The morning sun had long since risen over the Chinese tulou that Mulan called home. As she stood in the middle of the circular compound of connected buildings that was made up of her home and those of her neighbors, she was surrounded by the muffled sounds of the nearby villagers. From a second-floor balcony a mother called to her daughter to bring the laundry. In a kitchen on the ground floor, a spoon banged against the sides of a pot as another mother prepared the evening meal. From the opening between the buildings that led to the street, Mulan could make out the low moos of several large cows being herded to a new feeding ground and the occasional squawk as their heavy feet plodded precariously close to a stray chicken. Coming from her own home, nestled in the middle of all the others, Mulan heard the steady

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