As her mother sighed with relief, Mulan sank down into her chair. While her family resumed their regular table conversation, Mulan was silent, lost in her own thoughts. In one moment, her life and her fate had been decided. She had never felt more miserable.

Far from the tulou, a different fate was being decided.

The desert air was clear. In the sky above, the sun shone brilliantly, causing the walled trading post on the horizon to shimmer as if it were a mirage. One of the few such spots in the vast, sprawling desert steppe, the garrison trading place was bustling. People from all over the world moved in and out, bringing goods to sell or trade. The crowded marketplace was full of the sounds of merchants haggling over colorful silk swaths, carpets, gems, and fruit. A myriad of languages blended together. Occasionally, a translator’s voice would rise over the din as he helped a buyer haggle for a better price. Despite the electric feel to the air, order reigned. Officials overseeing the trade marked down transactions, keeping those involved honest.

Sitting astride his large stallion, Böri Khan looked across the steppe at the trading post. Under his light armor, his muscles rippled, his skin covered with a fine layer of dust. Like most of the men around him, his long hair was dark and disheveled. But Böri Khan did not care about his appearance. He and his men had traveled a great distance to get there, and while they might have looked tired and worn, they were anything but.

Böri Khan’s dark eyes narrowed as he watched the merchants and traders go about their business, completely exposed and unprotected. Under the Emperor’s rule, the people had grown lazy. There had been no wars, nor even the threat of war, in years. People had forgotten the days when the Rourans had run rampant over the Empire, instilling fear with the simple mention of their name. The famed Shadow Warriors had caused trading posts like this one to shut down. And then the Emperor had defeated the Rouran leader, and for years, there had been no sign of the fearsome Shadow Warriors. The Empire had gone back to believing it was safe.

But Böri Khan was about to show them how wrong they were to believe the Rourans had been destroyed. His father had taught him all he knew before the Emperor had killed him. And now Böri Khan had revitalized the Rourans. It was time, he thought as his eyes flicked to the open gate of the trading post, for them to begin their revenge.

Turning to his warriors, Böri Khan raised his hand. Twelve horses shifted on their feet as the twelve men, dressed in black, their faces covered except for a slit for their eyes, tightened their legs as they prepared to urge their mounts forward. In the hand of one of the warriors was a pole. A black-and-gold flag flew from it, bearing the head of a wolf waving and undulating in the light breeze. Böri Khan waited a moment more. He wanted to see the fear in the eyes of the guards when they noticed him and his men.

He did not have to wait long. Up on top of the wall, a guard turned the corner. In the same moment, the wind whipped up, snapping the wolf banner. The sound carried across the steppe and the guard spotted Böri Khan and his warriors. A smile of satisfaction spread over the Rouran leader’s face as he saw panic fill the guard’s eyes. As the guard began a fruitless attempt to warn the other soldiers and close the marketplace gates, Böri Khan dropped his arm.

In an instant, the Shadow Warriors raced across the desert. Their horses’ hooves pounded on the sand, creating a huge cloud of dust behind them. The giant beasts ate up the distance and soon were upon the trading post. Up on the wall, guards began to let loose arrows. But their aim was off, their hands shaky. The arrows flew wide and short and the Shadow Warriors galloped closer.

“Take out the leader!” Böri Khan heard one of the guards shout. Lifting his eyes, he saw another guard take aim. Böri Khan didn’t hesitate. He kept charging forward, even as the arrow flew straight toward his chest. Just as it was about to impale him, he lifted his hands, grabbing the arrow by the shaft and stopping it. As the guards’ jaws dropped, Böri Khan pulled his own bow from his back and notched the arrow. He let it loose.

To the guards’ surprise, the arrow didn’t fly toward a person but rather arced through the sky, sailing over the wall before embedding with a loud THWIP in a pole in the middle of the marketplace. The merchants and traders, who had been unaware of the approaching danger, looked over at the arrow in alarm.

Standing nearby, a trader wearing a red fez shifted his eyes to the arrow. A calculating glint flashed in his eye as he lifted his hand and slowly pulled a long needle from behind his ear. Then, with a cry, he kicked over a spice stand. As colored powder filled the air, the man in the red fez began to transform. His hair grew longer and began to flow over his shoulders, and his features began to morph. His cheeks thinned and his skin grew smooth. Under his cloak, his waist narrowed. A few merchants shouted as the transformation came to an end.

Where the man in the red fez had just been now stood a beautiful—and dangerous-looking—woman. But this was no ordinary woman. This was Xianniang.

“Witch!” shouted one of the guards whose attention had been pulled from Böri Khan to the center of the marketplace. “She’s a witch!”

At his shout, the marketplace erupted in panic. Traders and merchants pushed and shoved at each other, trying to get out of the way of the witch. The air filled with dirt from the stampeding feet. Standing in the middle of the commotion, unmoving and unconcerned, Xianniang watched the chaos unfold.

Slowly she bent her knees and raised one arm. With her other arm, she reached into her belt and then, fast as lightning, pulled out four daggers. With a hawklike shriek, the witch let the daggers fly. One by one, they soared across the marketplace, hitting four guards and knocking them to the ground.

Up on the wall, the other guards barely had time to register their fallen comrades. They were too busy dealing with Böri Khan. Beneath him, his stallion’s strides went unchecked despite the flying arrows and chaos around him. With breakneck speed, the horse approached the wall. On its back, Böri Khan grabbed a handful of mane. Then, in one smooth move, he vaulted himself from a seated position so that he was standing atop his horse’s back. He unsheathed his sword and waited, his legs steady despite the galloping steed beneath him. Just when it looked as though he were going to race headlong into the wall, Böri Khan leapt.

Flying through the air, his legs pumped as though he were running. Determination—and anger—filled his face, and with a mighty roar, he landed atop the wall. The guards were no match for Khan’s slashing sword. The metal became a blur as he whipped it back and forth with practiced ease. Taking the cue from their leader, the other Shadow Warriors clambered up onto the wall and attacked. The clang of sword against sword rang out as the warriors and the guards battled.

Spotting Xianniang in the marketplace, Böri Khan dispatched two more charging guards and then jumped down to the marketplace wall. Unaware of his presence, the witch continued her own fight. Surrounded by five soldiers, all bigger and stronger than her, Xianniang was unbothered. Her face was a mask of calm, her hands steady. She seemed to be waiting for them to make the first move, even though she was heavily outnumbered.

Seeing their own advantage, the guards signaled to one another. Then they attacked. They lashed out with long spears, but the ends of their weapons met nothing but air. In the blink of an eye, Xianniang grabbed hold of the nearest spear and flipped it back on the men. Her body became a blur of black silk as she whipped and turned and spun. When she stopped moving, four of the soldiers lay on the ground. The fifth was on his knees, shaking. Younger than the others, he looked up at Xianniang’s focused gaze, his own eyes filled with terror.

Böri Khan stepped forward. Sensing his presence, the witch looked over. Their eyes met. Then, ever so slowly, Xianniang lowered her spear. Böri Khan nodded. Their plan, the plan he had kept even from his own men, had worked. He was pleased. The others had doubted the witch would stick by him, but he had known better. Xianniang was powerful, but she was power hungry, too. A life of solitude, kept on the outside of a society fearful of her kind, too often forced to transform into her hawk form to avoid judgment, or worse, punishment, had made her angry and bent on revenge. And now they were one step closer. The garrison was theirs.

Together, Xianniang and Böri Khan walked back toward the gate. Behind them, the battle sounds dimmed as the Shadow Warriors took down the remaining guards.

“Another garrison falls, Böri Khan,” Xianniang said, her voice raspy but her breath even.

The warrior nodded. The Emperor would not be able to ignore him any longer. The Rourans were back—and soon the Empire would be theirs.