Helen Luo
Read the writer’s analysis of this piece
Read the instructor’s introduction
Read the writer’s comments and bio
Download this essay
A year has passed, the Orchids[1] have bloomed—the smell of Mulan is in the air. Yet Mulan is still not home. Mulan is still at war. I tend to the gardens, to the pigs and hens and horses. I tend to my ill-stricken father, my heart-broken mother, and my toddling brother. I weave the silken prints and bring them to the markets before dawn. I sigh, as I think of Mulan.
“Tsiek Tsiek and again Tsiek Tsiek” [2]
Mother weaves, facing the window. I don’t hear the shuttle’s sound; I only hear mother’s sighs. I ask who is on mother’s mind? Who is in mother’s heart? Mother says: “Mulan is on mother’s mind. Mulan is in mother’s heart. [3] Mulan, my eldest daughter—so lovely, so dependable—I still remember her laugh. Her reassuring smile and the twinkle in her eyes that seemed to say ‘mother, everything will be ok.’ I still see the shadows of Mulan in the house, in the courtyard, in the village. Mulan, the perfect daughter, who wove the most delicate and beautiful silk patterns, took care of Little Lee and you, young Mu-Ying, who took the darkest worries off my mind. But Oh! Last night, I heard the hooves of the horses riding out again. I saw the shadow of Mulan disappearing past the furthest mountain, heard the battle cry of the Huns, and saw blood drip from Mulan’s sleeve—just like the red in the weave.”
Three years have passed, the Orchids have bloomed—the smell of Mulan is in the air. Yet Mulan is still not home. Mulan is still at war. I tend to the gardens, to the pigs and hens and horses. I brew the healthy concoctions of herbs for father; I cook a hearty dinner on behalf of mother; I teach calligraphy and characters to brother.
Ouch.
The knife slashes against my fingertips, blood dripping onto the cutting board.
I sigh as I quickly bandage the wound; I sigh, as I think of Mulan.
“Qing Clang and again Qing Clang”
Father fights—or attempts to—wielding his already rusted sword, only to hunch over in a fit of coughs. Father is unwell, but he continues on in a hypnotic trance, the familiar footwork of the fighting routine embedded in his blood. He fought in the last big war, he said. Father was a general—and then illness and time took his health as a toll. I hear father’s coughs, his haggard breathing. I hear father’s sighs. I ask who is on father’s mind? Who is in father’s heart? Father says: “Mulan is on father’s mind. Mulan is in father’s heart. Mulan, my eldest, loveliest daughter, who risked her life for mine—Oh dear daughter are you well? Last night, I heard, ten thousand miles away, the businesses of war. Last night I heard Mount Yen’s nomad horses cry tsiu tsiu. [4] Last night I saw Mulan, dressed in my own armor, fire in her eyes, only to watch her fall. I watched the fire disappear from her gaze as she fell limp, the screams of triumph and war mingling with the horrid smell of blood. I dreamt of Mulan, being hanged for treason. Last night I dreamt of Mulan in her red marriage gown, of her laughing in merriment as she held her child. Last night I dreamt of honor, dishonor, of life, and of death.”
Five years have passed, the Orchids have bloomed—the smell of Mulan is in the air. Yet Mulan is still not home. Mulan is still at war. I tend to father, who is on the verge of death. I tend to mother, who can barely leave the bed. I tend to younger brother Lee, helping him with his studies, with his martial arts, and the struggles of life.
“Tsiek Tsiek and again Tsiek Tsiek”
I weave, facing the door. I don’t hear the shuttle’s sound. I hear my hefty sighs. I ask who is on my mind? Who is in my heart? I say: “Mulan is on my mind. Mulan is in Mu-Ying’s heart. Mulan, the sister I barely knew. Mulan, the sister whose shadow I see. Mulan, the sister who left the family’s burden on me. Father is sick. Mother is frail. Little brother Lee is still too small. Money has stopped a-flowing. No one wishes to buy our beautiful silk weaves in times of war—no one has enough money. The wealthy Wons are our only customers. And Oh. Their oldest son, Yuan, has taken a liking to me. Mulan, oh Mulan, when will you come back and save me?”
“Qing Clang and again Qing Clang”
Iron swords clash, as the Khan and the Huns meet in savage bloodshed. I hear the Yellow River’s flowing water cry tsien tsien—I don’t hear Father and Mother’s cry. Northern gusts carry the rattle of army pots, but not the whispers of my sister’s calls. Chilly light shines on the blood-splattered iron armor. Generals die in a hundred battles, blood flooding the Yangtze’s waters and making it a murky brown. Gently, the snow falls, blending with the blood-soaked ground as a single Sakura falls before my feet. It is not spring, Sakuras are not in bloom, and yet I sigh. My comrades ask who is on my mind? Who is in my heart? I say: “Mu-Ying is on Mulan’s mind. Father, mother, and Lee are in my heart. Last night I dreamt of mother’s famous chicken soup, of father teaching me martial arts. Last night I dreamt of Little Lee growing to be a man, of Mu-Ying’s twinkling, cheerful eyes.”[5]
Eight years have passed, the Orchids should have bloomed—the smell of Mulan is not in the air. Mulan is still not home. Mulan is still at war. I no longer tend to father. I no longer cook hearty dinners on behalf of mother. Brother Lee no longer attends school; instead he helps with the chores around the house of the Wons. He is in the stables—he is a servant boy.
“Tsiek Tsiek and again Tsiek Tsiek”
I weave, facing the door. I do not hear master’s calls or the shuttle’s sound. I only hear myself sigh. I ask who is in my heart? Who is on my mind? “Father, mother, and Little Lee are in my heart. Mulan is on my mind. My heart tears to see Little Lee, carrying the sacks of rice on his small back. My heart tears, cringes, each time I catch the Won’s eldest son eyeing me fancifully, when he touches me in the dark of the night. My ears hesitate when I hear them call me Xiao-Yu, the name of a servant. Mulan, oh Mulan, when will you come back and save me?”
Ten years have passed. The stars are especially bright tonight. Father always said that when a person passes away, the stars glow brighter. Two stars glow bright. I wonder if, tonight, I’ll see a third.
“Crackle, snap, fizz and pop,” the Firecrackers shout.
The war is over. The Khan has won. The Son of Heaven sits in the Splendid Hall. He gives out promotions in twelve ranks, and prizes of a hundred and more. He asks of Mulan what she so desires. “Mulan has no use for a minister’s post. I wish to ride a swift mount to take me home.”
“Crackle, snap, fizz and pop,” the Firecrackers shout.
I am marrying the eldest Won, Yuan—the rank of the third wife falling at my feet. But, at least now, Little Lee can attend school, can wed the woman of his dreams. I have married the eldest Won, and Mulan has returned home. She takes off her wartime gown, fixes her cloudlike hair, dabs on yellow flower powder and moves back into the empty house. [6] Surprise is in her eyes, as she watches me don my own wartime gown. Though this one is less heavy, more red, donning a flair of fake merriness as it imprisons me for life.
Ten years have passed, the Orchids have bloomed—the smell of Mulan is in the air. Mulan is now home, Mulan is not at war.
I sigh.
I ask who is my heart, who is on my mind.
“Father, mother and Little Lee are on in my heart. Mulan is on my mind. Mulan, oh Mulan, you saved the country. But why, oh why, couldn’t you save me?”
Notes
1. Orchids are in reference to one character, lan, in Mulan’s name, and its meaning. Lan hua = Orchids.
2. Taken from the lines of the original ballad.
3. I render the format of the original lines in the poem: “Mulan weaves, facing the door. You don’t hear the shuttle’s sound, You only hear Daughter’s sighs. They ask Daughter who’s in her heart, They ask Daughter who’s on her mind. ‘No one is on Daughter’s heart, No one is on Daughter’s mind.’”
4. These two lines are copies of the following lines: “She goes ten thousand miles on the business of war” and “She only hears Mount Yen’s nomad horses cry tsiu tsiu.”
5. In this stanza, the perspective switches back to Mulan. Through her dialogue, Mulan reveals what is happening on the war-front, and also her homesickness. Furthermore I have rendered the following lines: “Northern gusts carry the rattle of army pots, Chilly light shines on iron armor. Generals die in a hundred battles.”
6. In this stanza, I use the following lines: “‘I take off my wartime gown/ And put on my old-time clothes’ Facing the window she fixes her cloudlike hair, Hanging up a mirror she dabs on yellow flower powder.”