Chapter Twenty-Seven: Friends

On the day of the ball, after being ravaged by storms for quite some time, Valentine finally welcomed the long-awaited sunshine.

The person Sir Walton had said would come looking for Mulan still hadn’t appeared, so Mulan had no choice but to limit unnecessary outings. Even when he had to go out, he always brought those dolls along with him.

During this period, Mulan visited the cathedral frequently, mostly the one where Priest Ivan served. Ivan remained as warm as ever towards Mulan, as if Walton’s appearance had not affected him in the slightest, and the two had truly begun to grow familiar with each other.

Curiously, Ivan seemed not to notice the dolls Mulan kept tucked in his clothes, and within the cathedral, the dolls behaved like ordinary toys—motionless and silent.

Mulan had also visited another cathedral in the city. The priest there appeared to be just an ordinary man, or perhaps Mulan simply hadn’t sensed anything special about him. Yet being inside the cathedral did have a calming effect on Mulan’s mind, which forced him to acknowledge the reality of the so-called “God.”

Believing himself already chosen by Walton for some unusual task, Mulan decided against joining the Valentine police force as Leo had suggested. Instead, he kept to a regular routine and exercised while waiting—well, sleeping in regularly counted as a routine, too.

Today, Mulan put on his most presentable attire. Admittedly, it was the same outfit he’d worn when running errands for Walton before, but since the mud in many districts of Valentine had been cleared away, he didn’t wear his military boots, but instead donned a pair of ordinary leather shoes that Old Buck had polished to a mirror shine.

As a gentleman of appearances, Mulan naturally brought along a cane. And as a retired soldier who still possessed some courage, it was only reasonable that he carried a firearm as well.

Old Buck had discovered the revolver while helping Mulan straighten his clothes, but Mulan had explained it away, and Old Buck merely advised caution rather than insisting he leave the weapon behind for the ball.

Though many years had passed, the Jonest family still prided itself as a noble line of knights, valuing martial prowess above all. It was perfectly normal for a Jonest to be armed; in the days of the Old Kingdom, they’d had the right to wear swords in the king’s presence—let alone a count.

Sometimes Mulan felt the Jonest family was living in the faded glory of generations past, but he had to admit that this pride was also what drove the family’s relentless struggle.

Alas, the more they struggled, the further they seemed to fall.

Top hat, coat, leather shoes, cane, and white gloves, with his hair carefully combed—Mulan had to admit, as he stepped out of the house, that he truly looked the part of a nobleman.

Since it was a birthday party, he ought to bring a gift. Unable to find anything suitable, he simply wrapped up a box of Old Buck’s finest homemade biscuits. The gift might be simple, but it was heartfelt—and, being edible, much better than many flashy but useless presents.

The weather was fine, and the streets were especially crowded. After a dreamless, restful night, Mulan felt more energetic than usual. He woke up before lunch on his own, and even the dark circles under his eyes had faded, so he walked with a spring in his step.

A whistle rang out. Mulan turned his head slightly to the left and saw a girl approaching. Her outfit was quite unconventional—not like the beautiful dresses worn by young ladies, nor the work clothes of ordinary folk. She wore riding breeches, tall boots, a long overcoat, and even a gentleman’s hat, though her long hair flowed freely behind her.

Mulan’s eyes lit up. The outfit may have been strange, but it suited her well.

Passersby glanced repeatedly at the girl, some even whispering about her, but she seemed perfectly at ease. Her carefree whistle made it clear she didn’t care at all about others’ opinions.

That sense of freedom was infectious. Mulan felt the girl seemed more like someone from the twenty-first century than a woman of this era.

The girl’s whistle was crisp and lively, carrying a melody Mulan had never heard before. Still, when it came to whistling, Mulan considered himself the superior, and he knew a tune that was perfect for it.

The best melody for whistling was the “Colonel Bogey March,” which Mulan excelled at. Unable to resist, he began to whistle.

A brisk, lively tune rang out from Mulan’s lips, the notes clear and spirited, drawing the attention of both passersby and the girl.

Before Mulan even reached her, the girl stopped in her tracks. Mulan slowed down as well, and by the time he came up beside her, the short march had just ended—a simple melody with a few variations, but quite delightful.

“What song is that?” the girl couldn’t help but ask.

Mulan, smiling, answered, “This is the Lieutenant Jonest March—I wrote it myself, just for whistling. The melody is light and easy to play. You can try it.”

The girl nodded and gave it a try. Surprisingly, she picked up the tune and rhythm right away, and managed to whistle the whole thing on her first attempt.

Though the “Colonel Bogey March” was the kind of tune that stuck with you after a single listen, and easy to whistle once you found the rhythm, the girl’s quick grasp still caught Mulan off guard.

“Very good—you’ve mastered it already,” Mulan praised sincerely, and the girl beamed with delight.

“Thank you, it’s a lovely tune. My name is Dolly.”

“Hello, Miss Dolly. I’m Mulan,” he replied.

The girl, freckles dusting her smiling face, flashed her teeth and gently corrected him, “Not Dolly—Daw-lee, with the drawn-out sound. Mulan Jonest—I know you, the great hero of Valentine!”

She waved cheerfully and continued down the street, now whistling the “Lieutenant Jonest March.”

“Dolly? Daw-lee?” Mulan thought. Who had a name like that? It was probably an alias.

He stood there watching her go, feeling it had been a most amusing encounter. Someone like her was surely free-spirited—just the sort of person one would like as a friend.

As for whether he felt any romantic interest, Mulan had to admit he was a man of simple tastes—he preferred women who were a bit more… generously endowed.

It was still early afternoon, a long way from the start of the ball. Mulan made his way to the cathedral, entering with practiced ease, and headed for Ivan’s quarters.

“Mulan, this is a cathedral, not your personal kitchen. You can’t just stroll in here whenever you want—especially not without knocking,” Ivan said exasperatedly, standing there in nothing but his shorts as he washed a large basin of clothes, a pair of soapy underpants in hand.

One of the main reasons Mulan liked visiting the cathedral was Ivan—he was an interesting fellow. Now, spreading his hands wide in mock outrage, Mulan replied with exaggerated solemnity, “But most revered Priest Ivan, you told me I could come find you anytime, and you said it right here in this cathedral. Bathed in the true god’s holy light, a priest would not go back on his word, would he?”

By now, Mulan and Ivan had become fast friends. Their relationship was less priest and parishioner, more like that of companions. Ivan, who always maintained an air of sanctity before his congregation, felt completely at ease around Mulan.

“Indeed, as a man of the cloth, I would never lie,” Ivan intoned piously, then suddenly glanced past Mulan in surprise.

“Sir Walton?”

“Huh?” Mulan turned to look, and at that instant, a strong sense of danger swept over him—like facing down a steam tank’s cannon on the battlefield. Instinctively, he dove to the side, catching a glimpse of a soapy, foamy object whizzing past his shoulder.

Good heavens, did he just throw that?

“Nice dodge! Watch my clothes—if you get them wet, I’ll have nothing to wear!” Ivan shouted.

“Nice dodge? Today I swear I’ll get your suit wet, so you can’t go to the ball!”