Shang pressed his lips into a thin, cold line. “Even if it means you’re trapped here forever?”
“King Yama won’t be merciful,” added Languai.
A chill nestled in the nape of her neck, but Mulan didn’t shiver. It didn’t matter whether this was only a test, or whether this was real. Her determination to save her friend wouldn’t waver. If this was the end of her journey, so be it.
“I made a promise to myself that I’d bring you home,” said Mulan, stepping closer to Shang. She straightened. “If I have to break it, then—”
She raised the bow, drawing the string taut. As she pointed the glass arrow at Shang, she saw the captain hold his breath. She waited a beat before releasing the arrow. She couldn’t afford to miss.
“Then I’ll save you.” Her voice cracked as she spoke. “No matter the cost.”
With a snap, the arrow tore across the chamber. During its flight, its glass edges caught all the light of the moon shining above, reflecting a thousand colors. It was a beautiful sight, one that kept Mulan from daring to breathe before the arrow found its target—
And ripped through the rope around Shang’s shoulders, setting him free.
Nearly collapsing with relief, Mulan barely noticed as the bow dissolved in her hand. Everything else disappeared around her: the demons, the tree, the rope—even the glass arrow shattered at Shang’s feet.
Shang’s blue aura shimmered, darkening so Mulan couldn’t really tell whether it was the captain who spoke, or someone else: “You have passed this first test,” rang the low, hollow voice. “You swore you would risk your own life to save your friend, and even in the face of betrayal, you kept your promise.” The captain’s shadow began to fade. “Now, do you know yourself? We shall see.”
When he was gone, Mulan let out a deep breath.
A test. Her lungs nearly gave out with relief. That wasn’t really Shang. It was just a test.
Glass crunched under her boot. Her knees quivered, so she carefully lowered herself onto the ground to gather herself. Thousands of her reflections stared back at her from the smashed glass pieces.
She was bloodied and bruised. There had to be dozens of tiny shards lodged in her body, and one particularly large piece in her thigh. Mulan winced when she saw it, but she knew what she had to do.
She wrapped her hands over the shard.
One, two three.
With one swift thrust, she pulled the mirror fragment out of her leg.
Pain shot up to her temples. Gasping, she hugged herself, clenching her teeth until the sharp gnawing in the leg dulled. Then she pressed on the wound to stop the bleeding.
As the pain slowly passed, Mulan pushed her hair out of her eyes, then glanced behind her shoulder. Shang had said she could advance, but the chamber was empty. Was the test over?
No.
The voice sounded like her own, but it didn’t come from her thoughts.
“Who’s there?” Mulan limped to her feet. Glass scattered down from her clothes and hair with a soft rattle.
The debris on the ground thinned and wobbled, turning into watery, silver-colored pools that gushed across the room, healing the mirrors she had broken.
In every mirror was a reflection of Mulan.
Look hard at yourself, her reflections said.
Mulan looked. She took in her chapped lips, her unevenly cut black hair, the gashes and bruises on her arms, and her fraying sleeves and dirtied uniform.
Which is the real Mulan? The girl in a uniform pretending to be a soldier, or the girl in a dress pretending to be a bride?
“Neither,” Mulan whispered.
Correct. Both are lies.
Mulan flinched. “I’m not a liar.”
You are nothing. No matter how hard you try, no one will ever see you for who you are.
Mulan turned, but another reflection intercepted her.
Your father is right, the mirrors taunted. Shang is right. They’re all right. You’ll never be anyone worthwhile. How can you be? You broke Baba’s heart when you left, you selfish girl.
“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t think—”
Yes, you didn’t think. Just as you didn’t think when you ran off to set off the cannon. You got Shang killed. You are the reason he’s in the Underworld.
“I’m going to save him.”
No you aren’t. Her reflections laughed. Why do you think King Yama really let you down here?
Mulan swallowed, holding in the pain from her cuts. “Why?”
Your deceitful heart, Fa Mulan. King Yama recognized it the moment he saw you. You belong in Diyu.
Mulan’s reflections smiled, their faces slowly contorting and twisting. Their black hair whitened, skin shriveling and graying like a corpse’s. Finally, their eyes blinked open, glowing a bright and terrible red.
This is your fate, Mulan. Your next life will be eternity as a demon. What a warrior you’ll make for King Yama.
Horror washed over her. Mulan gritted her teeth. “If I lose my wager against him, then I have no control over what my fate is. But I have not lost yet. I can still get out of here and bring Captain Li Shang back to the living world.”
You can’t if you’re trapped here.
You can’t if you die here.
“Then show me the way out!”
One of her demonic reflections loomed over the ceiling. We’ll give you a hint, Fa Mulan, she said. Choose one of us. One of us is your true self. Find her.
The mirrors fluttered, shifting until each became a different portrayal of Mulan.
Each mirror is a door. Only one will take you to the gates. The others will take you to the pit of Diyu. But be swift. You don’t have much time left.
The moon appeared above her. The thin crescent was little more than a sliver now.
Mulan turned to her task and frowned. The reflections all looked different. In some, she wore her father’s armor, and in others, she was dressed as a girl, carrying a silk fan, her hair tied in an elaborate chignon as it had been to see the Matchmaker. It was the reflections’ faces that riveted Mulan’s attention.
“Which one?” she murmured, stepping up to the closest mirror. The girl inside had bloodshot, swollen eyes and sniffled every other beat, but she copied Mulan’s gestures and movements like a true reflection.
I am Fa Mulan, the girl said suddenly. She sounded exactly like Mulan, except the sadness and bitterness in her words came from someone who’d lost all hope. I disguised myself as a boy to fight in the war. In my pursuit of honor and glory, I broke my family’s heart.
Mulan swallowed. Was this her? How could she tell?
“It’s true,” she said slowly, “I disobeyed my father by going off into the army. But I didn’t do it for my own honor or glory. I did it to save him.”
Was it her imagination, or did the darkness tick deeper into the moon? It was nearly gone.
Mulan moved on to the next mirror, shaken by her first encounter with her reflection. How would she pick from all these mirrors before time ran out?
No, I am Fa Mulan, said the next reflection. I ran away from home because I was a failure. I was afraid of facing my parents’ disappointment. I was a coward.
Was this her? In a way, yes. As much as the first reflection had been her.
“I was afraid,” Mulan admitted. “But I left home so Baba wouldn’t have to. I left home to save him—and myself.”
The next mirror held a reflection of Mulan in full armor, with blood on her hands. I am Fa Mulan. Because of me, Captain Li Shang is dying. Because I disobeyed him during battle, he must pay with his life.
Mulan balked at how the reflection’s words struck her heart, and she fought to give a calm reply. “Yes, Shang followed me because I disobeyed his orders…because I stole the cannon. I saw a chance to save China, and so I took it.”
He only saved you because you succeeded, said the reflection. Otherwise, he would have let you die.
“He saved me because he is brave. Because he is my friend.”
This wouldn’t do. She didn’t have time to listen to every reflection. Mulan circled the room, listening to the girls in the mirrors confess their regrets and guilt.
I don’t deserve to go home.
I’m a coward.
I can’t bear to go home. Baba and Mama will be so angry with me.
Mulan had heard all this before from the villagers and the soldiers. It wouldn’t help her here. She needed to wash out the voices, to pay attention to her own.
Choose me, another reflection implored her. I’ve always been pretending to be someone I’m not. First the perfect bride so someone might marry me, then the perfect soldier so I might bring honor home. I need to accept there is no perfect path for me.
Her reflection’s plea tugged at Mulan’s heart.
No, that wasn’t her. She did have those doubts, but they didn’t make up who she was.
“Hurry, Mulan,” she muttered to herself. She paced the room, trying to ignore the shaking in her knees, the lightness in her head. “Think. Think!”
What is there to see in my reflection? she wondered. A girl pretending to be someone else? A girl walking off the path that was set for her?
Who am I?
It was a question she’d asked herself a thousand times. She’d never been forced to find an answer, not even when she’d left home to join the army as Ping.
Yet now everything depended on her answer.
She took a deep breath. Did she know any of these girls who were in the mirrors? One had accused her of breaking her family’s heart; another had accused her of being a coward. Did she see herself in any of them?
“Yes,” Mulan whispered. “I’ve tried so hard to hide, to run away from who I don’t want to be. I never stopped to look at my reflection and tell it who I want to be.”
She spread her arms across the room. Her voice echoed from wall to wall. “Maybe I didn’t go for my father. Maybe what I really wanted to prove was that I could do things right, so that when I looked in the mirror, I’d see someone worthwhile.
“I want to honor my family by being a good daughter,” she continued, “but I also want the freedom to be myself, to say and do what I think is right, even if that means deviating from the path that is expected of me. For so long, I’ve been scared—scared of what my parents will think when I go home, scared of what my friends in the army would think if they found out I’m a girl. I’m not scared anymore. It doesn’t matter if I’m pretending to be Ping or if I’m Mulan. As long as I am true to myself, then my reflection will show who I really am.”
Then who are you? the mirrors hissed. Make your choice.
Mulan spun, taking in all the mirrors.
Make your choice, they whispered.
She stopped in the middle of the chamber and paused at the mirror on the ground. Her reflection pooled at her feet, like the pond back in family’s garden. And inside, a girl peered back at her.
Her reflection’s hair was short, but she wore a simple violet robe tied at the waist with a blue sash. At her hip was her father’s sword, and tucked in her hair—a blossom from their family’s cherry tree.
Mulan knelt and lowered her fingers to the glass. It rippled at her touch. “This one. This is me.”
A beat. Are you sure? asked the girl in the mirror.
“Yes,” said Mulan firmly. “It doesn’t matter whether I’m a girl dressed like a bride, or a girl dressed like a soldier. I know my heart.”
Mulan flattened her hand against the glass, facing her reflection. Together, they said, “I am Fa Mulan, a girl who would sacrifice her life for her family and for China. I am a girl who journeyed into the Underworld to save her friend from dying. I am a girl who has fought battle after battle to finally recognize herself in the mirror. And now I do.”
The mirror beneath cracked, splitting between her feet. Its sides sprang up, engulfing Mulan within a long, winding staircase.
She tumbled down three, four steps. Above her, the mirrors folded back into place, leaving her in the blank darkness.
With a deep breath, Mulan arose and began to tread down the murky path of stairs, knowing with each step that she drew closer either to the pit of the Underworld, or to her freedom.
Mulan had been certain she had selected the right mirror, but doubt tugged at her confidence when she stepped out of the glass and found herself in the middle of a lush bamboo forest.
Faint, gauzy sunlight blurred her vision, and the sweet smell of morning dew tickled her nostrils.
Her heart sank.
Sunrise. Had she run out of time?
She blinked until her vision cleared. If she had picked the wrong mirror, then this forest was the last thing she’d expected to encounter in the pit of Diyu. Verdant bamboo plants surrounded her, a forest like the one she and ShiShi had arrived in after they’d left King Yama’s throne room.
Mulan spun. Yes, this was that first chamber they’d entered in Diyu. Except that forest had been withered and dead. Here, everything bloomed with life. Birds sang above her, chirping and whistling as they flitted across the leaves adorning the tops of the bamboo plants. Insects buzzed. A gold-striped butterfly landed on Mulan’s shoulder.
The butterfly fluttered away, up and up. Her eyes followed it, lifting toward the sky. The sun glimmered, and the moon was nowhere to be seen. Mulan searched desperately for it, but the bamboo stems blocked her view, stretching so high they wove a jade-colored net over the sky.
“The moon sleeps,” came a gentle voice. “Your quest is over.”
Mulan turned, facing a young woman she had never seen before. She was regal and tall, dressed in a soft pink silk gown that rippled like the gentle currents of a river. Her black hair was intricately coiled into braids and rolls pinned with pearls and sparkling rubies and sapphires. Only her eyes, full of mischief, looked familiar.
Mulan’s brows knit. She recognized those eyes. “Meng Po?”
A grin crossed over the young woman’s lips. She nodded. “Well done. This is my true form.”
“Does that mean…” Mulan faltered. Her throat grew tight. “That I’ve—”
“You’ve won,” said Meng Po, bowing her head. “You’ve passed the Chamber of Mirrors.” She held out her empty arms. “I have no more tea to offer you, and no more tricks. You have defeated me, Fa Mulan.”
Mulan eyed the Lady of Forgetfulness suspiciously. “I defeated you? Then why are you here? My wager was with King Yama.”
“So it was, but King Yama is too busy to oversee Diyu’s internal affairs. That is my duty, you see. I ensure that there is order in the Underworld. So when I learned that you had arrived to save Captain Li Shang from death, I took it upon myself to investigate you and deter you. I must apologize for my methods, but we cannot have just anyone coming in and out of Diyu to rescue the dead. That would disrupt the very balance of Heaven, Earth, and Diyu.”
Mulan felt a rush of understanding. “You must have been angry with me.”
“You challenged me,” Meng Po allowed. “Which happens very…very rarely. I was angrier with King Yama for allowing a mortal into the Underworld.” Her mischievous eyes sparkled. “But I agree that the captain still has much to do on Earth in this life, so a part of me is relieved that you have succeeded.”
“Where is he?”
Meng Po stepped aside, revealing a path behind her. Mulan was sure it hadn’t been there moments ago, but now, nestled among the bamboo was a thin bridge overlooking a clear, tinkling stream. Two phoenixes guarded the left and right side of the bridge’s entrance, their fiery wings magnificent against the sunlight.
“Is that the Bridge of Helplessness?” Mulan asked.
Meng Po chuckled. “No. You’ll not see the Bridge of Helplessness on your journey out of Diyu. This is a different bridge, the Bridge of Serenity. Your friends are waiting on the other side.”
Mulan nodded and turned for the bridge.
“A word before you go,” Meng Po requested. “I may not have a chance to speak with you again, not
for many years.”
Mulan paused. “Yes?”
“You made a worthy opponent, Fa Mulan. I have worn a thousand faces, but even I did not see through your disguise right away.” Meng Po folded her arms, her long sleeves drifting in the wind. “You surprised me, and given I’ve made my home among the ghosts and creatures of the Underworld, that is a difficult achievement indeed.”
Mulan’s lips parted, but she didn’t know what to say.
Meng Po raised her arms.
At once, the gashes on Mulan’s skin healed. Her wounds closed, and the dull pain in her ankle vanished. The rips and tears on her sleeves mended themselves, and her soldier’s uniform, which had seen battle on Earth as well as in the Underworld, began to shimmer—until the simple muslin and linen cloth became a rich, forest-green silk. Her tunic lengthened, stretching until it flared behind her calves. Fitted over her chest was the finest armor, emblazoned with pink lotus blossoms and a red dragon.
“There,” said Meng Po, rubbing her hands together. “That’s a more appropriate uniform for such a warrior such as yourself.”
Mulan stared at herself in awe. “Thank you, Meng Po, but I can’t wear this. I’m returning to the army. And…” She stopped. “And…they don’t know I’m a woman.”
“I know, I know.” Meng Po chuckled. “I was about to tell you not to grow too attached. My magic is based in illusion, after all…but you shouldn’t reunite with your friends and see King Yama in those rags. Now—” Meng Po gestured at Mulan’s sword, which had reappeared at her hip in an exquisitely carved wooden scabbard. “Tell me where you found this sword.”
Mulan passed it to her. “On the Mountain of Knives.”
“I have not seen it in many years.” Meng Po marveled at the blade, running her fingers across the words emblazoned on the steel.
“It doesn’t seem like something that belongs in Diyu. ShiShi said it had magic.”
“Indeed it does,” Meng Po said slyly. “Is that all you know about it?”
Mulan touched her chin, remembering. “My father once told me about demigod who lived long, long ago. He was a hero who wielded a magical sword. One like this.”
“Your father was right,” Meng Po agreed. “Except that hero was not a man, but a woman. Me.”
Reflection: A Twisted Tale Page 24
