Disney Princess Beginnings Read online

  Copyright © 2020 Disney Enterprises, Inc. All rights reserved. Published by Disney Press, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney Press, 1200 Grand Central Avenue, Glendale, California 91201.

  Book design by Maureen Mulligan

  Cover design by Maureen Mulligan

  ISBN 978-1-368-02101-2

  Visit disneybooks.com

  For Myna

  —T.R.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: A Little Excitement

  Chapter 2: The Matchmaker

  Chapter 3: Tea and Sympathy

  Chapter 4: A Rice Makeover

  Chapter 5: Ying’s Secret

  Chapter 6: The Idea

  Chapter 7: A New Lesson

  Chapter 8: Another Side of Ying

  Chapter 9: Becoming a Team

  Chapter 10: The Competition

  Author’s Note

  On the first day of school, Mulan woke up before the sun. This was not unusual, as Mulan always rose before dawn—she had to in order to complete her chores before breakfast. But this morning felt different. Today she was full of energy, as if everything in front of her were a challenge she couldn’t wait to conquer. She wasn’t just finishing chores before the sun rose—she was racing the sun, determined to move faster than the light could streak through the sky.

  Mulan fed Little Brother, who barked in appreciation. “I’ll have all sorts of stories to tell you later,” she told her dog. In the chicken coop, Mulan scattered feed on the ground, dreaming about what the day might have in store: Would she learn math today? Writing? She gathered up eggs from the coop: One, two, three, she counted as the hens waddled toward their breakfast. She balanced the eggs carefully in her arms as she ran back toward her house, across the moon bridge, and over the pond.

  Mulan skipped over the last few garden stones and leaped up the steps of her house into the kitchen, almost tripping over Little Brother. One of the eggs flew out from where she was clutching it against her robe, but she swooped down and caught it with her left hand before it cracked on the ground.

  Mulan looked up to see her mother pouring tea for Grandmother Fa, who was seated at the table. Both women were laughing as they watched Mulan.

  “Are you trying to ruin an old lady’s breakfast, Mulan?” Grandmother Fa asked. Mulan’s mother set down the teapot and took the eggs, cradling them more gently than Mulan had.

  “Never, Grandmother. I haven’t broken an egg yet, have I?” Mulan joined her at the table.

  “I do sometimes wonder how that’s possible,” her mother said, shaking her head as she prepared breakfast.

  “I’m challenging myself.” Mulan grinned. “Father is always saying we should challenge ourselves. That’s how we learn.”

  “If your father were here,” her mother said, “I think he would add that challenging yourself can mean more than jumping across ponds and leaping high fences.”

  “And playing catch with our breakfast!” Grandmother Fa smiled over her tea.

  “But Father is away fighting in the war, and we haven’t heard from him in more than a month,” Mulan said, a little sadly.

  “Your father may not be sitting at this table, but his honor is still here. All of his lessons, in one way or another, lead back to honoring yourself, and honoring your family,” her grandmother said.

  Mulan always wanted to honor her brave father. She perked up. “Maybe going to school today will help me understand Father’s lessons better. And I’ll learn even more to show him when he returns!”

  Grandmother Fa and Mulan’s mother exchanged a look. The room was quiet for a few moments as they all sat down to eat.

  “Mulan,” her mother said finally. Mulan looked up from her breakfast. “Remember that this may not be the kind of school you are expecting. You will learn things—important things. But they won’t be the same things your father learned. It won’t be quite like the school the boys attend. And the lessons are only for six weeks.”

  Mulan knew this. Her mother and grandmother had been cautioning her about it ever since they announced that Mulan would start attending a class with the other village girls.

  “I know, Mother,” Mulan said. “But I can still be excited, can’t I?”

  “Yes,” her mother replied. She squeezed her daughter’s hand. “You certainly can.”

  Her grandmother winked. “A little excitement never hurts.”

  After breakfast, Mulan’s mother and grandmother escorted Mulan from their home to the village. Mulan’s village was small enough that she knew most of the people, but she didn’t know everyone. She was often busy at home doing chores and spending time with her family, so she did not go into the village every day.

  When she did have a chance to venture out, she loved seeing the sights of the world beyond her home’s walls. Stalls sold fresh fish brought in on carts from the neighboring town. Ladies walked around with baskets, buying food for their families. Usually, most exciting of all was catching a glimpse of the village schoolhouse and the small parade of students entering for lessons. Today, for once, Mulan was focused on what she would be learning when she walked into school, rather than on what the boys would be learning.

  But to her surprise, her mother and grandmother led her past the school and through the village to a house, where they stopped outside the gate. Mulan knew this house. Mei, a girl just one year older than Mulan, lived there. It was one of the largest homes in the village, though Mulan had never been inside.

  Mulan gave her mother a confused look.

  “I told you, Mulan. It’s a different kind of school,” her mother said.

  “But…” Mulan glanced back toward the schoolhouse, seeing the last of the boys trickle through the door.

  Grandmother Fa placed a hand on her back as though she could sense Mulan’s concern. “You will be learning here.”

  Mulan took a breath and nodded. What did it matter where she learned? She would be a student. Here.

  And then another sight made her heart lift. Her friend Na was walking up the path, alongside her mother. Mulan waved. She felt better already, knowing she would have a friend. As Na’s mother greeted Mulan’s mother and grandmother, suddenly Mulan couldn’t wait to go inside.

  “Ready?” Mulan asked Na.

  “If you are!” Na said.

  The group opened the gate and walked through the courtyard of Mei’s house. It was larger than the courtyard at Mulan’s home, though it, too, had a temple, a pond, a moon bridge, and rising beyond it all, the family home.

  The girls were led inside the main house and into a large room. Seated on woven mats on the floor were Mei and another girl her age named Chen. Mulan also saw two other girls whom she didn’t know well, Ying and Jin. There was no teacher there yet.

  Mulan turned back to the door. Her mother and grandmother smiled, their faces encouraging. Mulan felt the first small flutter of nerves in her throat, but she wanted to be brave. She waved goodbye, and they left with Na’s mother. The six girls were alone.

  Mulan, now seated next to Na, examined the room properly for the first time. The girls faced a table with a collection of objects on top. There were a few teapots. A bag of rice next to a small bowl of cooked rice. Several pieces of paper, which Mulan was itching to touch. She’d never had the chance to learn to write. She closed her eyes, imagining what it might feel like to be the one who let ink flow onto paper. When she opened them, she s
potted something else on the table that made her heart thump harder.

  “Na, look—an abacus!” When her father was home, Mulan loved watching him slide beads around the contraption as he used it to solve math problems.

  “Oh,” Na breathed. “We’ll get to learn math!”

  “I can’t wait,” Mulan said, grinning. “And did you see the paper? I’ll bet we learn writing, too!”

  “What kind of lessons do you suppose could come from the teapots?” Na asked.

  Mulan was about to suggest that perhaps the teapots and the rice were set out for lunch when a soft breeze ruffled the hair on her neck. A woman entered the room. Her face was powdered white. Her lips were pursed tightly together and colored with bright red paint. Her hair was piled high on top of her head. Her arms crossed inside the sleeves of her robe so her hands were hidden. The buzz of excitement in the air vanished as the woman took her place behind the table in front of the girls. Her figure was slight, but considering the look of steel on her face, Mulan had a feeling this woman would be a match for any of the village’s toughest warriors. When she opened her mouth to speak, the words that came out were not what Mulan had expected.

  “Greetings, girls. I am your matchmaker.”

  The buzz in the room was back. The girls whispered to each other.

  “A matchmaker?” Mulan asked Na under her breath.

  “Already?” Na was interrupted by a sharp rap on the front table.

  “Silence!” the matchmaker demanded.

  The six girls halted their conversations and sat up straight.

  “I see that manners are something we will need to work on,” the matchmaker said, frowning. She moved her eyes from Mulan, to Na, to the rest of the girls, one by one. The quiet in the room made Mulan uncomfortable. As if she might be making a mistake by breathing.

  Finally, the matchmaker continued. “Do you all know what a matchmaker does?”

  The girls looked at each other, nervous.

  “Well?” the woman asked.

  Mulan spoke, anxious to break the silence. “A matchmaker comes to the village and—”

  The matchmaker put a finger to her lips. Mulan stopped talking. “What is your name, child?”

  “Mulan.”

  “Mulan, you will raise your hand when you’d like to speak and wait until I call on you. It is impolite for a girl to speak unless she is asked to do so.”

  Mulan slumped down, her face warm.

  “Yes?” The matchmaker gestured toward the back of the room. Ying had her arm raised.

  “A matchmaker’s duty is to evaluate a potential bride, judge her family and skills, and find her a suitable husband,” Ying said clearly and confidently.

  “One could say a matchmaker’s duty is to find a suitable wife for a groom,” the matchmaker said. “But that will do.”

  Ying lowered her arm, a small smirk on her face. Mulan felt even worse now for missing her first chance to impress the matchmaker. Ying’s answer was the one Mulan had been planning to give before the matchmaker silenced her.

  “And that is why I’m here. In recent years, I’ve found that in many villages, potential brides are nowhere near where they ought to be in terms of household skills, culture, and education.” The matchmaker paused, fanning her face. “A matchmaker is only as good as the matches she makes.”

  She snapped her fan shut and pointed it at the girls. “So we are starting when you are young. Even though you are not yet of matchmaking age, and won’t be for several years, now is the time you are most impressionable. Now is the time to begin your training. I don’t know what kind of education you are getting at home, but here, you will learn everything you need to know.”

  The room stayed quiet. But Mulan could sense a bit of the excitement returning. They were going to learn after all! Mulan was suspicious, though, of the last bit the matchmaker had said: it sounded like she was doubting the education the girls were getting at home from their families. Mulan had learned a great deal from her parents and grandmother. She could take care of the farm, she could prepare tea and some meals, and she even—when her parents weren’t watching—liked to imitate her father’s punching technique, using a bag of leaves for practice.

  “By the end of our six weeks together,” the matchmaker said, “you will be more elegant, more polite, and more knowledgeable. And when you’re old enough to marry, the most elegant, the most polite, and the most knowledgeable among you…that’s who will get the best match of all.”

  Mulan raised her hand.

  “Yes?” The matchmaker pointed at her.

  Mulan gulped. All heads turned in her direction. “Matchmaker, what makes a match the best?”

  The matchmaker snorted. “Why, the best match is a husband with the greatest wealth and the highest status, of course.” She picked up a bowl of rice from the table and then noticed Mulan’s hand was raised again. “You have another question?”

  Mulan continued. “But what if…even though the groom has the most money…what if I don’t think he’s the best match? What if he’s not nice? Or what if he isn’t brave?”

  The matchmaker set the bowl down and narrowed her eyes at Mulan.

  “It is not about nice, child. It is about what will bring you, your village, and your family the most honor. Does that matter to you?”

  Mulan nodded.

  “Honor is more important than…nice, are we agreed?” the matchmaker asked.

  Mulan nodded even harder. She couldn’t imagine not bringing honor to her family.

  “Then you will have a chance to prove this. At the end of our lessons, we will have a competition in which you will demonstrate the skills you’ve learned,” the matchmaker said. “And the one whom I deem most accomplished will gain extra favor, which will give her a leg up when it is time to make her match in a few years.”

  Mulan bit her lip. She had a feeling she would need all the extra favor she could get with this matchmaker.

  “You will need to pay very close attention. For some of you, these skills will come naturally, and for others…well, unfortunately, they won’t,” the matchmaker said as she picked up the bowl again.

  Mulan scowled. So what if she didn’t know something naturally? She knew how to work hard. And she bet the other girls in the class did, too.

  “Our first lesson,” the matchmaker said, holding up the bowl, “is something you will be doing day after day. Cooking the perfect bowl of rice.”

  Panic struck Mulan’s heart. To her right, Na looked just as fearful. Perfect? Mulan had watched her grandmother and mother make rice every day for most of her life, but she’d never tried it all by herself! “Do you know how to make perfect rice?” Mulan asked Na, leaning close to her.

  Na shook her head. “No! Do you?”

  “In silence.” The matchmaker glared at Mulan and Na.

  Mulan and Na pulled away from each other reluctantly and stood in line with the rest of the girls to get their supplies: bowls, a small portion of rice, and a kettle of water.

  One of Mei’s family attendants came in to start the fire, and the girls took turns boiling their water and beginning their rice. Mulan wished she could chat with Na about the steps she was taking. And she was bothered by the fact that this didn’t seem to be much of a lesson at all, but rather a test. Wouldn’t she be more likely to make perfect rice if the matchmaker had provided them with instructions?

  Finally, Mulan took the lid off her rice. She tasted it, hoping that was allowed. It wasn’t the worst rice she’d ever had. It certainly wasn’t perfect, though. It had an equal balance of mushy, overcooked rice grains along with hard, slightly crunchy ones. But there were plenty of grains that felt just right on her tongue. She decided it was a success, all things considered.

  “We will now taste the rice together,” the matchmaker announced. Luckily, she hadn’t noticed that Mulan had already snuck a bite. The matchmaker tasted rice from each bowl, and then let the girls taste them all, too. Na’s rice was slightly better than Mulan�
�s—mostly cooked well, but it definitely still had a few crunchy bits. Chen’s and Jin’s rice was about the same. Mei’s rice, however, was so overcooked it was hard to see the individual grains at all.

  Ying’s bowl was the last to be tasted. Once Mulan had a bite, it was clear that this was perfect rice. Until she’d tasted Ying’s rice, Mulan hadn’t even realized that her own mother and grandmother weren’t making perfect rice!

  The matchmaker knew this bowl was perfect, too. “Very good,” she said. Mulan thought she saw a hint of a smile on the woman’s face. Ying gave another smirk of satisfaction.

  Mulan sat back down on her mat and peeked over at Ying. She would be the one to beat in the matchmaker’s lessons if Mulan wanted to make the best match and, in turn, bring the most honor to her family.

  Mulan entered the courtyard of her home, passing through the moon gate and into the kitchen where her mother and grandmother were waiting, sipping tea. Little Brother greeted her by sticking his cold nose in her hand.

  “Granddaughter!” Grandmother Fa put down her tea and patted the mat next to her. “Come, tell us all about it.”

  Mulan sat down and gratefully accepted the tea her mother poured. “School was…interesting.”

  “Interesting?” Her grandmother clucked her tongue. “After the way you jumped around this morning, you’ll have to tell us more than that.”

  Mulan gulped her tea and felt the hot liquid coat her throat. She imagined it was fire, filling her up and making her strong. “We made rice.”

  “That’s not something you’ve done on your own yet,” her mother said. “Aren’t you pleased that you’re already learning something new?”

  “Well, the matchmaker didn’t exactly teach us how to make rice,” Mulan said. “She watched us and judged us on making rice.”

  Grandmother Fa chuckled. “Sounds like your matchmaker isn’t much easier on you than mine was.”