Honour, She Obeys Read online

  Soft footsteps crunched on stone tiles. Mulan turned her head to see her sister entering the room from the courtyard. Dressed in soft shades of pink and yellow with matching silk slippers, and a fan fluttering within her hand, Feng Qing seemed to bask in the knowledge that she was the quintessential daughter. Slender, graceful, pretty with long, thick hair and, more importantly, utterly obedient to her parents.

  Everything Mulan was not.

  Only a year separated them in age, but where Feng Qing was subservient, Mulan was inquisitive. Her stiff and clumsy movements in dance and at the dinner table were a far cry from the elegance her sibling exuded.

  As soon as Feng Qing set eyes upon her, she sniffed and pulled a face. “Dear sister, if you didn’t run through the fields you wouldn’t smell of sweat and manure.”

  Annoyance rippled through Mulan and she forced herself not to roll her eyes. There were times when the urge to smack her consumed her. Like, several times a day. “Big sister, if you weren’t lazy then I wouldn’t have to run around as much as I do.”

  Her sister’s eyes narrowed. “As a good daughter, I know my place. In less than a week I shall be married.”

  “Mu-Mu!”

  The sound of her little brother’s nickname for her turned her head away from Feng Qing. Not even two years old, Mohuai was a little ball of energy that whirled through the house from morning to dusk. His birth had come as a surprise to the entire house, especially to their parents, but Mulan adored her baby brother. Black hair fell over his face making her wonder how he could find his way over to her but within a few seconds, he was pulling at her trousers with his chubby hands. Automatically, Mulan lifted him and wondered if she should stop giving him any more treats as she settled his substantial weight on her hip.

  Mulan glanced slyly at Feng Qing. “At least when you’re married you will actually have to look after a house and not pass all your chores onto me.”

  Snapping her fan shut, her sister stepped forward, her eyes shooting daggers at Mulan. Chief Zhou sank into a nearby chair, groaning with the motion. “Talking of marriages,” he began, his voice edged with exhaustion. “I have arranged a meeting with Li Yigui.”

  Mulan let out an exasperated sound. “Another?”

  The chief nodded. “I believe the matchmaker will be able to decide on a husband for you this time. You’re getting old, Mulan. At eighteen, your mother had already given birth to your sister. I’ve been lenient with you on this matter for too long. If we leave it any longer, it will be too late. It might’ve been easier if you picked someone yourself.”

  “She thinks she’s too good to get married,” Feng Qing sneered, fanning herself.

  Chief Zhou rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and ignored the remark. “I wouldn’t even mind you marrying Daocheng if you wanted. He’s a good man, even if he is Han and not Tuoba. You’ve known him since you were young. Why not choose him?”

  “I love Daocheng, but only as a friend. Not a husband,” Mulan told him with a sigh, placing her brother back on the ground. He tumbled back towards the courtyard, giggling with his chubby hands reaching outwards towards one of the dogs that started chasing its tail.

  The chief shrugged. “You have to marry someone. You can’t defy tradition, no matter how hard you try.”

  “Father, do you really think now is the best time to find someone for me?” Mulan began. “Feng Qing is getting married in a few days and then -”

  The chief’s hand flew up as his brows shot down, silencing her. “I can hear horses. Someone is coming this way.”

  A frown pulled between her eyes as everyone made their way to the open door. He was right.

  Huge clouds of dust rose halfway up the sides of several horses galloping down the dirt road leading to their home. Sunlight glinted off steel and bronze armour. A banner fluttered in the wind, a familiar crest emblazoned on it, telling who they were. Soldiers.

  No one spoke. They didn’t need to.

  Mulan’s heart skipped a beat in her chest with each second that passed. Cool air from Feng Qing’s fan wafted over her neck, causing a shiver to snake down her spine. To her side, her parents watched with bated breath as the throng of horses approached with rapid speed.

  As the soldiers skidded to a stop outside the stone wall, the creases in Mulan’s forehead deepened as she recognised them from the marketplace.

  The same soldier who she’d spoken to only a little while before climbed off his sword and strode towards them. “I am looking for Chief Zhou,” he said with a bow of his neck.

  Mulan’s father stepped forward. “That is me.”

  With quick fingers, the young man pulled out a scroll and offered it to him. “In the name of the emperor, you are summoned to Black Gate Garrison immediately where you shall take up your former rank in the Imperial Army. The time of war is upon us once more.”

  Silently, Chief Zhou took the scroll and unravelled it. After a minute, he rolled it back up and nodded. “I shall be there.”

  Fear took control of Mulan’s heart and she rested her hand on his arm. “Father, you mustn’t go. You’re too sick to fight.”

  Dark eyes narrowed and the chief’s mouth pulled with rage. Feng Qing’s features mirrored the shock on the young soldier’s face. Speaking out in such a way was not proper for a young lady, especially towards someone of their father’s high rank. “Quiet, daughter. Do not dishonour me with your foolish tongue.”

  I have to get through to him.

  She didn’t care for his sense of honour, just his life and what losing him would mean to the family. Shaking her head, Mulan clasped folds of his tunic in her hands. “I will not be quiet when it’s your life on the line. Your death a few miles from town will not honour anyone, including the empire.”

  “Mulan, you go too far,” he growled.

  The caution that stormed in his eyes should’ve stopped her, but the despair blazing within her chest took control of her tongue. She had to get through to him. “Father, you cannot dishonour us with dying for no good reason.”

  Pain blossomed through her cheek and her vision blurred at the edges as she fell to the ground. The edges of the stone, rounded and smoothed by years of feet, dug into the tender flesh of her palms. Heart pounding in the confines of her chest, her hand shot to her face, tears burning in the back of her eyes.

  Beneath her fingers, the imprint of the jade ring he always wore blazed over her skin. Over the years, her face provided the canvas for her parents’ anger or disproval, but this was the first time he’d struck her in front of strangers.

  Lifting her head, she could only watch as her father stepped menacingly towards her, one hand braced against the wall as red painted his cheeks. Beside him, Feng Qing’s eyes widened, and she stepped back to stand next to their mother.

  The world faded except for the rage within her father’s eyes. “You disgrace the Zhou name with your behaviour, Mulan. You know nothing of honour.”

  Two

  Misery churned in Mulan’s stomach. Even watching Huyanti dance like a deranged chicken around Digan, who was currently sitting dazed on the ground after a heavy blow to the chest, couldn’t lighten her mood.

  Even with the heavy heat of the afternoon sun finally cooling and a gentle breeze flowing, Mulan couldn’t relax. Ever since the day before, her muscles remained wound tighter than the rope (WHAT?). Daocheng’s offer to train with the group provided a reason to get out of the house.

  Knocking five men to the ground was preferable over dealing with her family any day.

  Huyanti reached down and pulled Digan to his feet, the muscles in his arms bulging. Sunlight gleamed over one side of his long, angular face, highlighting smooth sun-kissed skin. Thin lips pulled into a grin and his long hair flowed past his shoulders.

  Laughter erupted between the two men, but Mulan couldn’t hear a word they said. Sweat glistened in the sunlight; if it had been Feng Qing sitting beside her, her cheeks would have turned scarlet. But Huyanti’s muscles, or Digan’s cute, r
ounded face, didn’t do anything for her.

  The others stood a few feet away, cheering Digan on for another round. Every day, the group trained in the same field, far away from the prying eyes of her parents’ servants. Although her father permitted the training, her mother and the rest of the household deemed it improper for a lady to fight with men.

  Brushing the baby-fine hair from his large eyes and wiping the sweat of his forehead, Digan sucked in a breath. Huyanti swiped his leg low, knocking him to the floor easily, his face splitting with a grin. Outlandish and witty, he could make someone laugh before stealing their breath away with a fist to the gut.

  Digan, the closest with Huyanti, jumped to his feet and circled him, determination blazing within his eyes. His naked chest gleamed with sweat. He ran forward, his leg cutting through the air like a sword, striking Huyanti in the chest and sending him to the ground. The sweetest of the group, he lacked the finesse and skill of his best friend, but there were moments when he excelled.

  “Do you plan to talk today?”

  Daocheng’s soft words snapped her out of her musing. “Huh?”

  Heavy-lidded eyes the colour of toasted cinnamon bark locked onto her face. “I’ve never known you to be this quiet before. Your father isn’t here. You can speak.”

  “I’d speak whatever I wanted even if he was here,” Mulan replied bluntly, lifting her chin as she stared back at her best friend.

  Daocheng’s eyes sparkled and the corners of his mouth twitched. “Of course you would. It’s just a little strange, not hearing your voice for more than a few minutes.”

  Mulan snorted. “Am I some kind of bird, chirping all day long?”

  Silence fell between them before Daocheng spoke. “Maybe not all day,” he said, a smile playing over his full lips. He brushed back a lock of black hair away from his eyes. “I’d say about half.”

  “Then add another half!” came a shout from in front.

  Mulan narrowed her eyes at Chuo, who grinned back at her, his sword stretched in her direction. Slim and cocky with his waist-long hair braided in the front and a hint of hair upon his upper lip, Chuo was the fearless one in the group.

  And the most annoying. His handsome, elegant features were popular with the girls in town, but his snarky comments didn’t have quite the same effect on their brothers. Or fathers.

  Laughing, Mulan watched as her friends went back to training. Digan, now sporting a cut on his upper brow, slumped onto the ground beside Zong. At twenty-two, Zong was the oldest and sensible of them. Leather trousers encased his thick thighs, and a blue tunic hid the bulging muscles of his chest. A heavy square jaw, bulging nose, and small eyes gave him the impression of a dumb giant. Standing two inches taller than her own father, Zong would be intimidating if it wasn’t for the fact that beneath the corded muscles and hard steel of his dao sword lay a heart as soft as butterfly wings. Beside him, the metal blade glimmered, waiting to be used.

  A hand rested on her outstretched legs. “Talk to me,” Daocheng pressed, his soft tones commanding.

  “I’m worried about Father,” she admitted on a weary sigh. Up ahead, Huyanti flipped Chuo in the air, only to have his feet slide on the dirt and tumble into an undignified heap.

  “Your father is a great warrior. He will be fine.”

  Mulan shook her head. “He was a great warrior until the last battle. He barely made it out alive. Since then, his health hasn’t been strong. The fevers wracked his body and he can’t make it from one room to another without gasping for breath. He won’t make it to Black Gate, Daocheng. It’s too far. He’ll die within hours of leaving Shenzhou. I can’t help but worry.”

  Gentle fingers clasped her chin and Daocheng’s eyes roamed down the right side of her cheeks where her father’s ring had left its mark in hues of purple and sickly green. “I’d worry more about yourself right now. How will you ever get a husband if you constantly force your father to discipline you?”

  Frustration swelled within her chest. She drew in a breath to steady her tone. “Why does everyone want me to marry so soon? I’m eighteen, not forty-eight.”

  Daocheng’s fingers dropped from her chin. “Most girls are married by sixteen, Mulan,” he reminded her. “It’s your duty to marry. You can’t live with your parents all your life.”

  Mulan spread her hands out and grunted in annoyance. “Why can’t I find my own husband in my own time? There’s no rush. My womb isn’t suddenly going to dry up overnight.”

  “Maybe not, but if your father keeps hitting you, people will think that you’re too much trouble to deal with.” A silent pause stretched between them and Daocheng glanced away. “You know, I’d marry you, if only to save your face. It would be a shame if one side was permanently red.”

  Within her chest, Mulan’s heartbeat slowed. Quickly glancing out the corner of her eye, she watched him focus on their friends. Zong rose to his feet, dao in hand, as Chuo motioned with his fingers to attack. Inhaling deeply, she lowered her gaze.

  Theirs had been a friendship cast in the burning fires of social pariahs. Since childhood, she’d only been happy with a sword clasped in her hand instead of the parasol or fans clutched in the delicate fingers of other girls her age. As a result, female friends were non-existent.

  For Daocheng, his Han background left him with few friendships. At great cost to himself, Daocheng’s father sacrificed his loyalty to the Liu Song in order to help her father during one of the bloodiest wars of the century. Whilst all Hans loyal to the Northern Wei kingdom were given the emperor’s blessing to settle in his lands, it didn’t mean that everyone gave them a warm welcome. Daocheng’s father served under Chief Zhou as a bannerman, but as Hans, they weren’t the most popular residents in Shenzhou. When five-year-old Daocheng turned up at their house with a black eye and split lip, she’d taken a shine to him. He’d never minded that she wasn’t like other girls.

  Looking up, Mulan’s chest lightened. The friendships forged with the others – Huyanti, Chuo, Zong, Digan – burned with similar flames. They were all social outcasts, really.

  Huyanti’s outlandish ways led to those around him shaking their heads in despair; Chuo’s arrogance and intelligence made him unpopular with the elders who thought they knew everything; Zong as the grandson of a disgraced Xiongnu priest who brought death to an entire village would wear the heavy cloak of shame for the rest of his life; and Digan, the quietest and gentlest of them all shunned most people. They’d all come together, creating the unlikeliest of friendships.

  If her parents had their way, she’d be a younger version of Feng Qing. Sweet, domesticated, docile. But that wasn’t her. Words had a tendency to fly out of her mouth before she could stop them, and she preferred to run and fight with the boys than to sit and spin silk with her sisters.

  The guys, however, accepted her for who she was. There was no hiding her true self from them. When they looked at her, they saw the real Mulan, not the Mulan society demanded her to be.

  Lately, though, she caught Daocheng looking at her differently.

  She plastered a small smile over her mouth and lightened her tone. “I can’t marry you. You’re my best friend. Who would keep me from getting into trouble?”

  Daocheng remained silent as they watched Zong fly through the air, landing on his feet several feet away as Chuo spun around with a flourish. Watching them fight still amazed Mulan; Chuo should’ve been no match for Zong’s strength, yet her slender friend could beat him every time.

  Energy swelled in the air and a grin spilt Zong’s face. Whilst he didn’t have the physical fighting skills Chuo enjoyed, the brawny giant did possess some of his grandfather’s magic. A strong wind ripped outwards, sending clouds of dust in Chuo’s direction, causing him to dig his feet into the earth to avoid being tossed back. The glint of steel shimmered and the twang of swords colliding rang over the wind.

  “Someone needs to take Father’s place.” The words were out before Mulan could stop them.

  A soft chuckle float
ed towards her ears as Chuo succeeded in bringing Zong to the ground and the wind died down. To the sides, Digan and Huyanti cheered. “Like who? Your brother is just a baby. There’s no one else in your family who could take on the role.”

  Mulan inhaled, but it did little to steady her nerves. “What about me?”

  “You may be one of the best fighters out of us, but you’re a girl. No one would follow you. Stop thinking about this. Your duty is to marry, have babies, and raise them to defend the kingdom.”

  Frustration coiled in her gut and it took all her strength not to scream out loud. Turning her head away, her jaw tightened. Wasn’t it bad enough that her family were forcing her into this role – why did her best friend have to do it, too? Why does everyone want me to do something I don’t want to do?

  Mulan squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her lips together tight enough her jaw ached. “Mother and Father are taking me to the match-maker today,” she finally said through clenched teeth.

  A nudge forced her to look at Daocheng. Cinnamon coloured eyes twinkled with mischief. “Maybe she will choose Luwei as your husband.”

  A shudder of revulsion coursed through every inch of her body at the thought. Like many towns, Shenzhou boasted two chiefs, a lesser and greater. Mulan’s father, the former of the two, lived on the western side of town, whilst Wang Shamoshan occupied a large portion of land on the east. A year older than her, his son Luwei possessed a mean streak wider than the Yellow River. Beneath the handsome features and the piercing eyes lay a cold heart and tight fists. He’d made little attempt to conceal his intentions towards her over the years but thankfully she’d managed to dodge those wandering hands and lustful plans.

  Marriage with Luwei? She’d rather marry a goat.

  Daocheng laughed at the expression on her face. “You don’t want to marry the chief’s son and rule Shenzhou?”