50 第9章 初入军营 纯英文朗读音频

第9章 初入军营

I’m dead, Mulan thought. That is why I feel so terrible. I’ve died and I’m being eternally punished because I disobeyed my family. 
Mulan opened her eyes and immediately shut them again. She wasn’t dead, but she almost wished she were, because then maybe she wouldn’t feel so awful. Her head was pounding and her cheeks felt as though they were on f ire. She tried to move an arm to cover her face from the relentless sun above, but her arms felt too heavy to lift. 
She stopped moving and simply lay for a moment, yelling at herself and the monks for making her feel this way. She should never have listened to Skatch’s “advice.” A smart warrior would not drink wine. Especially if this was how they felt after. 
Something pecked her nose. “Ouch!” Mulan shouted, her eyes snapping open. To her surprise—and annoyance—the ugly bird was staring down at her. Mulan frowned when she realized the bird was scowling at her, as though judging her current state. 
Sitting up quickly, Mulan instantly regretted her choice. The movement made her head pound even harder. She let out a moan. Then, when she could stomach it, she looked around, eager to tell Skatch and Ramtish just what she thought about their advice. 
Her stomach heaved. 
The f ire was out. The monks were gone—and so was Black Wind! 
In a f lash, Mulan was on her feet. The clearing was silent. Whistling loudly, she waited. There was no answering whicker or sound of hoof beats. She whistled again. Still nothing. Mulan’s heart dropped as her greatest fear was realized. Black Wind was gone. 
In his place was the monks’ raggedy, tired donkey. 
Mulan bit back a scream. She had no horse and no food. Stomping her foot in frustration, she yelped as she realized that her shoes were gone, too! And she hadn’t even reached the army yet. 
Taking a deep breath, Mulan steadied her racing heart. She had come this far. She wasn’t going to turn back now. She owed it to her family—and herself. Gathering her few remaining possessions, she brushed her f ingers over the writing on the smooth metal of her father’s sword. LOYAL. BRAVE. TRUE. The words had gotten her father through his own battle and were now a part of her story, for better or worse. 
Strapping the sword to her back, she grabbed the reins of the donkey and led it out of the clearing. The donkey’s steps were slow and plodding, and every few feet the stubborn animal tried to stop to grab a piece of grass. Mulan tugged impatiently at the reins. Could anything else go wrong? she wondered. 
As if in answer, she heard a loud squawk. Looking up, she saw the ugly bird once again standing in her way. The creature’s wings were spread, its head tilted to the side as it stared back at her. That is it! Mulan fumed silently. F irst the monks, now this bird again. Enough is enough! 
“You!” she shouted. “Leave me alone!” 
The bird didn’t move—at f irst. Then, as Mulan watched, it shifted on its feet. Bringing its wings behind it, the bird stretched out its neck as if in mid-f light. Mulan gasped as she began to recognize the elongated neck, open wings, and powerful stance. Could it be?
“The phoenix statue?” Mulan ventured, seeing the creature for what it was: the bird from her family’s shrine brought to life. 
The Phoenix dropped her wings and nodded, as if to say, F inally!
“What?” Mulan said, trying to make sense of the situation. Her father had told her the bird was meant to watch over her. But she had thought he meant metaphorically. “You’re here to protect me?” She eyed the bird, who gave a barely perceptible nod. Mulan wanted to laugh. And cry. This had to be a joke. A cruel joke. How could a bird with barely enough feathers to protect its own body help her? “Couldn’t I just have my horse back?” she asked. 
In response, the Phoenix let out a very un-birdlike hiss. She hopped over toward Mulan, then moved past her and jumped on the back of the donkey. Settling in, she made herself comfortable, ignoring the daggers Mulan was shooting at her with her eyes. 
“You can get as comfortable as you like,” Mulan said. “But I’m not going home.” 
The Phoenix didn’t move. But the judgment in her eyes lessened. 
“I’m going to f ight for my country,” Mulan said, unsure why she felt the need to defend herself to the Phoenix. The bird’s expression did not change. “I don’t need you,” Mulan added. 
This time, the Phoenix shrugged, her thoughts as clear as if she had said them aloud. Time will tell, her look said. Time will tell. Then, with one last squawk, the Phoenix shifted again on the donkey’s back so that she was facing his tail. Sitting down, she settled in, clearly ready to enjoy the ride.
Mulan sighed. It looked like the Phoenix was tagging along, whether Mulan needed her or not. Grabbing the reins, Mulan tugged the donkey forward. She was going to make quite the spectacle walking into the army’s encampment with a donkey and a phoenix that looked like a plucked chicken. 
But that was a problem she would face when she came to it. F irst, she just needed to get to the encampment. 
While Mulan’s journey had felt like it would never end, it f inally did. 
As they arrived at the edge of a huge f ield, her eyes grew wide as she took in the sights and sounds of the huge army encampment. Banners f lew above large tents surrounded by smaller ones. The smell of cooking food wafted through the air, making Mulan’s stomach rumble once again. The sounds of horses’ hooves blended with clanging metal as soldiers practiced f ighting. Large gates had been set up on the outskirts of the camp. In front of them was a line of hundreds of men, all clutching conscription papers. Every few minutes, a dozen or so would be ushered through the gates and disappear inside the teeming encampment. Mulan watched, trying to make sense of the bustling scene in front of her. It was like nothing she had seen before. Her eyes lingered on the future soldiers, each waiting their turn. Some were young, their faces eager, others old, their faces wise and drawn. But they were all men. 
Throwing back her shoulders, Mulan strode forward, silently thanking—and cursing—the monks for their “lesson.” She took her place in line. Ahead of her were two young men, roughly her age. One was chubby, his cheeks f lushed. He looked awkward and uncomfortable, and Mulan couldn’t help feeling a wave of empathy. She imagined her own cheeks were red, too—if not from embarrassment, then from the many hours she had spent traveling in the sun. Beside him was a taller conscript. He said something to the larger boy and then laughed, revealing a sizable gap between his two front teeth that made him instantly look younger. Mulan stood quietly behind them, trying not to eavesdrop. 
Just then, another young man, older by a few years it would seem, cut in front of her. Ignoring her grunt of protest, he stopped inches behind the two boys. A long weed hung from the side of his mouth. Taking it out, he tickled the larger boy’s ear. 
“I’m Cricket,” the boy was saying. 
“Longwei,” the other conscript said, introducing himself. 
Cricket nodded. “My mother said I was born—” He stopped, lifting his hand to swat away the “insect” that was tickling his ear. 
Behind him, the older conscript bit back a laugh. Another conscript joined him, pointing to the weed and miming for him to do it again. Mulan watched them with narrowed eyes. Cricket had done nothing to them. What was the point of teasing him in such a way? 
Unaware of the situation, Cricket continued chatting. His voice was friendly and open. “She said I was born under an auspicious—” The tickling had grown more aggressive and Cricket swatted harder this time. Only, instead of slapping a bug, he accidently slapped Longwei. 
“Ow!” he shouted, putting a hand to his cheek.  
Behind them, the two bullies howled with laughter. Then, pushing Cricket and Longwei out of the way, they took their place in line. The younger conscripts stumbled against each other, trying to keep their balance. 
Sensing she was about to get tumbled into, Mulan moved out of the way. But she hadn’t seen the conscript who had come up beside her. With a shout, she crashed into him, the impact knocking her to the ground. 
She lay still for a moment, trying to catch her breath. Then she saw a hand held out to her. 
“Sorry, tadpole,” the conscript said. “My mistake.” 
Mulan tried to keep herself from blushing. The young man in front of her was tall, lean, and very, very handsome. His eyes were twinkling and kind. 
He offered his hand again. 
Distracted by his good looks and the charming smile he was f lashing at her, Mulan almost, almost took his hand. But then she stopped. Tadpole he had called her. Embarrassment, delayed, came rushing over her. This was exactly what Skatch had said would happen. She wouldn’t be taken seriously. 
Ignoring the outstretched hand, Mulan scrambled to her feet. Then she reached for her sword. But her hands were clammy and her f ingers shaking, so what she had hoped would be a quick grab turned into a bumbling attempt to pull the sword from its belt. She pulled it free and, lifting it in the air, pointed it at the other conscript’s throat just as Skatch had done to her. “Insult me again,” she said, forcing her voice to go deep, “and you’ll taste the tip of my blade!” 
Instantly, all humor left the young man’s face. Before she even heard the swish of his sword, she felt its tip at her own throat. Mulan gulped. She might have been a bit hasty in her actions. Skatch hadn’t told her what to do if the other person also had a weapon. 
“Lower your sword,” the conscript said. 
“Or what?” Mulan had been trying for tough, but even to her, her voice sounded f limsy. 
Mulan felt Cricket’s and Longwei’s eyes on her, as well as the bullies’. She could sense them looking back and forth between her and the young man across from her. She heard someone whisper “Honghui,” and a few others repeat the name. Her arm shook and she wanted to drop her sword, but she couldn’t. Not until the other conscript, or rather Honghui, dropped his. 
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw another person approaching. It was an older man, his face lined with age and experience. There was a f lash of movement. Before Mulan could blink, her arm was twisted behind her back. A moment later the sword was removed from her hand and her arm dropped to her side. Next to her, Honghui rubbed his own arm, his eyes on his weapon. 
“I am your commanding off icer—Commander Tung!” the man shouted. “F ighting will not be tolerated. Am I clear?” He stared at the young man, his eyes icy. 
“Yes, Commander,” the other conscript said immediately. 
The commander turned to Mulan and repeated the question. Mulan’s voice stuck in her throat. She nodded. 
“With your voice, soldier,” Commander Tung ordered. 
“Yes, Commander,” Mulan said. 
Across from her, Honghui took back his sword and glared at Mulan. She had messed up. Already she was gaining enemies, not allies. 
Handing Mulan her sword, the commander hesitated, his gaze catching on the engraving on its blade. Recognition f lashed over his face and he looked up at Mulan with renewed interest. “What’s your name, soldier?” he asked. 
“Hua Jun, Commander,” Mulan said, the f ib gliding off her tongue. 
“Is this your family’s sword?” Commander Tung asked. 
Mulan nodded and then remembered that the commander wanted words. “It belongs to my father, Hua Zhou,” she said. 
There was a moment as the commander looked back and forth between the sword and Mulan, his face still but his eyes f lickering with emotion. Then, noticing her bare feet, he nodded toward a tent behind them. “Go get yourself a pair of boots,” he said. Before Mulan could respond, Commander Tung had marched off, disappearing into the hustle and bustle of the encampment. 
Mulan gathered her things and headed toward the clothing tent. The more distance she could get from Honghui, the better. In another world and another setting, Mulan had a feeling Cricket would’ve been a friend. But she wasn’t going to stick around to f ind out if her hunch was right. She would get her boots, and then she would think about the mess she had gotten herself into. She had been so worried about surviving the war that she hadn’t even thought about surviving boot camp.