Page 41 of Worth Fighting For

Shang stops rolling out dough. “Really?”

“Yeah, chopping firewood is like my favorite hobby.” I spent nearly a whole hour last night watching female woodchoppers on TikTok and by god I am not about to let that go to waste.

“Cool, well, sure, we always need firewood around here. Come on, I’ll show you where the chopping block is.” Shang wipes his hands on the hand towel again (is there anything hotter than a guy with his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, wiping flour from his hands?) and gestures at me to follow him.

We walk out the back door. Outside, the air is biting cold and the grass is dewy. I shiver as we make our way down a small path. I take another sip of the latte, relishing the way it warms me up from the inside. It’s setting up to be yet another flawless Northern Californian autumn day, the air carrying with it the sweet smell of apples, with wispy white clouds dabbed here and there across the endless blue sky.

When we get to the chopping block, I don’t give myself any time to hesitate or marvel at the realness of the situation like before. I spot an axe resting against the block and grab it. My mind goes:It’s heav—

I shut the thought down. Of course it’s heavy, it’s a real axe, not a TikTok axe. I even throw a confident smile at Shang as I strut past him, heaving up a log and settling it on the chopping block. Feet apart, strong stance. I grip the axe handle tight, letting it hang for a second, then swing it up over my head the way I’ve watched people do on TikTok before slamming it down onto the log, drawing power from my abs. The axe bites into the log with a satisfying thud. It doesn’t go all the way through, but no matter. I’ve seen this happen plenty of times on TikTok and merely lift it again, this time carrying the log up along with the axe, and then swing it down again and again until the log is completely sliced in half. Then I step back, looking at the split log in disbelief.

I did it. Joy rushes through my veins like sparkling wine and I toss the axe down and jump up with a whoop.

“Nicely done,” Shang says.

I bow. “Thank you, I agree.” I puff out my chest. “Throw me another. I will chop up a bunch of these before you know it.”

Shang smiles as he places another log on the chopping block. “All right, chop your heart out. I’ll be back at the house making dumplings.”

I do exactly that, chopping log after log before I realize that I am, in fact, famished.

“Zhou!” Mushu calls out from a distance. “How’s it going?” She jogs down the path. “What the—When Shang said you were out here chopping wood, I thought he meant you were taking a dump.”

I lift my eyebrows. “Why would ‘chopping wood’ mean taking a dump? And why would I do that out here when we have perfectly good working toilets indoors?”

“I don’t know,” she says with a shrug. “I ain’t judging.”

I laugh. “I think I’m just about done. Chopping wood is fun, but it’s also pretty tiring. You know, I bet this is even better than Pilates.”

As we walk back toward the house, Mushu fills me in on the night before.

“They brought out their best whiskey.”

“Ooh, sounds like I missed a good time,” I say.

“You really did. These people are actually pretty fun to spend time with.”

“When they’re not trying to sabotage your sheepshearing moment,” I mutter.

Mushu laughs. “Well, James is…not the best dude, but once you get a couple glasses of whiskey in him…” She hesitates, then says, “He’s even worse.”

Now it’s my turn to laugh.

“But you’ll be glad to know that I took the chance to talk you up.”

My laugh shrivels up and dies in my throat. “Um. You mean about how brilliant of a managing partner I am?”

“What? No!” Mushu cries. “Mulan, these people are ranchers and distiller—What are people who make whiskey called? Whiskey-ers? Whatever, my point is, they are about as far removed from finance as you can get. They’re not going to appreciate your skill with numbers. They have this attitude that’s almost, like, anti-money.”

“I can’t even begin to comprehend that,” I say dryly.

“You and me both, cuz. I’m all about that hustle. But the Li family is more concerned about their image. Their brand. Their legacy. That’s what I got from them last night. They really want the company that buys their whiskey brand to know what the company stands for,” she says.

I sigh. “I know what it stands for. Toxic masculinity.”

“Exactly!” she says. “So anyway, I talked you up with that in mind. Told them of your prowess when it comes to anything even vaguely masculine.”

“Uh-oh.” Dread is beginning to bubble up from deep inside my guts. “Um, what exactly did you say about me?”

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