{"id":10864,"date":"2016-06-29T13:33:34","date_gmt":"2016-06-29T17:33:34","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/writingprogram\/?page_id=10864"},"modified":"2016-08-26T12:31:09","modified_gmt":"2016-08-26T16:31:09","slug":"luo","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/writingprogram\/journal\/past-issues\/issue-8\/luo\/","title":{"rendered":"The Fallen Sakura: A Retelling of the Ballad of Fa Mulan<\/em>"},"content":{"rendered":"

Helen Luo<\/h2>\n

Read the writer’s analysis of this piece<\/a>
\nRead the instructor’s introduction<\/a>
\nRead the writer’s comments and bio<\/a>
\nDownload this essay<\/a><\/p>\n

A year has passed, the Orchids[1]\u00a0<\/span>have bloomed\u2014the 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.<\/p>\n

\u201cTsiek Tsiek and again Tsiek Tsiek” [2]
\n<\/b><\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

Mother weaves, facing the window. I don\u2019t hear the shuttle\u2019s sound; I only hear mother\u2019s sighs. I ask who is on mother\u2019s mind? Who is in mother\u2019s heart? Mother says: \u201cMulan is on mother\u2019s mind. Mulan is in mother\u2019s heart. [3] Mulan, my eldest daughter\u2014so lovely, so dependable\u2014I still remember her laugh. Her reassuring smile and the twinkle in her eyes that seemed to say \u2018mother, everything will be ok.\u2019 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\u2019s sleeve\u2014just like the red in the weave.\u201d<\/p>\n

Three years have passed, the Orchids have bloomed\u2014the 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.<\/p>\n

Ouch.
\nThe knife slashes against my fingertips, blood dripping onto the cutting board.
\nI sigh as I quickly bandage the wound; I sigh, as I think of Mulan.<\/p>\n

\u201cQing Clang and again Qing Clang\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

Father fights\u2014or attempts to\u2014wielding 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\u2014and then illness and time took his health as a toll. I hear father\u2019s coughs, his haggard breathing. I hear father\u2019s sighs. I ask who is on father\u2019s mind? Who is in father\u2019s heart? Father says: \u201cMulan is on father\u2019s mind. Mulan is in father\u2019s heart. Mulan, my eldest, loveliest daughter, who risked her life for mine\u2014Oh dear daughter are you well? Last night, I heard, ten thousand miles away, the businesses of war. Last night I heard Mount Yen\u2019s nomad horses cry tsiu tsiu. [4]\u00a0<\/span>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.\u201d<\/p>\n

Five years have passed, the Orchids have bloomed\u2014the 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.<\/p>\n

\u201cTsiek Tsiek and again Tsiek Tsiek\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

I weave, facing the door. I don\u2019t hear the shuttle\u2019s sound. I hear my hefty sighs. I ask who is on my mind? Who is in my heart? I say: \u201cMulan is on my mind. Mulan is in Mu-Ying\u2019s heart. Mulan, the sister I barely knew. Mulan, the sister whose shadow I see. Mulan, the sister who left the family\u2019s 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\u2014no 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?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cQing Clang and again Qing Clang\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

Iron swords clash, as the Khan and the Huns meet in savage bloodshed. I hear the Yellow River\u2019s flowing water cry tsien tsien\u2014I don\u2019t hear Father and Mother\u2019s cry. Northern gusts carry the rattle of army pots, but not the whispers of my sister\u2019s calls. Chilly light shines on the blood-splattered iron armor. Generals die in a hundred battles, blood flooding the Yangtze\u2019s 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: \u201cMu-Ying is on Mulan\u2019s mind. Father, mother, and Lee are in my heart. Last night I dreamt of mother\u2019s famous chicken soup, of father teaching me martial arts. Last night I dreamt of Little Lee growing to be a man, of Mu-Ying\u2019s twinkling, cheerful eyes.\u201d[5]<\/em><\/sup><\/sup><\/p>\n

Eight years have passed, the Orchids should have bloomed\u2014the 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\u2014he is a servant boy.<\/p>\n

\u201cTsiek Tsiek and again Tsiek Tsiek\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

I weave, facing the door. I do not hear master\u2019s calls or the shuttle\u2019s sound. I only hear myself sigh. I ask who is in my heart? Who is on my mind? \u201cFather, 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\u2019s 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?\u201d<\/p>\n

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\u2019ll see a third.<\/p>\n

\u201cCrackle, snap, fizz and pop,\u201d the Firecrackers shout.<\/em><\/p>\n

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. \u201cMulan has no use for a minister\u2019s post. I wish to ride a swift mount to take me home.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cCrackle, snap, fizz and pop,\u201d the Firecrackers shout.
\n<\/em><\/p>\n

I am marrying the eldest Won, Yuan\u2014the 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]\u00a0Surprise 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.<\/p>\n

Ten years have passed, the Orchids have bloomed\u2014the smell of Mulan is in the air. Mulan is now home, Mulan is not at war.<\/p>\n

I sigh.
\nI ask who is my heart, who is on my mind.
\n\u201cFather, 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\u2019t you save me?\u201d<\/p>\n

Notes<\/h2>\n

1. Orchids are in reference to one character, lan, in Mulan\u2019s name, and its meaning. Lan hua = Orchids.<\/p>\n

2.\u00a0Taken from the lines of the original ballad.<\/p>\n

3.\u00a0I render the format of the original lines in the poem: \u201cMulan weaves, facing the door. You don\u2019t hear the shuttle\u2019s sound, You only hear Daughter\u2019s sighs. They ask Daughter who\u2019s in her heart, They ask Daughter who\u2019s on her mind. \u2018No one is on Daughter\u2019s heart, No one is on Daughter\u2019s mind.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

4.\u00a0These two lines are copies of the following lines: \u201cShe goes ten thousand miles on the business of war\u201d and \u201cShe only hears Mount Yen\u2019s nomad horses cry tsiu tsiu.\u201d<\/p>\n

5.\u00a0In 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: \u201cNorthern gusts carry the rattle of army pots, Chilly light shines on iron armor. Generals die in a hundred battles.\u201d<\/p>\n

6.\u00a0In this stanza, I use the following lines: \u201c\u2018I take off my wartime gown\/ And put on my old-time clothes\u2019 Facing the window she fixes her cloudlike hair, Hanging up a mirror she dabs on yellow flower powder.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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]\u00a0have bloomed\u2014the 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 […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4801,"featured_media":0,"parent":10827,"menu_order":16,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/writingprogram\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/10864"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/writingprogram\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/writingprogram\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/writingprogram\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4801"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/writingprogram\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=10864"}],"version-history":[{"count":9,"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/writingprogram\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/10864\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":11319,"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/writingprogram\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/10864\/revisions\/11319"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/writingprogram\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/10827"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/writingprogram\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=10864"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}