Chapter Thirty: The Mysterious Moon

Food was a must, of course, but Mulan had no intention of returning to his previous seat. As he filled his plate with delicious treats, he noticed someone beside him doing the same, but with even less restraint. This person, unlike Mulan, was shoveling food onto his plate and devouring it at the same time—cake, vegetables, fruit, meat—everything indiscriminately, eating so quickly that his manners suffered.

As Mulan watched, the man suddenly looked up and met his gaze, making Mulan pause for a moment. The man gave a friendly smile and gestured toward his plate, indicating he was a fellow gourmand.

After this brief exchange, Mulan lowered his head, added two slices of roast meat to his plate, and walked away.

After taking a dozen steps, Mulan glanced sideways, catching the man in his periphery. Such sharp senses, he thought. More concerning was the look in the man's eyes—a beastly coldness that sent a chill through Mulan.

Ting, ting, ting—

From the inner balcony on the second floor, the energetic Count, sporting a pair of thick mustaches, gently tapped his wine glass with a spoon, drawing the attention of men and women in the hall.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for attending my daughter's birthday ball. The guest of honor will appear shortly; for now, please enjoy the dancing.”

The Count raised his glass, and the crowd responded in kind. The music, which had paused, resumed, and young men and women invited each other onto the floor.

They danced the kind of graceful ballroom dances meant for socializing. Mulan watched for a while but quickly lost interest. Already in a corner, he decided to take his plate and walk down a corridor—he’d seen some nobles heading that way earlier.

The Count’s mansion was as grand as expected; the corridor was lined with many rooms. Mulan walked, nibbling as he went, until he reached a set of double doors at the end, likely leading to a garden.

Just as Mulan reached for the handles, he heard muffled sounds from the other side. Pressing closer, he caught the faint whisper of “zizz-zazz,” the subtle noises unmistakable of a couple passionately embracing and kissing. Mulan’s lips twitched as he imagined the scene.

He took a bite of roast meat, chewing as he glanced to his right—a staircase. In a house this size, the main hall wouldn’t be the only staircase; both sides had them. This one spiraled upward with glass from the central landing.

Mulan lowered his footsteps and headed for the stairs, reaching the landing. Through the curved glass panes, he peered down toward the main door, swearing he wasn’t a voyeur—only verifying whether those noble lovers were disgracing themselves in the Count’s home, so he could properly condemn them in his mind.

He tried several angles, but saw only arms and hems, unable to make out faces. When he finally caught a clear view, he couldn’t help but curse silently and turn away.

Damn it! It wasn’t a young couple at all, but two men. Mulan didn’t discriminate against homosexuality, but his earlier assumptions made his skin crawl.

Turning away, Mulan noticed at the end of the second-floor corridor a girl in a vivid green dress standing by the open windows, gazing outside. The evening breeze fluttered her coffee-colored hair, as she seemed to take deep breaths.

The corridor jutted outward, and from where she stood, she couldn’t possibly see the couple below—she wasn’t spying.

The girl looked familiar. Mulan hesitated, then decided to greet her; after all, he was here by invitation.

“Miss Blanklin.”

The girl turned in surprise, searching for the voice, and spotted Mulan on the stair landing, plate in hand. She hadn’t expected anyone here, but her good manners quickly brought a smile to her face.

“Hello.”

Mulan sensed she wasn’t particularly warm, and couldn’t help but mock himself for thinking she might be interested in him. He’d guessed earlier that Lily Blanklin was intrigued by him, but now it appeared she’d only been curious after reading the newspaper, and the novelty had worn off.

Still, politeness called for a nod.

---

“Thank you for inviting me to your birthday ball, um...”

Mulan tried to say something gracious, but complimenting the house’s luxury seemed inappropriate, as did praising the noble ladies’ beauty. He knew nothing of dancing, so after a moment’s hesitation, he blurted out,

“The chef’s skills are amazing; the food is delicious...”

The girl blinked, then replied,

“I didn’t invite you—it must have been Lily?”

Mulan immediately thought—twins?

“My name is Hathaway, Hathaway Blanklin.”

She lifted her skirt and gave a slight curtsey. Mulan hurried to return the gesture, plate in one hand, the other pressed to his chest.

“I’m Mulan Jonst. Pleased to meet you.”

Hathaway’s surprise gave way to a genuine smile.

“I know you, Mr. Jonst. I’m glad you could come.”

She then took a few deep breaths and apologized,

“Please excuse me, I need to return to my room.”

Watching Hathaway leave, Mulan mused that the Count’s daughter, though the star of the evening, was still a bit anxious.

In truth, Hathaway wanted to talk more with Mulan, but she felt suffocated—the tight corset and undergarments did nothing to enhance her already impressive figure, except to accentuate her chest, at the expense of comfort.

Hathaway crossed half the corridor and entered her room, closing the door behind her.

“Quick, help me undo this—I can’t take it anymore!”

Her maid hastened to help, loosening the corset strings.

“Phew...”

Hathaway sighed in relief.

“Miss, you should hurry and dress—soon you’ll need to go downstairs.”

“Why must I wear this? It’s unbearable, and this corset—I don’t need it at all!”

“But miss, today is a special day...”

“I refuse to wear a corset ever again!”

Her frustration mounting, Hathaway grabbed her half-removed dress and delivered a fierce side-kick to the bedpost.

---

A sharp crack.

The bedpost shook, and a delicate high-heeled dance shoe flew across the room.

With a crash, the glass shattered.

“Oh no, my shoe!”

...

Mulan still stood at the stair window, eating and admiring the starlight outside. It was the mid-month weekend, the moon appeared doubled, its shadowy side darker, the edge bright—a strange moon blocking the luminous one.

This peculiar sight, impossible on the Earth of his previous life, mesmerized Mulan.

Hurried steps echoed from the second floor. Mulan turned as a maid rushed past, lifting her skirt to curtsy before hurrying downstairs.

“Um, outside the door...”

The maid moved too fast; before Mulan could warn her, she reached the door and yanked it open.

“Ah!”

The two young men, disheveled and embracing, tumbled inside.

“Sorry, I have urgent business...”

The maid hurried away, glancing back several times. The two at the door scrambled to their feet, awkward. Mulan, meanwhile, darted to the second-floor corridor at lightning speed.

He hid at the corner, glancing at the stairs and finally relaxing.

Close call. If those two had seen him on the landing, they might have thought him a voyeur—or, worse, suspected he was one of them.

Mulan looked at his plate; the food was gone, and he was thirsty. He decided to return to the hall and wait out the ball in peace.

Having witnessed the nobles’ way of life, Mulan felt no urge to curry favor with the great aristocrats—the gap was simply too vast.

He waited until the two men downstairs had composed themselves and left, then descended the stairs and retraced his steps along the corridor.

But as he walked, Mulan felt something uncanny—the corridor seemed to stretch endlessly, the darkness deepening ahead. Though his stride was steady, it felt as if he were swaying in a ship’s cabin.

He shook his head; it all felt like an illusion.

No, not an illusion!

Suddenly alert, Mulan touched a spot in his clothing, where his little toys fell utterly silent.