Fa Mu Lan was seven years old the day the bird came. It soared over the field as she worked, and settled at her window when she was through. It watched as she got into bed, and it was there again (or still) when she awoke at dawn the next day.

It was nearly dark by the time Fa Mu Lan reached the cabin near the summit of the mountain. Her shoes had been torn to shreds by the brambles as she climbed after the bird, and her hands and knees were scraped and bloody from scrambling over the rocks of the mountainface. An old womand the door. "Are you hungry?" she asked.

Of course, Fa Mu Lan was starving, having not eaten anything since the day before, but one did not burden strangers with such things. "No, thank you, I am quite alright." An old man joined the woman standing in the doorway of the cabin. He carried a gourd that had been hollowed out and filled with water.

"We were just about to sit down to dinner," the old man began. "Won't you please join us?" Fa Mu Lan crossed over the threshold into the cabin. The walls were carved out of the face of the mountain, and the floor was covered in dried pine needles. Fa Mu Lan kicked up puffs of dust as she walked towards the table, but the old couple moved so lightly, they did not disturb a single needle.

Fa Mu Lan drank some of the water offered to her, but ate only a tiny bit of the rice and berries, for she did not wish to be rude. After the meal, the old man guided her to a corner of the cabin while the old woman began to clean up from the meal. Fa Mu Lan offered to help, but the old woman did not reply.

"This is where you will sleep," said the old man, pointing to a small cot, just wide enough for a little girl's body, that seemed to hang off the edge of the mountain. "Don't roll over in your sleep, or you will fall off the mountain." As she drifted off to sleep, the old man pulled a cord that rolled up the roof, so the light of the stars shone down into the cabin.

She barely slept at all that night, afraid of falling in her sleep. As she awoke, the old woman greeted her to a breakfast of fresh herbs and berries, and said, " Girl, you have been with us for a day and a night - do you think you could stay for fifteen years?"

Fa Mu Lan, who was but seven years old at the time, and did not wish to be rude, answered, "I wish to see my parents." The old man brought his water gourd over to where she sat, and lifted the top off by the stem. The water filled the gourd to the brim, and when the old man swirled the water widdershins around the rim with his index finger, a little sloshed over the side. When the water settled, Fa Mu Lan saw not her own reflection in the water, but instead an image of her parents, staring up into the sky.

"I did not think they would call her so soon," said her mother, staring off at the mountain. "I thought we would have a few more years, at least." The water in the gourd shimmered again, and her parents were gone, replaced by the walls of the cabin, the old couple, and Fa Mu Lan's own reflection. The old man poured some of the water into her cup, then recapped the gourd.

Over the years Fa Mu Lan gazed into the gourd on occasion to see how her family progressed; she watched as the brigands came and took more food than the village could afford to lose, and she watched when her parents celebrated her own marriage, in spirit, to a groom who happened to be a childhood playmate of Fa Mu Lan's. She watched the bandits and armies come through, conscripting the sons and husbands of the village, and she watched, after fifteen years, as her father was ordered to fight.

Fa Mu Lan spent the first six years of her training watching the animals, and learing from them. She could stand so still that birds would alight on her outstretched hands, and she had such control that she could relax her hand underneath them and give them no perch from which to take off.

During the fifth year, when the bleeding started, the old woman took her sliding down the mountain into an area she did not know. "Though it has only taken us a few moments to get here, it will take you many days to get back. This is a natural part of your body, for you are a woman now; your life does not pause, and neither does your training." With that, she sped off into the thicket and disappeared from view.

Fa Mu Lan began her return cautiously, stopping periodically to collect nuts and berries from the hiding places she had learned from the squirrels when the plants did not yield them. After three days she felt more confident - the food plentiful, the fuel for her fires all around, she did not burden herself with carrying it. She ran with the speed she had learned from the stag, until after several more days, she reached a place where the plants did not grow. For more days than she could count, Fa Mu Lan ate nothing, drinking only the snow that she could melt over her fire each night.

When she saw the image of her father and the captain in the gourd after so many years of training, Fa Mu Lan finally understood for what reason she had endured. She thought of her village, her family, her husband, and of that journey when she was twelve that had tought her what the animals could not. "I will fight in his place," Fa Mu Lan announced, and the old couple both nodded silently.

They gave her some supplies, including a man's clothes and a man's armour and sword, which, when she tied her hair back, made her appear to be a man. It was sunny the day she descended from the mountain, and she was greeted by villagers she had not seen in all her years at the summit. A banquet was prepared as befitted a son returning from war, and though one did not show such thingsy, her parents could barely contain their happiness.

The next day, as she prepared to embark on her journey, the village gave to Fa Mu Lan the greatest presents they had left to give - their sons. Sons and husbands and fathers they had hidden from the armies and the brigands, they now gave freely to Fa Mu Lan. She dressed herself, girded on her armour and sword, and when the brigands came to collect her father, she and the sons of the village went with them instead.

Several nights later, she sat silently on the top of a hill overlooking the bandits' encampment. Using the clarity of vision she learned from the eagle, Fa Mu Lan watched the leader in his tent. She watched as his men left him alone, and he began to greedily count his spoils.

She walked with the stealth of the fox through the darkness towards his tent. She entered through thetentflap, and as she closed it noisily behind her, he said, without looking up, "Go back and wait by the fire. You'll have your share soon enough."

The other brigands, most of whom had been taken from their own villages, saw the leader's head in her hands, and knew they were free. The others, those who remained loyal to their fallen leader, suffered his fate. And the army pledged themselves to Fa Mu Lan.

One night, as Fa Mu Lan and her army continued their march to the capital, a man came into her tent. It was her husband, whom she had not seen since the day they were married while she herself was still on the mountain. He told her that the story of her army had spread far and wide, and peasants throughout the countryside were anxious for this band of brave men to liberate them from the tyrant.

Her armour had plenty of room, so when Fa Mu Lan became pregnant, her swollen belly remained hidden. She even constructed a special sling that she wore under her breastplate in which she carried her baby son until, the Capital only a week's ride away, she sent the baby to the care of her husband's parents.

And she returned to them, when the emperor was dead, to take her place with them as wife and mother. She served her husband and his parents faithfully, and her son grew up strong and wise, like his mother.

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