milothatchspeaking:

Milo had known since the start that the museum letting him come on the China trip was just another effort of the board to get his mind off Atlantis. That, and Milo knew Chinese better than most of the other people on the expedition. Either way, Milo had always found Eastern cultures fascinating, and he was actually quite excited to go—to feel a part of something for once in his life, to prove his worth.

Of course, the whole proving-his-worth thing hadn’t wound up going as well as he’d hoped. The others on the expedition mostly ignored Milo’s existence, simply acknowledging him with nods whenever he tried to talk to them. In fact, other than acting as a translator, Milo hadn’t done much, and it didn’t quite sit right with him. Also, Milo got this odd feeling that no one else on the trip appreciated his impromptu discussions on Chinese history and literature. He couldn’t imagine why, as, to him, at least, it was absolutely fascinating. But he didn’t want to bother the others, so he simply followed them like a rather talkative lost puppy, hoping he’d get the chance to prove himself soon.

The time they’d been alloted for this expedition before returning to America was running short. Milo was still convinced they’d be able to find the stash of ancient Chinese pottery they’d been looking for, but the others weren’t so sure, and it was finally beginning to dawn on Milo that his enthusiasm might be bothersome to the others.

Time may have been running out, but Milo was determind, and also foolish. He’d left camp early that morning, maps and papers in his satchel, to scout ahead for some evidence that they were on the right track, hoping that he might be able to find some sort of clue on his own. However, Milo had forgotten a big camping rule his grandfather had attempted to force into his head—always make sure you have a way to know where you came from! Milo hadn’t marked his path, and had somehow gotten turned around and around in circles. He wasn’t sure exactly where he was in relation to the camp anymore, the sun was rising quickly, and Milo was beginning to panic. His map wasn’t making any sense, his compass was little help, and Milo finally admitted a couple of hours after he’d set out that he was completely lost.

Milo stumbled ahead as bravely as he could, trying to hold a map, a compass, and a notebook and read all of them at the same time, hoping against hope that he’d be able to find a village, or someone—anyone—to help.

By noon, Mulan could feel sweat trickling down her back even under the shade of the stall cloth stretched over the table.  She twitched self-consciously, although she knew that nobody would be able to see her perspiration under layers of green and blue.  In fact, if Mama had been present, she might have scolded the young woman for twitching at all.  A woman should appear poised and serene, and if she was genuinely sweating, she would do best not to admit it - this, of course, was completely ignored when Mulan was at work in the Hua fields.  

But Hua Li was nowhere in sight, which was exactly the point.  Emboldened, Mulan would twitch if she chose.  And she did, shifting her shoulders carefully under her clothes and grimacing.  She wouldn’t go as far as to swat a hand irritably at beads of sweat that ran down her ribcage - but even if she had, everybody was too focused on the game of xiàngqí to notice.  Forgetting her discomfort, Mulan leaned back forward, resting her cheek on her hand.  

Luò seemed about to lose this time - most of his pieces were captured, and anyways his general was left with only one shì piece to defend it from Gāng’s chariot and a handful of bīng soldiers.  The problem - as Mulan saw it - was that if the black shì piece moved to capture the chariot (an obvious move), how would the general defend himself from the soldiers?  Alternately Luò might use an elephant to capture a soldier, but would he have another chance to defend his general directly?  Gāng was undoubtedly the better player, which is why it was Luò’s strategy which she wanted to understand and, in her mind, fix.  When she got home, she might ask Baba for a game and display her new techniques; but as of late, Mulan had an uncomfortable feeling that her father had always allowed her to win.  She wasn’t sure she wanted to know whether or not it was really true.

And then she saw it.  Luò could easily use his last cannon, across the river, to check Gāng’s general!  He would not win immediately, but Gāng would have to move to counteract this and that would give Luò a little more time to defend his position.  A slow smile spread across her face.

“I wouldn’t be smiling like that if I were you,” said Gāng, a little sulkily.  At first she frowned at him, puzzled.  How could he have read her thoughts?  But then Gāng winked and added, “There’s your mama right now.  I thought she told you to stay away?”

“She did,” muttered Mulan, rising and crouching a little to hide behind the small crowd gathered to watch the game.  Li was across the square, all right.  Though she would have had many of her packages delivered to the family compound, it was clear that she’d been on a round of errands.  Errands Mulan was supposed to have accompanied her on.  If it had been a matter of Mama needing help to carry things, Mulan would have gone along without a word of protest; but she knew that her mother was just trying to set a good example of how a well-bred young woman should place her orders…and how she should not be the only, conspicuous girl watching a game played by men.  But Mulan was capable of doing the errands just as she was.  

So as not to attract her mother’s attention, Mulan moved very slowly towards the corner of the apothecary’s shop.  Then, her tied-back hair thudding between her shoulder blades, the young woman darted quickly around the side of the building into a side street and crashed right into somebody, emitting a startled yelp.  "Duìbuqǐ,“ she gasped, blinking up at the eccentric-looking man.  "I wasn’t paying attention.”