By Madeline Tanaka
The day the Mongols came, I was supposed to be studying for a history test. The final one, by the way. This felt unfair. History had arrived before I’d finished learning it. Life has a funny way of reminding you it exists.
I was sitting at the kitchen table, eating my tasteless wheat bun (wheat brick with how hard it was), and trying to memorize the names of China’s emperors when the floor began to shake. At first, I thought my little brother was doing interactive interpretive dance (as one does) with our pet rat-dog, then I remembered I’d put him to sleep hours ago because our parents hadn’t been home from their Chinese chess club yet. I couldn’t fully rule out interpretive dancing, because what sister really knows what their brother is up to, but a girl’s got priorities, so I went back to my history.
But outside, horses thundered past the village gate. Men shouted in a language I didn’t understand. Someone toppled Old CaiSi’s cabbage cart (I know because he always does this whole “My cabbagessesessss!” shriek).
My mother gripped my arm and slung me toward the cellar. My little brother, sucking his thumb (he’s 14, by the way), followed, carrying three steamed buns (where did those come from?) and absolutely zero supplies that could benefit our survival—ypical.
“Where did you get those?” I whisper-shouted.
“From the basket under the sink behind the cleaning supplies and to the right of the rags,” he said matter-of-factly. Man, if you would’ve seen the look on my face when he said that and I’d been gnawing away at a rock-of-a-wheat bun for the last three hours. But we had bigger fish to fry.
We hid beneath the floorboards while the soldiers entered the village. I could hear boots, horses, and the occasional crash of whatever porcelain people could afford nowadays. Our neighbor’s rooster made a brave attempt to protest, but was quickly cut off by the passing Mongol. I shuddered.
After what felt like hours (it was probably, like, two minutes max), a soldier lifted the floorboard above us. I held my breath. He looked at us, then eyed my brother’s buns. Trembling (which I would totally clown him for later), he offered one to the man.
It was so quiet, so tense, I swear they could hear my heart pounding out of my chest. Just when I thought the soldier would slice our heads clean off, he snatched the bun from my brother’s waiting hand, and sprinted off into the distance. I don’t even think I’ve seen Ming (only the most dreamiest and most quickest boy in my grade who all the girls are in love with but I’m definitely special so he’s going to pick me) run that fast. Ahh, Ming. Oh, right. The Mongols.
So anyway, that was how my family survived the first meeting with the foreigners. Buns. Hahahahahahahaha. Sorry.
By sunset, though, our town had surrendered.
What? Did you think because we had buns in our back pocket that we were free? You’re a funny one aren’t you.
The old government was gone, and everyone whispered about us being a part of the Yuan dynasty or something. The only kind of “Yuan” I need is enough to buy a dang steamed bun. If I was a princess, I would be XinDeAnLe (shin-duh-ahn-luh, if you Americans are ever reading this) ‘cause she broke homie. She represents me…Lemme borrow 20 yuan.
The sun hadn’t even risen the next morning when a Mongol official announced that new rules would be put into place.
“Will there be less homework?” I asked, because, like I said, a girl’s got priorities.
All he did was stare back at me. It was actually really awkward. That’s when I decided conquering armies probably had no sense of humor.
Still, the worst part was not the soldiers, the shouting, or the sudden change in government. It was that my history test got canceled—after all that studying too. Sounds counterintuitive, but I studied really hard, OK!