Rising from the water, Li Shang quickly donned his clothes again if only by absent minded memorization. Had it been a task that required thought, he might have stood there and puzzled for hours. Maybe it made him a coward, to have dashed from the water so fast, maybe he should have stayed for one more glimpse. The truth was, and it rankled to admit, he was afraid. In such a short time he had gained and lost something without ever having the chance to really know what it was.

As he made his way back through the willow trees again, he recalled a story from his youth. There was once a ruler named King Huai who had traveled south on a pleasure trip. He had fallen asleep by a lake and had a dream of a fairy named Yaoji. In this dream, the fairy had become his lover, leaving him to wake with a haunting sense of loss. All he could do was build a temple for the girl, the Temple of the Morning Cloud, which Shang had visited himself once. Now walking away from the lake all he understood in his confusion was that he felt like the King in that story.

He could not seem to shake off the feeling of her warm body, the pressure of her legs entangled around him, and that salty sweet taste on her skin. His lips moved just slightly, as though trying to kiss her again. He closed his eyes, a pang of remembered pleasure making him pause for a long, distracted moment. She had had him so enchanted, with her way of being controlling yet yielding at the same time, a little bundle of contradictions he could spend hours puzzling out.

There was no way she could be real; if only he had thought to demand a name. But what did that matter? She seemed so intent on keeping her identify a secret, perhaps to protect herself and her family. That would mean she was of some importance to go that far with her secrecy. Of course, puzzling out her identity was a mere distraction, and a cowardly one, he could not even begin to fathom the things she made him feel. No, that was for another day, when he had a clear head.

Padding barefoot across the grass, he swept by the rows of tents occupied by his soldiers - or those who would like to consider themselves as such - he corrected himself. The dark grove gave way to an aura of lamplight, marked by those unfortunate upstarts who had found themselves on the night watch. The night watch, he repeated to himself thoughtfully, with half a mind to ask if they had seen anything strange, a girl perhaps. But that was pointless, they were lazy and their eyes were still untrained, too oblivious to see their own boots. If they had seen a girl, rest assured they would have been whistling and catcalling for hours.

He stopped short when passed by one tent in particular, and the little figure that was sitting outside of it, arms folded over his knees, face titled up the sky.

"Ping," he called sternly, not really angry but chiding the boy was a habit by now after all the cause Ping had given him. "What are you doing?"

Recoiling at the sound of Shang's voice, the little soldier jumped, stumbling in his haste to salute his commander.

"Uhh, sir... I was um..." He giggled nervously. Giggled! A boy!

Crossing his arms, Shang balanced his weight to tap one foot impatiently. Deep inside, he was slightly thankful for the boy's presence for once, it brought a sense of normality to his confusion. "Fa Ping," he began in a lecturing tone, at the same time wondering why on earth Fa Zhou would give his son a name that meant "flower vase." It must be superstition, Shang reasoned out finally, perhaps in the hope that a girl's name might keep evil spirits from harming his only son, fooling them into thinking Ping was a girl.

"Ping, what if this were the battlefield and I had given you an order? If you were to forget it, all your comrades might die. Now," he reached for the boy's collar to pull him upright. "What were you doing?" Reminding him of the dangers of combat was useless, Ping would be lucky if he survived recruit training. He would not last a moment on the battlefield. Problematic did not even begin to describe Ping as a soldier. Ping was a cheater, plainly put, never quite absorbing Shang's advice to never accomplish a task by shortcut, as a matter of honor. That sort of man had no place in the army.

"Please, sir." Ping brushed Shang's hands away, looking very nervous, almost terrified. "Could you please not touch me right now. I don't like it when people touch me."

"What?" Shang had no choice but to chuckle at the boy's quirkiness. "Are you trying to protect your honor as a maiden?" He could not help but mock him. Really, the child was so queer.

Suddenly Ping was unable to look at him, turning his profile to Shang and staring at nothing in particular. The boy was angry, or hurt by Shang's words. Sighing, Shang unfolded his arms and made an effort to look less threatening. Maybe Ping had been taken advantage of as a child. Shang was here to press the boy to physical and moral excellence, not dredge up unpleasant memories

"I was practicing, sir," Ping turned to him suddenly, a faint gleam of determination in his eye.

"Well that's good," Shang said approvingly. "Since you've been practicing so diligently, how about a match? Let's see if you've improved any." The boy might never be a soldier, but a few skills might help him hold his own against Yao or Ling, a little vengeance for all their pranks. Shang blinked, confused as to why he was suddenly concerned with the boy's ability to defend himself. Ping was an upstart if there ever was one; he should be on perpetual guard duty just for good measure.

Ping's expression became dubious, wary. "Actually, sir, I'd rather not. I'm... still sore from," he hesitated, swallowing, " earlier."

"You're a soldier," Shang reminded sternly. "You must not be afraid of suffering." Their eyes met a moment, Ping seemed fascinated and uncomfortable at the same time. Shang had no idea how he knew that when Ping's expression had not really changed. He was not usually talkative, but found himself continuing. If bullying didn't work perhaps words of encouragement would help Ping to improve. "If you are afraid of pain, then you will never take a risk. If you won't take a risk, how can you know what you can accomplish? That's why we're here, Ping, to be the best that we can for our country."

"I thought it was about upholding the family honor," Ping lowered his eyes, confused and upset over something. "That's what my father said, sir."

Shang nodded in understanding, the boy loved his father too. "Well, that's true too," he offered diplomatically before nodding a goodnight and walking towards his tent.

Once he was safe in the seclusion of his tent, Shang blew out the candles quickly, climbing under the blankets with an irresolute sigh. He knew the night was bound to be awash with dreams, if he was even able to sleep, and each of those dreams would conjure her face. The sages warned those who could not temper their desires about how they could consume a man and bring about his downfall in the end. But surely one fairy in the river could not be so dangerous. With a troop of hopeless men to train, pleasant occurrences here were few and far between, so he allowed himself to close his eyes. King Huai, he mused to himself sadly as he drifted, in that story he never met Yaoji again.

~ * ~

Oddly enough, Ping was actually punctual the next morning, a sight so rare it commanded Shang's immediate attention even in his half distracted state. He went through the drills, the demonstrations with staff and spear, the sparring. The state of his troops was hardly improving, they still tripped over their own feet and could barely twirl a staff, let alone defend themselves with it. It had only been two weeks, he tried to think positively, and he could not give up, not after he had promised his father.

"Soldiers!" He bellowed after they were reassembled from their clumsy practice. Every man faced forward at the sound of his voice, at least they had learned to stand in formation. It was a start, he grumbled quietly as he paced to and fro. "The Huns are known for hiding in the mountain terrain, where the passes give them direct access to Ch'ang-an. If you survive training, you will follow me up there to join with the Imperial forces. It is there we will confront the enemy. In the mountains, the elements are punishing, with snow and sharp winds. The climate is enough to kill you. But you must learn to endure it, whether you are scouting the enemy or fleeing for your lives. If you fail, you don't want to think about what will happen to your families." Turning from them he faced the horizon, where the craggy outline of golden cliffs sat incongruously against the clear sky. "Today I will take you up there. We will run five miles and then we will come back. Go to Chi Fu, get your weights and let's go."

The expected hum of complaints resounded among the men as they dragged their feet in sulky steps towards Chi Fu. Shang found it hard to deny that it gave him the slightest joy to torment them so; as he saw it, it was fair payback for their lazy refusal to do their best. It was fair revenge for the late night diatribes he got from Chi Fu, all because of them.

It wasn't a long hike up the cliffs, but walking to the mess tent was a long hike for them. Yao and Ling were already arguing, even after Shang had threatened both of them earlier. Ping was not far behind the pair as his bad luck would have it, receiving cold stares and much unsolicited verbal abuse. The boy endured it all without much in the way of retaliation. Poor Ping looked like he hadn't slept much at all. Poor Ping? He chided himself. Ping alone was too common a reason for those tirades from Chi Fu. The truth was, Shang had no idea what to do about Ping, he failed at every task and if managed too succeed it was only because he had been cheating. Ping was a thorn in the foot of the Imperial Army, and peculiar to boot.

Shang tried to forget Ping as he led the men running along the cliffs, the weights balanced easily on his broad shoulders. Overall, they were not doing badly so far, still lagging pathetically but at least they were still on their feet. His spirits lifted a bit with that, at least until Chi Fu came galloping beside him, smugly pointing with his calligraphy brush for Shang to look over his shoulder.

It was Ping. Shang scowled in irritation. The little soldier had dropped facedown on the ground, exhausted under his burden. He was the only one to fall so far, the other soldiers kept a pace steady enough to finish their run.

Throwing down his weights, Shang turned and ran back down the cliff. "Ping!" he shouted
crossly at this untimely failure. Tonight he had hoped to prove to the old worm that he could do his duty, and now Ping had to ruin it, meaning another earful for Shang. The tired face tilted upwards, cheeks flushed, lips slightly parted for air. That look stirred something that Shang quickly brushed aside in his anger. "What if this had been actual combat? I would have to risk my life to carry you out of here alive. What makes you think so highly of yourself that you're worth it?"

Ping said nothing, but the look on his face turned tortured. Shang had no time for it, hefting the boy's burden onto his own shoulders and continuing along the cliffs, leaving Ping there spent on the ground.

~ * ~

When the hush of late night darkness fell over the camp again, Shang managed to steal away for a quiet hour beside the lake, perched there in somber isolation from the others. There was a boundary that must be kept between officer and recruit, often a lonely one for the former, leaving him to take his meals alone and disappear when the nightly conversations begun. His own friends were far away, his closest companion Meng Tai-shan was still in Louyang with his uncle and the others. Over the years, they had become his family, when the scarce memories of his true family had started to fade.

He could have told Tai-shan about the girl in the water, Tai-shan was like his brother. That thought carried his gaze wistfully across the lake, its azure depths silent and still, brushed with feathery shadows from the surrounding willows. The scene was like a painting, only missing two entwined figures against the far rock. Shang could paint a little, but doubted even his disciplined hand could capture each precious detail so well as his memory. Strange how the water's tranquil coloring had stirred up such a sense of inner conflict. He longed to run free, after that girl, he longed to forget her and prove himself his father's equal. Ah, gods, if only the heated softness of her skin would leave his memory for a moment.

Ping, now there was an intrusion, an uncharacteristically welcomed one at the moment. Something had to be done about Ping. The other soldiers had shown promising signs of improvement today, and yet there was nothing so promising about Ping. Chi Fu would never write a decent report to his father with an unprogressing soldier like Ping among his troops.

Resolved, he jumped down from his perch. It was no trouble to discharge a man from the army, he had only to say the young man was unfit for combat, and that wouldn't take longer than a moment to prove. It was so curious though, how a military legend such as Fa Zhou could spawn such a bumbling snip of a boy. No matter, the shame was not on Shang's head, the conscription demanded one able-bodied man from each family, and Ping was no such thing. It was unfortunate, but no real disgrace.

There Ping was, as if he had sensed Shang's intention to seek him out. Shang watched him from behind the greenery a moment as Ping led his horse back across camp. It was late now and the others had gone to bed, but not Ping. Ping had stayed up to care for his horse, as he often did, petting and speaking softly to the animal as they moved. There was the one skill Ping did possess, great skill with horses. The boy had stopped now, face thoughtful as he dropped the reins while the horse waited patiently for him to lift the pale of water he had set outside his tent. It was almost touching, as tired and spent as Ping was, the time and care he took attending the animal.

Sighing, Shang rubbed the back of his neck. He too was tired, and his encounter with the girl must have made him sentimental. Stepping out through the trees, Shang gathered his thoughts and conviction. Ping was a hindrance to the Imperial Army and therefore must be sent away. Decided, he took up Khan's reins and dropped them in the unsuspecting boy's hand.

"Ping," he began quietly but still with a note of firmness. "I'm letting you go. You're not a soldier. Go home before you die in the first attack."

Ping froze, a hundred emotions flitting across that small face at once. There was shock, then panic and then a slowly realized sadness. His eyes were almost longing as he stared at Shang, taking him aback. Then Ping turned, shapely lips drooping sullenly as he headed towards his tent.

Shang turned away as well, fighting a pang of guilt and something else. It was better this way, he reminded himself, Ping could not endure the burdens of a soldier's life. But Shang found himself feeling as uneasy, that pang of loss again. It was much more than he should have felt after dismissing a clumsy recruit. A boy recruit.

~ * ~

He was sending her home. Mulan looked down at the ground in shame as Shang - Captain Li, she corrected herself painfully - as Captain Li turned his back on her and walked away into the shadows. The disappointment in his dark eyes as he'd ordered her to leave had been as clear as the water of the moonlit stream.

She'd only been able to stare at him while he spoke, was still unable to speak even now. The shame of being dismissed had been nothing compared to the hurt inside at being dismissed by him. That he was sending her away from him without a second thought made her ache inside. She felt almost as if leaving him would kill her. It was a thousand times worse than the ache she'd felt when she'd had to leave him in the river the night before.

He saw nothing worthwhile in Ping, that was clear. And he probably only viewed his moments with her by the rock as another night of pleasure. A spark of sudden anger made Mulan frown and raise her head. The first thing that caught her attention was the tall pole in the exact center of camp, the arrow Shang had fired that first day still stuck near the top. It just sat there, Shang's silent challenge to the men to prove themselves worthy. That was a word he had used often, worthy.

Turning to face the pole, Mulan stared at it in sudden determination. There was nothing she needed more at this moment than to prove to herself, and to Captain Li Shang that she was worthy. And then maybe, once she'd had his respect, and this war was over, she might tell him the truth. Her heart quailed at the thought, but she nodded firmly anyway and stepped over the pole. What had he said, that you shouldn't be afraid of suffering? Well, she wasn't afraid.

~ * ~

The clatter of horses' hooves drummed wildly through the green fields on the lower mountain slopes, It was springtime, the afternoon warm under a painfully blue sky. But he hardly noticed that clear sky or his lush surroundings, his eyes fixed on the small rider ahead him. She seemed one with her mount, riding the horse bare-back, arms flung forward around its neck, letting her hair flail wildly in the wind behind her

Yet he was still struggling to stay atop his own horse, twice already the beast had thrown him off onto the grass. Increasing the pressure of his knees, he shifted his weight to balance himself while he urged the horse faster to keep up.

Raising only her head, she turned around, slowing the horse to a trot. "Today I will teach you how to tame horses," her smile held bright amusement. "Tomorrow I will show how to control the floods of Wushan."

Never taking his eyes from her face, he managed to bring his horse to a halt. "You still haven't given me your name." They had been riding for an hour, and last night he had met her by the shores of the lake, enamored of each other already.

Drawing her horse closer, she raised her chin, regal and proud. "My name is Yaoji, or Yunhua Furen. I am the daughter of the Queen Mother of the Western Skies. I saw you sleeping by the lake and admired your proud and noble bearing. As you slept I could see into your heart, that you are a good man, and so must I teach you ways to help your people."

He was stunned. Madam Cloud Splendor. Why would a goddess take such interest in a tired king? He could only smile back at her, touched by her compassion and beauty.

"Aren't you afraid?" He asked her quietly. "If the Queen Mother were to become angry with you for staying away so long she might punish you and banish you to the mortal realms forever. It is a disgrace, to be condemned as a fallen immortal, one you do not deserve."

Dismounting, she stepped very close to him, folding her arms under across her chest, tossing her hair back with a slight stubborn shake of her head.

"All life is a manifestation of the Dao, it is my duty to help preserve it. Every year hundreds die because of the floods, but until I met you last night I have not seen a man noble enough to trust. You may see it as disgrace. But I know my actions will bring honor to my heart, therefore I am not afraid to suffer the consequences."

All he could do was stare at her in admiration, such nobility, such courage.

"But for now," she continued, climbing on her horse's back as if remembering something in a sudden hurry. "I must go,"

"Wait!" He called after her, reaching out a hand. "Please, stay,"

Smiling sadly, she did turn around, steering her horse beside his, close enough for her to touch him. Her fingertips stroked the side of his face a moment before she pressed her lips against his.

But she had moved away before he could reach for her, sending her horse galloping through the trees. He watched her, confused and broken-hearted, fingertips touching where her lips had been.

Digging his heels into the horse's flank, he began to chase after her, searching through the trees for some sign of where she had gone. There was nothing, only dark shadow and greenery wherever he looked. Giving up, he dismounted and laid down tiredly on the grass, overcome by a sudden emptiness.

~ * ~

Madam Cloud Splendor, Shang awoke with a start, realizing his fingers were still pressed to his lips, the feel of her mouth still lingering. He drew his breath in a long, sad sigh, surrendering a moment to the loss he felt, the ache in his heart.

It was that same story of the King of Xia, and the goddess Yaoji who had taught him to tame the floods that caused untold destruction each year. For centuries the people had honored her for her self-sacrifice, helping the King at a risk to herself.

But it was the sound of cheering that interrupted his thoughts and stirred him out of bed. Draping his shirt, he stepped into his shoes, pondering the miracle that his men had actually risen early. No doubt they were cheering to find Ping gone. Ping was gone, that recollection made him stop and frown though he did not know why, most likely because he was going to miss having someone to bully.

Stepping out of his tent, Shang rubbed his eyes in surprise. There on that tall pole in the middle of camp surrounded by cheering comrades, sat Ping. Tiny, and exhausted, the first rays of the sun illuminated Ping's triumphant expression as he freed the arrow fired there and hurled it at Shang's feet. Picking up the arrow, Shang smiled, amused, disbelieving. Proud.

He made his way over to Ping as the boy slid down, catching his slender arm to keep him from falling on legs that looked more than wobbly from the effort. "Ping, you've done well." He gave Ping a congratulatory pat on the shoulder for emphasis.

The joy in his answering grin bordered on elation. "I have, sir?" he sounded completely unaware, then glanced back at the tall pole, blinking incredulously. "Does that mean you won't send me home?"

"Very well, Ping," he had to chuckle a little, wondering why anyone would stay here by choice rather than return home to their family. "Stay. But you should rest and have some water now." It surprised him that the words had turned soft, almost affectionate. It was hard not to feel affection for someone with that much determination, but Shang was not one wont to express it. He looked the boy over, brow beaded with sweat, cheeks crimson from pride and exertion, the little mouth barely able to cease smiling. He looked so uplifted, had Ping been a girl Shang would have called it sweet, pretty.

Ping faced him, offering a hearty salute, open palm over closed fist. "Yes, sir!" Before dashing off to his tent with a newfound alacrity. Shang watched him go, light and lithe as he moved across the grass. He found himself studying the small lines of Ping's figure longer than he should have, but perhaps it amazed him that such a small creature could manage such strength. Perhaps it amazed him that this time he took no shortcuts. Climbing the pole in itself would have been a miraculous feat, but he had approached the challenge honorably, just as Shang had set it, with the weights on his wrists.

It was a distraction to turn to his men again.

"Your comrade Fa Ping has set a standard which you all will follow. From now on, all of you will be able to retrieve that arrow as Ping has done. If you cannot, you will be sent home to your families in disgrace, unworthy of the Chinese Imperial Army. I hope you will find new respect for your comrade Ping."

Yesterday, Ping had given Shang fits, today he gave Shang new hope.

~ * ~

Ping's triumph spawned a new confidence among Shang's troops, a turning point of sorts. The next morning when Shang faced them in formation he could not help but notice his men had mastered the physical discipline that made a soldier's bearing. They stood straighter, wore their clothes neater, took some pride in themselves. After that, they complained less during the practices, boasted over what they accomplished and became enthusiastic in bettering their comrades. Shang felt for once that he really was in the command of soldiers, not just grumbling conscripts in sloppy uniforms.

During that week, it was Ping who stole most of his attention. Ping seemed to take a special thrill in proving him wrong, flashing Shang a smug grin every time he succeeded at something that had given him trouble before.

They entered a contest of wills. Whatever he could do, Ping could do better. It began with
simple things, like Ping having to be in the lead in the morning run, which demanded Shang be the first to disarm him in a sparring match, as a matter of revenge. They became engrossed in it, their little game, until Shang found himself thinking up new challenges for his men just to see how Ping would match up against him. They never spoke much, outside of practice, but Shang found his thoughts occupied with Ping, so much that his fixation on the girl in the water began to fade. It was mere annoyance, Shang dismissed it, he was too used to being unrivaled and superior at every task in camp, his pride could not suffer the rise of an equal. An officer was supposed to dream of training men to be even better than he, but with this rag-tag troop that goal had seemed so unattainable the reality was hard to swallow. It was that, and nothing more. In a few days, his obsession with Ping would subside. It wasn't as if he were... as if he were in love with the boy.

"Sir!" A voice called for him as he stepped out of his tent that afternoon. Shielding his eyes from the sunlight, Shang spotted Ping running towards him from across the field, as energetic and enthusiastic as ever. He paused in front of Shang, gazing up at him with those bright eyes, standing no higher than his shoulder. He was so little, so slight, but so vibrant. "I've been practicing again, those Shaolin moves you taught us, I think if I ever met Shan-yu face to face I could take him. I'd use a couple good kicks to make him regret ever invading my country."

Shang stared at him, this diminutive boy with his childlike energy, dreaming of glory no doubt. Ambition, not the mark of a soldier, but of a leader. "How old are you Ping?" he asked thoughtfully. There was nothing so strange about showing interest in the lives of his men.

"Seventeen," the boy declared proudly.

"Seventeen," Shang nodded inwardly, five years younger than he was. "Alright then, Ping." Stepping forward, he shed his robe with a shift of his shoulders, wondering briefly why Ping never did the same. The boy only stood there, but his face had changed, eyes widening as if amazed by something. "A little simulated combat, if you will. Let us pretend that I'm Shan-yu, we'll see if you can defeat me."

That rosy mouth curved into a mischievous smile, rounding his cheeks like spring peaches. "Sir, I will show you no mercy." A flutter of something stung the pit of Shang's stomach, the words were flirtatious, the smile open. He wanted to ask Ping to say those words again.

Dropping into a fighting crouch, Shang advanced on Ping. Stretching his hands in combat formation, directing his energy there. He went for a chop to Ping's breast, a trusty place to direct the force of a blow. Ping's reflexes took over fiercely, as if he thought Shang meant him serious harm, dropping to the ground on one hand, swinging both legs to knock Shang back with a kick. He did not loose his footing though and caught Ping's knee, turning him face down on the grass and pouncing on his back.

"You need a little more practice, Ping," he mumbled into the boy's ear. "If I was really Shan-yu your neck would have been broken by now."

Breathing heavily, Ping's lower body squirmed under the weight of Shang's knees. "If you were really Shan-yu, sir, I wouldn't lie here and take it."

Ping may have been tiny, but by now he had learned the focus to find advantage and strength, becoming a formidable opponent. Reaching behind him, he gripped Shang's waist, thrusting his body to push both of them up on their knees.

"Faster, Ping," Shang chided. "I could have killed you by now."

Wrapping one arm around Ping's neck and other around his chest, Shang meant to throw the boy to the ground again. But his opponent had something else in mind. He delivered a hard kick to Shang's side with his right foot, the impact breaking Shang's grip, wrenching around in the captain's hold to shove his knee into Shang's chin and scramble to his feet.

"Well I'm still alive!" Ping declared proudly.

Not willing to give, Shang quickly rose, advancing again in a high speed progression of kicks and blows, a lethal dance across the grass, both of them masterful at the blocks and turns. After a few vigorous moves, Shang seized an opening, hooking one arm around Ping's middle, driving his foot into Ping's instep to throw him off balance, falling light and fragile like a girl in Shang's arms.

Shang chuckled. "Don't start boasting yet."

Ping groaned as his back hit the ground, even with Shang to soften the blow. The scrawny soldier quickly twisted around under Shang's grasp, one bent knee gripping Shang's hip for leverage as he tried to pin him down. Not about to concede, Shang flipped him over easily, both of them flailing arms and legs to hold the other down, Ping stubbornly refusing to give up.

"Oh, come, sir," his opponent panted, turning his head. "You know you'd be disappointed in me if I gave up so easily." It was true, Shang was half provoking the fight. "Tell me I'm good, sir," he pressed playfully, enjoying the struggle. "Tell me I'm a worthy opponent."

Shang closed his eyes, his blood rushing faster as he became more aware of the writhing figure beneath him, entangled in his limbs, thighs pressing his. So small and energetic, wriggling under him as tirelessly as a courtesan with bound feet. He stopped himself, cheek against Ping's collarbone, the boy's heartbeat as heightened as his. The taste of soft skin permeated his memory, faintly salty yet tantalizingly sweet. His hand reached up involuntarily, stroking a lazy finger down Ping's cheek. The boy stilled under his hand, eyes filled with warmth as he gazed back at Shang, as if he could sense the memory in him and the lingering sense of loss. But there was more to that look, a spark of something, a kind of admiration but much more.

In another moment Shang recovered himself, the only thing he could do rather than allow himself to become openly aroused pressed so close to the boy. He stood up quickly to declare himself the winner.

"Give up, Ping," he prompted, but with a slight reluctance.

Instead of answering, Ping jumped to his feet as well, leaping in the air to land a kick to Shang's jaw, laughing as the captain fell back on the ground.

Shang swore, rubbing his jaw, but he managed a smile. "Don't be so smug, Ping, I'll have my revenge. One of these days I'll demand a rematch, and then I'll tell you if you're worthy or not."

Ping was beaming. "Alright, sir, but next time I won't let you off so easy."

Sitting up, Shang drew in a deep breath, the feel of that small body lingering. He found himself looking forward to the match for the wrong reason. It was no shame to feel desire for a boy, so it would seem from the behavior of the wealthy men that had surrounded him all his life. But it was something Shang had never imagined himself feeling, something he was not quite sure he could live with. He did not want a boy, he wanted the girl in the water.

~ * ~

"You think your troops are ready to fight?" Chi Fu squawked incredulously the next evening, pacing and gesticulating with his brush. "They wouldn't last a minute against the Huns!"

Shang cringed, but tried his best to endure it. If bullying him around was the only control the other man had in his life then so be it. He was pathetic anyway, everyone despised him, most of all Shang. One day though, Shang's patience with him would reach its limit.

"They completed their training," Shang insisted as patiently as he could. The truth was, he was worried. The men had been complaining for the past two days, three and half weeks had gone by now and still they were in camp. Any good commander knew that morale was the secret to a victorious army, an army untied in purpose and confidence. Shang was afraid keeping them here much longer would hurt that newfound morale, causing everything to fall apart. When morale feel he would lose discipline, and without discipline how could his men have any skill? He did not explain this to Chi Fu of course, Chi Fu had not read the military books and would not understand. He was a political man who understood nothing of honor or glory, only how to curry favor and gain for himself. Shang had promised his men that honor, the chance to defend their country and their families.

Chi Fu only scoffed, scratching something on the page irritably. "Those boys are no more fit to be soldiers than you are to be Captain. Once the general reads my report, your troops will never see battle."

The words hurt, no matter how he tried to tell himself that the man was a fool. Chi Fu knew those words would hurt him, he wouldn't have said them otherwise. He was that kind of man, not a man at all.

"We're not finished," Shang rose, a threat in his eyes as he stalked over and grabbed the other man's tablet in his rage.

Their eyes locked, Shang could spy the spark of fear. It calmed, pleased him to see it.

Prying Shang's fingers away, Chi Fu dropped his eyes, feigning a haughtiness that was really poorly masked cowardice. "Be careful, Captain," he warned firmly. "The General may be your father, but I am the Emperor's Council. You are dismissed." He gave a final flourish of his brush.

Storming out of the tent, Shang was still seething inside when he came face to face with Ping. He was so blinded by his rage that he would have strode right past the boy had Ping not spoken.

"Hey!" Ping called to him roughly. "You hold him and I'll punch."

Under his anger, Shang wondered if Ping had been drinking. What kind of naive and ridiculous idea was that? Shaking it off he brushed right past him, too nettled for conversation. But as he turned to walk away, the voice that followed him was not Ping's.

"For what it's worth, I think you're a great captain."

He stopped, completely frozen for a long moment. That voice, a woman's voice, he knew it so well. That voice had murmured in his ear for two weeks now in his dreams, pulling him into sleep willingly. It was the voice of that girl.

A strong sense of apprehension took hold of him, eyes darting left and right to be certain no one was around, no one to hear and recognize the words of a woman, especially Chi Fu. He felt trapped, powerless, as if his secret in the river had been exposed to the whole world, as if any chance passerby could read the memory simply by watching his face. He wanted to hide, hide from Ping, to bury this secret where no one could find it.

Was he dreaming? Only Ping stood there when he turned around, small and innocent as he smiled at him. That precious silver voice had come from Ping? He half smiled back, of all things, smiling became reflex in response to that voice. Things began to make sense, the strangeness surrounding Ping, the determination to not be sent home, that amorous look when they had sparred last days ago, the ache in his heart when he thought Ping had gone home.

Ping was a girl. In that cautious look back, Shang could not help but imagine Ping without the soldier's uniform, hair falling freely, small body arching for him in the moonlight, eyes demanding more and more. He could feel her biting down on his shoulder, bare breasts brushing his chest. He had been pleasuring Ping. Of course it was Ping, that same inexperienced determination, the sensual curiosity that was more stirring than any seasoned courtesan. It had been her first time clearly, but she seemed to know what she doing without trying at all.

He wanted to turn back to Ping, to force him - her - to confirm the truth, unsure of whether he was afraid, delighted or angry. But he could not do that, not yet. Not until... what? he met her in the river again? That was a vague hope he dared allow himself as he walked away. Maybe she would realize her carelessness tonight and come forward to confess to him, She had to, it was a matter of honor.

~ * ~