Behind them, ShiShi hadn’t budged from his spot.
“Aren’t you coming?” Mulan said, waving him toward her. She chuckled. “Don’t tell me you’re still worried about your mane. I’ll help you braid it again before you have to face Shang’s ancestors.”
The lion straightened, gathering his tail so it curled by his side. In a deep and solemn tone, he said, “This is the last you will see of me, Fa Mulan. I wish to make a proper farewell.”
Mulan’s hand dropped to her side. Her good humor faltered. “You’re not coming with us?”
“Not through these gates,” ShiShi said. “I promised General Li I would aid you in saving his son. That journey is over now, and after I report to the Li ancestors, I must assume my duties as Li Shang’s guardian.”
Mulan had become so fond of Shang’s guardian. It had never occurred to her that the lion wouldn’t continue to be part of her life after their journey to Diyu together. Now that ShiShi said he had to go, emotion flared in her chest. Her shoulders sank. “So I’ll never see you again?”
“Not in this lifetime,” ShiShi said sadly. Then he tilted his head, his nose twitching thoughtfully. “That is, unless you somehow become part of the Li fam—”
“Unless you see him,” Shang hastily cut in, “through me. ShiShi will always be with me, and you will always be my friend, Mulan.”
Mulan did not know why a knowing smile touched ShiShi’s mouth, but she ignored it and embraced the lion instead. The gesture took the guardian by surprise, for he let out a small, strangled cry. Then he relaxed and patted Mulan’s back with a paw.
“You’re stronger than you look, little soldier. I will miss you.”
“Thank you for everything,” she whispered in ShiShi’s ear.
She let him go, and somewhat bashfully, ShiShi shook his mane, seeing that his hairs stood tall and bristly. “I wish you well, Fa Mulan.” He nodded at Shang, too. “I wish you both well.”
The lion stepped into the light shining from outside the gates. Little by little, his golden coat grayed, his fur smoothed into stone, and his round persimmon eyes hardened.
As the gates finished opening, the light swelled and washed over ShiShi’s statue until—in a flash—he was gone.
Mulan swallowed hard. She turned to Shang. “Ready?”
“Wait.”
She looked up at him, curious what he had to say. “Yes?”
“When we go back, you’ll be Ping again.” Looking flustered, he stared at his hands. “I was just…I was just getting used to calling you Mulan.” Shang hesitated. Color deepened his face. “I also realized I never thanked you for saving me.”
“You did.”
“I thanked Ping.” A lift in his brows framed the gentleness in his eyes. “Not Mulan.”
There it was again. That warm buzzing in her heart.
Her pulse sped up. She didn’t dare breathe or blink, afraid she might give away all the emotions bursting inside her now. She became suddenly aware of everything—the slip of hair tickling her shoulder, the heaviness of her lashes when she blinked, the tingle in her veins as blood rushed to her head. The hammering of her heart against the counterpoint of her unsteady breaths.
“So.” Shang cleared his throat. He took a step closer to her, his hand outstretched. For a moment, she thought—no, she hoped he might reach for her hand. If he had, he took it back at the last moment. He wasn’t human again yet, so it would have passed through her anyway. “Thank you, Mulan.”
Warmth radiated inside Mulan. “I should thank you, too,” she said softly. “Saving you helped me find out who I really am.”
Shang looked confused, but she simply smiled.
“Will you two hurry up?” King Yama’s voice bellowed from above. The cavern walls boomed. “I’m not going to keep the gates open forever.”
They were standing in the gates’ shadow when it struck Mulan that Shang had finally stopped glowing. The closer they approached to the gates, the more color returned to his face.
“What is it?” Shang asked, catching her watching him.
Emotion overwhelmed her. “You’re becoming alive again,” Mulan breathed.
Little by little, his eyes warmed into that dusky shade of brown she’d come to miss. A shadow traced the outline of his body, from the curve in his neck to the powerful slope of his shoulders. As his glimmering blue aura faded, his hair blackened, and his skin, bronzed from years of training under the sun, glowed with life.
She had no idea what came over her—impulse or instinct—but she reached for Shang’s hand.
He looked surprised, and for an instant she wondered whether it was because he could feel her touch, or because she had reached for him. Maybe both.
Shang’s stance loosened, and he drew her close, not letting go of her hand. “I told you once you were the craziest man I’d ever met. I guess I have to change that to the craziest woman.”
Mulan laughed. “You’re delaying us from leaving Diyu to tell me that?”
“And that Ping was right about his sister.”
Now Mulan lifted her chin, curious. “Why is that?”
“She’s strong and kind and beautiful and brave.…”
“And also speaks her mind,” Mulan reminded him.
“…Honest, in the way that counts most.”
“And she occasionally disobeys orders,” Mulan warned him, “even from her commanding officer.”
“…She has discerning judgment.”
Mulan smiled. Tentatively, she reached for a wisp of hair that clung to Shang’s temple. She brushed it aside gently, and Shang caught her hand in his and brought it to his chest.
Mulan’s skin tingled.
“I’ll never meet another girl like her,” he said. “Now that the war is over, I’d be a fool to let her out of my sight.”
A surge of warmth swept over Mulan. She felt herself glow, felt the heat in her heart ripple through her veins and rush to her head. It was the strangest sensation. At first she strained to maintain control, for maybe she’d misunderstood Shang. Oh, she couldn’t tell. The ground was spinning and her heart was pounding so madly, maybe she’d imagined everything he’d said. But from the way he held on to her hand, the way he looked at her, waiting tensely for her answer, she knew she hadn’t imagined it. So she couldn’t control the giddiness of her heart, the swoop in her stomach, or the tremble in her knees. And her face broke into a smile.
Then, before King Yama interrupted them again, Mulan turned to face the gates. It was bright outside, unlike the darkness that had wrapped her and ShiShi during their terrifying fall into the Underworld. Meng Po had promised many more trials would await her and Shang, but whatever they were, she knew they’d face them together.
And it was together that they passed through the Gates of Diyu.
Light exploded, so blinding and bright that Mulan had to shield her eyes with her free hand.
Keep walking, she thought, remembering King Yama’s instruction.
Each step grew more difficult to take. Fierce winds knocked them off their feet. An invisible force tossed them into the air. She couldn’t tell whether they were rising or falling. The wind was so strong Mulan could barely breathe.
But she could feel Shang’s hand over hers. He interlaced his fingers with hers and tightened his grasp so they wouldn’t be blown apart. He squeezed her hand and winked, an assurance they would be all right.
They started moving faster. A powerful gust roared and thrust them up and up. The winds swirled, and everything spun. Air juddered beneath Mulan’s feet, and like tidal waves, the wind folded over them, flinging them apart.
“Shang!” she screamed.
They reached for one another, but the wind was too strong. They were moving too fast. A flash of white from above stung her eyes. The light grew brighter and brighter, swallowing them in its brilliance.
Shang’s face was the last thing she saw before the world tilted, and everything went black.
Mulan’s eyes snapped open. S
he bolted up, accidentally hitting the back of her head against the pole behind her. Pain shot up her spine, and she groaned.
Her vision was blurry, still blinded by that intense light from the gates, and traces of the bell’s distant ringing still hummed in her ears.
But she didn’t need to see to know where she was. The ground under her boots was moist and cool, with the soft crunch of newly melted snow. The frost that had glazed the pole behind her—only hours before—was gone. And outside, she heard Yao and Ling making rooster sounds, a call for everyone to wake.
There was no doubt about it. She was back in her tent, back at camp with the rest of Shang’s troops.
Mulan rubbed her eyes and gathered her legs to her chest. The wooden bowl with the remnants of Chien-Po’s soup clattered at her side. Everything was just as she’d left it.
She quickly pulled herself to her feet. “Shang?” she whispered.
No answer.
Mulan heard a whistle-like snore escape from behind her shield. Gently, she lifted it and peeked underneath.
Mushu. Still asleep.
She decided to let the dragon rest.
Pockets of sunshine flickered through the tent, freckling Mulan’s armor with tiny dots of light. The rest of the tent was still dark, but the shadows gathered most heavily in the center—where Shang’s cot was.
And there, she saw Shang’s still figure, just as she’d left him.
Her shoulders drooped with disappointment. Had it all been a dream?
She breathed into her hands. It wasn’t as cold anymore, but her hands trembled. She flexed her fingers to warm her muscles, then noticed the bandages around her ankle were gone. She lifted the hem of her pants. The wound the demons had given her was gone, and the scratches on her hand had vanished, too. Even her uniform was back to the way it had been before, and her father’s sword rested against the tent folds next to Khan’s saddle.
And yet…
Feeling something soft and feathery in her pocket, Mulan reached inside and pulled out a delicate pink flower. The magnolia blossom Meng Po had given her.
She uncurled her fist and inhaled. Did she dare hope that meant Shang was better?
Please. Let him be well.
The ringing in her ears faded, and now she heard quiet but steady breathing coming from the middle of the tent.
She took a few steps to his bedside, then knelt and folded her arms on the stool by his head. Seeing him, she let out a ragged breath. He was still asleep, but his hands were folded above his blanket over his chest. She was sure she’d tucked them at his sides before.
Twisting her hands to warm them, she reached out her fingers to touch his forehead.
His skin was cool. His fever was gone.
Mulan felt the blood rush to her ears, but she didn’t dare shout out to the rest of the soldiers outside. Not yet. She needed to be sure.
Her hands still shaking, she lifted his blanket and checked the gash on his abdomen.
No infection. The flesh around his wound was still inflamed and pink, with flecks of dark dried blood around the gash. But a thick red line had formed in the middle, the makings of a scar. The wound had closed!
Shang coughed. His voice was hoarse, but he half opened one eye. “I…I thought I told you to leave me behind.”
Mulan’s hand jumped to her mouth. She nearly choked with relief. “Shang!”
His face scrunched, brows knitting together as the sunlight returned with its full intensity. He blinked again, both pupils focusing on her. Color bloomed in his cheeks, almost like the flush on his face when he’d seen her cross the Bridge of Serenity, but here Mulan took it as a sign that he was feeling better.
Shang propped himself up using his elbows.
“Slowly,” she said, hiding a smile as she put her hand behind his back to help him. “How do you feel?”
“Disoriented,” replied Shang. “But better. Much better.”
He pressed the back of his hand against his forehead, wiping away the sweat. He stretched as he sat up, his chest broadening and the muscles in his arms flexing under his sleeves. Mulan blushed for noticing.
“Good.” She turned, afraid Shang might see. Breathlessly, she touched her face, its heat giving away the beam radiating on her cheeks. It took all her restraint not to fling out her arms and hug Shang.
She didn’t know why she was being so shy. He’d told her in Diyu how he felt about her. Yet when she looked at him again, Shang quickly averted his gaze, as if she’d caught him staring at her.
“How long was I asleep?” he asked hastily.
“A little more than a day.”
Shang pulled his blanket over his lap and leaned forward. He wouldn’t look at her, she noticed. And he hadn’t said a word about them being back in the real world.
He’s acting strange. Did he not remember what had happened in Diyu? Did he not remember that she was Mulan, not Ping?
A twinge of disappointment tightened in her chest. That meant he didn’t remember seeing his father, didn’t remember ShiShi or the moments they had shared…the closeness they’d developed after she’d told him the truth about herself.
Didn’t remember what he’d told her just before they crossed the gates—about not letting her go.
A lump hardened in her throat. Her hands moved, reaching for a canteen, but she was hardly aware of what she was doing. She felt suddenly cold, as if the world had changed in some irrevocable way, and only she knew it.
Stop it, Mulan. It didn’t matter that Shang didn’t remember their time in Diyu. It didn’t even matter if her entire journey in Diyu had only been a dream.
Shang was better.
That was the most important thing. He wasn’t going to die.
Even if he no longer remembered she was Mulan, not Ping, the bond they’d shared in Diyu had been real. She would find a way for them to be close again.
But how? Now that the war was over, she and Shang wouldn’t have much time left together. After they paid their respects to the Emperor, she’d go home to face her parents, and Shang would return to his home as well…and face his mother and her plans to marry him off.
Her shoulders sank. She couldn’t lie to herself by pretending that thought didn’t bother her.
No matter what, she wouldn’t make the same mistake again. She would tell him the truth about who she was. Soon.
Joy surfaced to her emotions again, but it was more bittersweet this time. She swallowed so her voice wouldn’t crack when she spoke. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
Lying to you, almost killing you. She blustered, “I don’t know what I would have done if you’d died. Thank you for saving me from Shan-Yu.”
He smiled at her, tenderly enough to make her cheeks warm again. “You would have done the same for me.”
Her heart skipped. Mulan took a moment to find her breath. “I’m glad you’re better, Shang. The rest of the troops will be, too.” She stood, deciding she should leave before she sounded too awkward. “I’m going to tell everyone the good news.”
Shang’s stomach growled.
“And I’ll see if Chien-Po has breakfast ready.”
Before he could say anything else, she fled the tent, shouting the news. “Captain Li Shang is awake, everyone! Shang is awake!”
The snow had melted overnight. Patches of grass sprinkled the ground, and Mulan even saw flowers sprouting from the earth. Around her, the soldiers sprang to their feet and hastily dressed so they could see Captain Li Shang’s recovery for themselves. Yao and Ling clamored around Chien-Po, arguing over who would get to bring Shang his breakfast.
“Ping should bring it,” Chien-Po said, wiping excess soup off the sides of the bowl with his sleeve. “We should all let the captain rest.”
“When can we see him?” Ling asked.
“I’ll ask,” Mulan said, taking the bowl. She paused in front of the tent, where all the soldiers had eagerly gathered. “He just woke up, so give him a moment.”
Yao shooed the soldiers away. “Yeah. Give him a moment.”
Chi Fu, however, was insistent on seeing Shang. Carrying his head high, he strode to the front of the tent and rapped Mulan’s shoulder with his scroll before she could go inside. “I demand to speak to the captain.”
“He’s resting,” said Mulan cheerfully. Not even Chi Fu’s demands could annoy her this morning.
“Resting?” Chi Fu scoffed. “A likely story. You must be delusional, Ping. Given how severely Captain Li Shang was wounded, I’ll hardly bet he’s—”
“Recovered?” Shang finished for the Emperor’s adviser, crouching to exit the tent. “Yes, I’m recovered. And I highly suggest everyone eats a full breakfast this morning. We have a long day’s march ahead to the Imperial City.”
The soldiers fell silent. Even Chi Fu stopped talking. His jaw fell, hanging agape.
“It’s a miracle,” the soldiers whispered to one another. “He’s alive.”
Knowing she was grinning like an idiot, Mulan passed Shang his breakfast. “Welcome back, Captain Li.”
“Well, this is a surprise,” Chi Fu said, pulling on one of his whiskers. “How did this happen?”
Shang rested his hand on Mulan’s shoulder. “Ping took care of me. He didn’t leave me behind, like you told him to.”
Chi Fu crossed his arms. “That boy nearly got you killed!”
“He saved us from Shan-Yu,” Shang reminded him. “I expect the Emperor will want to know which soldier we owe our lives to.”
“Fine.” Chi Fu glared at Mulan. “But don’t expect me to write you a glowing report.”
“I won’t,” Mulan said, stifling a laugh.
As Chi Fu walked away, Ling slurped the rest of his soup and muttered to Mulan, “Even his compliments sound like insults.”
“Yeah,” said Yao, “but for once, I don’t want to punch his face. I’m too happy the captain’s alive.”
Mulan laughed, and pressed her own bowl to her lips. “Me too. Me too.”
How good it was to be back among her friends.
Mulan fitted her saddle onto Khan’s back. On the horizon, she could almost make out the Imperial City’s red walls and blue roofs.
Reflection Page 26
