Chapter Nine
CHAPTER NINE
I badly need to change out of my ridiculous clothes, but as I’m about to open up my bag, there is a knock at the door.
James’s voice pierces it. “Yo, ladies! You ready for some outdoor activity?”
Everything inside me shrivels up and shrinks away. God, what I wouldn’t give to be able to say no. But I’m here to do due diligence, and part of that is learning everything I can about their ranch and how it operates. What good would it do to hide away in the guest bedroom? Even if it is the nicest guest bedroom I’ve ever been in, more five-star hotel than guest bedroom, really. I take a deep breath and envision a new mask. Not quite Work Mulan, but Ranch Mulan. Right. A persona that Baba apparently has that I never knew about. Anyway, what would Ranch Mulan say right now?
“Sounds great!” I call out with much more confidence than I actually feel. I can do this. I’ve researched all that can be read online about ranches and distilleries, after all.
“All right, well, don’t keep everybody waiting. You two are beautiful already, you don’t need to put any more makeup on.” James snickers like he’s said something funny and walks away.
I make a face at Mushu that conveys: What an ass.
“What an ass,” she says.
“Shh! He might be able to hear us!” I hiss.
“Good, then he’ll know what an ass he’s being.”
“Oh my god, Mushu.” But despite myself, I snort with laughter. “Well, I guess we’d better go. I was hoping I’d be able to change into something more sensible, but whatever.”
“I told you, your outfit is perfect for ranching.”
I give her a flat look before turning and walking out of the room.
As James said, many of the uncles, aunts, and cousins are already gathered downstairs. There’s a grazing table set out with a mix of Chinese and Western snacks, and when Mushu and I join them, Auntie Jiayi calls out to us and pushes a mandarin orange into each of our hands. Shang is in the far corner of the dining room, looking over the crowd without saying much. I try not to notice how good he looks, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. He’s so tall and broad-shouldered, though, that it’s impossible not to steal glances as I mingle with the family. Before long, Uncle Hong directs the group out of the house.
“Come, Zhou,” he says, and I hurry forward so I’m walking next to him. “I want you to see our family’s land.”
They walk down a pathway that leads from the house toward the ranch. The beauty of the land is impossible to ignore. My eyes roam the soft, rolling hills and the vast expanse of grass. There is a slight breeze in the air and it smells sweet somehow, like fruits and fresh spring water.
“Our father bought the land,” Uncle Hong says. “We all grew up here, and when we earned more money, we bought more land. This place is not just a family company, it is a family legacy.”
“It’s beautiful,” I say, and I mean it.
Uncle Hong looks at me for a moment, the expression on his face unreadable, and then he nods. “Yes, it is. Here we have our geese. We just got them three years ago, not too long. Where are they from again, Jing?”
Uncle Jing puffs up his chest with obvious pride. “We bought them from Chaoshan, which is in the Guangdong province in China. They are known for breeding the best geese. Chaoshan geese rival the French foie gras. They are not bred to sell, we breed them for ourselves, to have during our Lunar New Year meal. They are the most delicious geese you will ever eat. Shang will cook the yummiest dish out of them.”
I look at the gaggle of honking geese. I have mixed feelings about this, though I know I’m being a hypocrite; I’m an omnivore, so the thought of animals being butchered for the table shouldn’t make me squeamish, and yet it does. The thought of Shang cooking, too, somehow doesn’t really compute with what little I know of him. I look over my shoulder at Shang and try to envision him cooking. I think of how he would look utterly focused, how his square jaw might clench a little as he works, and the thought of it makes my face turn red. Of course, he happens to glance over at me at that very moment, catching me staring at him. I snap my head back and hurry to keep up with Uncle Hong, my cheeks burning.
“And here we have our pigs. Now these are from Zhejiang province,” Uncle Hong says. “These are Jinhua pigs.”
Uncle Jing pipes up: “Jinhua pigs have the most tender meat. Auntie Jiayi makes the best roast pork, you will see for yourself later.”
“Does Auntie Jiayi do most of the cooking around here?” I’m somewhat surprised at that; I’d assumed that they’d have a private chef to do that.
“Oh yes. Well, she used to before her arthritis started to bother her.” As Uncle Hong says this, he gives a flippant wave of his hand, illustrating how unimportant he thinks things like cooking are.
I swallow the lump of irritation in my throat, focusing instead on the large pigs rooting around in the trough. The smell of manure is unexpected in its intensity, almost like a punch to the nose. They’re much bigger than I expected, though of course I have no idea what the standard size of a pig is, and unlike pigs in cartoons, none of them are pink. They’re white, in fact, with black coloring on their heads and rumps, and surprisingly hairy, and the sounds they make are disturbingly guttural. It strikes me again how different real life is, being here in the flesh with live animals as opposed to seeing them on the screen—
My thoughts are interrupted by a loud squelch, and I look down to see that I’ve stepped right in a pile of— argh , of something really thick and sticky and argh, argh . When I lift my leg, my cowgirl boot comes free from the pile with a sucking sound. Somehow, I manage to swallow the cry crawling up my throat and merely utter a small “Oh.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Uncle Hong says.
I nod slowly, trying to ignore the muck that now encrusts my new boots. Focus on the ranch, focus on the ranch…
A loud, monstrous sound wrenches my attention away from my boot. Contrary to popular belief, cows do not, in fact, moo. The noise that they make is closer to Mrrroggrrrrhhh : a deep rumble that comes straight from the depths of their bellies and is closer to what I imagine a sleeping dragon might sound like instead of an animal whose favorite pastime is grazing on grass.
“Oh my—” I manage to stop myself, but it takes quite an effort, as I look up and find myself right next to a massive cow’s head.
When did the cow sneak up on me? It’s so close that I can feel its warm, gusty breath on my cheek. Once again, the smell overpowers me. When I read up on ranches and what to expect, I didn’t spare a single thought for how they might smell. The only way I can describe it is: It smells very much like a large, warm, living beast. I step quickly away from the monstrous thing, and Uncle Hong says, “A beaut, isn’t she? This is our Qinchuan cow. She is very prized; her milk is like liquid gold. And all our cows are grass-fed only, and range freely, so they are super healthy. This one is named Xingxing.”
“Star,” I say weakly, taking another step away from the cow.
“Yes. Star, because she is a star,” Uncle Hong says. “Oh, watch out behind you.”
I jump as a shockingly wet snout nudges the back of my head. It’s another cow, and its touch is so solid, so real, and so powerful, even in its casualness, I can’t help the small squeak from escaping my mouth, but manage to keep it from turning into a scream.
“This one is called Tiantian.”
“Sweet,” I say, backing away from the cows.
“Yes, because her milk is sweet as candy.”
More cows have appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. I am now stuck in a horror film, probably one named The Silence of the Cows . They are all massive, every step they take makes their bodies judder a little, and the closeness of them is overwhelming. They’re so incredibly loud, too. I don’t understand why children are taught that cows go moo . Every time one of them goes Mmrrrrrruuurgghhh , the sound reverberates through my eardrums and down the length of my body.
Uncle Hong studies me from the corner of his eye. “You are familiar with cows, yes? You said you have them in your family farm back in China?”
“Oh yes!” I give a vigorous nod. “Yes, plenty of cows back home.” I fight to keep the confident smile on my face. “There’s, uh, Daisy, of course. And Maisie. And, ah, Hazey.”
Uncle Hong tilts his head to one side. “You gave them Western names? Interesting.”
Damn it. Of course they wouldn’t have been given Western names. “Only personally,” I say. “I mean, their real names were, you know, things like Diyi, Dier, Disan…um, yeah. We just numbered them, we didn’t really name them.”
“Ah, you didn’t want to get attached before they were slaughtered? Smart thinking.” Uncle Hong’s eyes never leave mine as he speaks. “You told Shang you miss your farm a lot.”
Shang has caught up with us and is standing a few paces away, stroking one of the cows’ sides while listening to our conversation.
I try hard not to look at Shang as I say, “Yup, I did. I do miss it a lot.”
“You grew up herding the cattle back home, right?” Uncle Hong says.
“Um…sure. Sometimes, yes.” Please, universe, please do not let this lead to where I think it’s leading to.…
“Would you like to herd our cattle? It is time they go back to the barn. There are coyotes here, you know.”
“Oh.” The word comes out as a half gasp, half squeak. My gaze scrabbles frantically from Uncle Hong, to the cows, to Shang, who is watching with his usual stern expression. “That…”
“Sounds excellent!” Mushu cries, popping up out of nowhere. She claps me on the back before squeezing my shoulder. “You can totally do that, can’t you?” She glares meaningfully at me. “I mean, it’s just cows. They’re such peaceful animals, aren’t they?”
“Uh, yeah. Of course.” I nod slowly at first, then more convincingly as I digest Mushu’s words. Yes, what could possibly go wrong? Cows are known for being calm, slow creatures. I am a vice president at a private equity firm. I know how to put my foot down, how to protect my territory, how to make my way in a male-dominated profession. And I have, after all, read up on ranching, and one of the many ranch duties I’ve read about is herding cows. I want to laugh when I think of how I brushed it off as “an easy task” when I was doing my research. Nothing about it seems easy now. Okay, stop it. You are Ranch Mulan, remember? You can do this. What would Baba say? “It would be my honor.”
Soon, the Li family, along with Mushu, is gathered to one side, watching me as I approach Xingxing.
“This is gonna be good,” James says nastily.
“Tsk,” Auntie Jiayi says, glaring at James. Then she turns her attention back to me and calls out, “It’s all right, Zhou, she looks big, Xingxing does, but she’s a softie, really.”
“She gives very good milk,” Auntie Chuang says, to the agreement of Auntie Jamie and Auntie Lulu.
“Oh yes, very creamy,” Auntie Lulu says. “If you let it sit for a while, the fat will separate and you can skim it off the top—”
I try my best to shut the chattering out as I scramble through my memory for what I read up on just a day ago, but now that I’m actually here and needing the information, what crams my mind instead are random useless facts about cows. They, um, they sleep standing up and pranksters sometimes try to tip them over. That’s not information that’s useful for me right now, brain. Right. Um, they taste really good? Yet another useless fact. Right, well, I have to, ah, I have to take the bull by the horns. After all, that’s an actual saying, so it’s got to come from ancient wisdom, right? Except these are cows, not bulls, and they seem to be missing actual horns. Well, never mind, I don’t need to take it quite so literally. I just have to establish that I am the alpha of the herd. Now, finally, bits and pieces of my prior reading come back to me. I need to be in the right frame of mind—calm and confident.
I stand up straight, lifting my chin, and stare Xingxing right in the eyes. Well, in one eye, since Xingxing’s eyes are on either side of her head and I can only really glare into one at a time.
“Well, hello, Xingxing,” I say in a firm voice. “I am Hua Zhou, and I’m here to herd you.” Hmm, that might have come out wrong. “Not ‘hurt,’ but herd. Just to clarify.” I’m officially talking to a cow. Then again, people talk to their dogs and cats, so is talking to a cow really much worse than that?
Xingxing doesn’t give any indication of having heard anything I just said. She chews on her mouthful of grass placidly, and again it strikes me how real it is, how large a cow’s head is, and how huge its tongue is and how loud the grass-chewing is. I can actually hear the rustle of the grass in Xingxing’s mouth, and somehow this fact is really disturbing. I need to just do this. Just do it , like Nike says.
With a slightly trembling hand, I reach out and pat Xingxing gingerly on the side. Well, that was the intention, anyway. What ends up happening is as soon as my fingertips touch the warm solidity of the cow, my survival instincts kick in and I hurriedly jerk my hand back. I didn’t expect the cow to feel so…cow-y. The fur is a lot bristlier than I expected, and it’s just so solid and so there. Stop this right now. Everyone is watching. You need to do this now . I reach out again, ignoring every instinct inside me that’s screaming: Argh, run away! This time, I steel myself and lay my whole palm on Xingxing. I release my breath. There, that wasn’t so bad.
Xingxing raises her enormous head and nudges my arm.
“Good Xingxing,” I say, patting her shoulder. Or the back of her neck? I’m not entirely sure what part of the cow I’m touching. “Um, let’s get you back to your bedroom. Uh, barn.”
I could get used to this. Xingxing’s gently nudging my arm, and it’s kind of cute in a way. A gentle bovine way. Hah, this is easy. Don’t know why I was so scared before.
Then from the corner of my eye, I see James move so he’s behind Xingxing. Before I can ask what he’s doing, James raises his hand and does something to the cow’s back.
Xingxing utters a monstrous bellow—a sound so deep and guttural that my bones shudder with the resonance—and charges. Part of my brain manages to think: She’s not charging, she’s just walking. But it hardly matters; Xingxing is surprisingly fast, and she was standing right in front of me, so whether she’s walking or charging, it’s terrifying in its suddenness. With a yelp, I leap backward—or did Xingxing shove me, that stupid cow?—something catches the back of my legs, and before I know it, the sky is tipping, and I’m falling, falling—
There is a thick splash and cold muck envelops me. Spatters of mud rain down on me, splatting my face, some of it going into my open mouth. The breath is knocked out of me, and for a second, I wonder if I’ve fallen straight into the depths of hell. The only sounds I hear are my own ragged breaths.
Then noise floods back in. People are shouting. People are laughing. People are going “Aiya!” and “Are you okay?” and “Xingxing, come back!”
Mushu appears, looking down at me. “Hey, cuz, how you doing?”
“Help,” I manage to choke out of my mud-filled mouth.
She leans down, grabs my arms, and lifts. With a groan, I scramble back up to a standing position. I spit out as much mud as I can and wipe my face before blinking at Mushu and trying to not think of how the stench of everything is now clinging to me. “Tell me how bad this is,” I whisper.
“You remember that time in college when we went to that house party and I drank all those J?egerbombs and got sick in the back of the Uber and the smell was so bad it made you puke, too? This is worse. I mean, you’re literally covered in cow poop.”
“Oh god. I thought it was mud.”
Mushu looks at me with pity. “Sure, let’s go with that.”
James, Shang, and a handful of other people come toward us. James and the other cousins are doubled over laughing, slapping each other on the arm. Shang is staring at me, his thick brows heavy and knotted.
“Damn, Zhou, what happened?” James says. “Did you get bull -ied?” He cackles with laughter at his own joke.
“She got bull -dozed,” Thomas says, and he and James give each other a fist bump.
“What did you do to Xingxing?” I snap.
James’s eyes widen in a show of innocence. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
“I saw you, you got behind her and—”
“Did you hit your head?” James says with mock concern. “I think you’re confused.”
“Aiya, stop it, you kids,” Auntie Jiayi says, bustling over. “Oh, Zhou, are you okay? Are you hurt? Okay, come here, I’ll clean you up.”
I let Auntie Jiayi lead me toward a nearby barn, where she hands me a garden hose. “You hose yourself down first, then you can go inside the house to have shower. Don’t track cow dung all over the house.”
“Of course not,” I mumble, and douse myself in freezing-cold water. This is it. This is the lowest of lows. I have hit rock bottom. There is no possible way I can get lower than this. At least the others have stopped crowding me, instead dispersing around the ranch to check on various things.
After I’ve washed off most of the dung, I trudge back toward the farmhouse, dripping wet and shivering violently. Halfway there, Shang calls out to me. I keep walking, pretending not to hear him.
“Hey.” He hurries over and tosses something at me. It’s a blanket. “Got this from the barn. It’s a horse blanket.”
He got me a blanket? I can barely look him in the eye. He’s all handsome and clean, his skin fresh and not covered in cow dung like mine is. I wrap the blanket around myself. It’s scratchy and so stiff it might as well be made of cardboard, but I’m still grateful for the warmth it offers me. “Thanks,” I mutter.
“So you grew up herding cows, huh?” he says.
I glower at him. Did he give me the blanket as a way to get in an interrogation? “American cows are different from Chinese cows.”
“Oh?” Shang’s eyebrows rise, making him look slightly less stern than usual. God, but he’s attractive. “But you heard what Uncle Hong said, these are Chinese cows.”
Unfortunately, he’s right. “Well, then you guys haven’t raised them right. They are belligerent.”
Shang nods, and says dryly, “Hooligans, they are.”
“Exactly. You need to discipline them.”
“Mm. And I’m guessing the cows you have back home are not like Xingxing?”
Is he teasing me? I can’t tell, partly because my head is a mess, and partly because I’m so painfully aware that nothing can develop between the two of us. He’s forbidden fruit, I remind myself. The CEO of a company I’m trying to acquire. Not allowed. Out of bounds. “No, actually. They are very respectful and filial and they go where I tell them to.”
“Wow, respectful and filial cows, this I have got to see.”
“Maybe one day,” I say. Okay, I need to put a stop to this. Somber, buttoned-up Shang is already distracting enough. Chatty Shang is damn near irresistible, and I need to keep things very professional. “Look, Shang, I would love to continue this witty repartee we’ve got going on, but—”
“It’s hard keeping up banter when you’re covered in shit?”
“Yes. I would like to walk in silence now. Thank you for your understanding and cooperation.”