Shang stirred, clutching the cape wrapped over his chest.
Chien-Po brightened. “Look, he’s waking up.”
Shang coughed and wheezed, and Mulan squeezed his shoulder. “Easy, easy.”
The captain blinked, then let out a labored breath. He turned to Mulan, his thick brows furrowing into an unreadable expression. “Ping,” said Shang, trying to sit up.
Mulan straightened, preparing for a rebuke.
“Ping, you are the craziest man I’ve ever met.” He paused. “And for that I owe you my life. From now on, you have my trust.”
A slow smile broke out on Mulan’s face.
“Let’s hear it for Ping!” her friends cheered. “The king of the mountain!”
Shang opened his mouth to join in the cheer, then winced and exhaled harshly.
Mulan caught him by the arm. “Shang?”
“I…just need to…sleep.” Shang closed his eyes.
Mulan shook his shoulders. “No, stay with us. Shang?”
But Shang didn’t hear her. His hands, which had been clutching his cape, went limp, and he collapsed back onto the snow, unconscious.
“Shang!” Mulan cried. “Wake up!”
“Captain?” Yao said, nudging Shang’s arm.
Shang lay still.
The soldiers looked at her hopelessly.
A lump hardened in Mulan’s throat. Pleading with Shang to wake up wasn’t going to do anything. It wasn’t going to save him.
Mulan knelt beside the captain and touched his neck to search for a pulse. He was trembling.
“He’s freezing,” said Mulan urgently. “Someone, get him a blanket. We need to start a fire, keep him warm.”
“Our supplies are buri—”
“There’s a blanket on my horse,” she interrupted.
Ling nodded and rushed toward Khan. When he returned, Chien-Po lifted Shang off the snow and carefully set him down on the blanket.
Kneeling beside him, Mulan gently drew back Shang’s cape. The soldiers gasped, and Mulan stifled a cry. There was a long, deep gash across Shang’s abdomen, below his armor. Blood seeped through his uniform and dripped onto the snow, bright as his scarlet cape.
The color drained from Mulan’s face. She stumbled back, barely noticing Mushu climb up her back and hide behind the green scarf over her armor.
“This is my fault,” she whispered. “Shan-Yu was attacking me, and Shang took the blow.”
“Hey, hey, it could’ve been worse,” Mushu replied. “It could’ve been you, not him. At least you’re still alive.”
Mulan gave her guardian dragon a reproachful look. “You’re not helping.”
“What’d I—”
Mulan ignored him and untied her scarf. “Everyone, give me your scarves. We have to stop Shang’s bleeding.”
One by one, the soldiers passed her their scarves, and Mulan knotted them together into a long bandage. Carefully, she lifted Shang’s armor, opened his tunic, and started wrapping his wound. His blood was warm, but his skin was cold—beads of frost dusted his cheeks and neck. When she was done, she reached to take his pulse again. Her hands shook.
Shang’s pulse was faint. Too faint. But he was still alive.
“We need to make camp,” she said finally.
“We need to go to the Imperial City,” Chi Fu corrected her. The Emperor’s adviser slid out of his corner by the rocks. Frost covered the tips of his thin mustache, making the hairs droop like whiskers on a catfish. He wrapped his robes tightly about him, clearly unhappy to be out in the cold and showing no gratitude that they were still alive. “We must inform the Emperor that the Huns have been defeated.”
“We can’t travel with Captain Li like this,” Mulan argued. “He needs to rest.”
Chi Fu gazed at the captain and wrinkled his nose. “He won’t survive a wound like that. The captain is a man of honor. He’d understand.”
“We’re not leaving him,” Mulan said firmly.
“Your duty to the Emperor comes first, soldier.” Chi Fu frowned at her, his beady eyes unblinking. “Or must I document your insubordination?”
“Leave Ping alone,” Yao growled.
“Yeah,” Ling chimed in. “If not for Ping, we’d all be dead. He saved us all.”
Chi Fu harrumphed and turned to face the group. “All this is Ping’s fault. If not for his foolishness, your captain would still be alive.”
“He is still alive,” Mulan insisted stubbornly. “We’re not leaving him behind.”
“Who put you in charge?” Chi Fu retorted.
“No one,” she replied. “But Captain Li Shang is our commanding officer.”
“And the Emperor is our ruler!”
“Then we’ll…we’ll take Shang with us.”
The other soldiers nodded in agreement.
“Impossible,” Chi Fu snapped. “We don’t have enough supplies to take our time. The longer we wallow in this…this blizzard, the sooner we’ll all die. Besides, he wouldn’t survive the journey.”
“He will,” said Mulan fiercely. “I’ll care for him.”
Chi Fu scoffed. “Lunatic boy.”
“I will, too.”
“So will I.”
One after another, the soldiers pledged to help their captain.
“Order, people, order!” Chi Fu crossed his arms, and a crooked smile spread over his mouth. “Very well,” he announced, “Ping will take care of the captain during the journey back. But if he falls behind, we won’t wait for him. Getting to the Emperor is our top priority. If anyone else tries to help Ping, I’ll report his name to the Emperor for insubordination.” Chi Fu paused so his threat could sink in. “Understand?”
Yao opened his mouth to argue, but Mulan was quicker. “I understand,” she said. “Captain Li will be my responsibility. I don’t want anyone to get in trouble.”
“We can’t let you do this alone,” said Chien-Po.
Ling agreed. “Yeah, we all want to help the captain.”
“I’m the only one left with a horse,” Mulan replied, glancing about her sadly. The snow had buried Shang’s and Chi Fu’s horses, along with many of their fellow soldiers. Only now did she realize how drastically their numbers had dwindled. So many of the men she’d trained with had been killed—either by the Huns’ initial attack or in the avalanche. She inhaled. “Khan can carry us both. I won’t fall too far behind.”
“But—”
“A wise decision,” Chi Fu interrupted. “I am the Emperor’s counsel. That means I’m now in charge. I see supplies in the snow that the Huns dropped. Retrieve as much as you can. Move swiftly. We leave in an hour.”
No one dared argue with Chi Fu’s orders, but as the soldiers glumly went about gathering provisions and gear from the snow, Mulan could read their thoughts. They knew Shang was gravely wounded.
Well, she refused to let Shang die.
She swore to herself then and there she would do whatever it took to save him.
They might have won the impossible battle against Shan-Yu and the Huns, but it was a grim march to the Imperial City. Not one of the soldiers laughed or sang or smiled. Even Chi Fu didn’t wear his usual smirk. A stranger passing by could have mistaken them for a funeral procession.
Mulan trailed the others, Shang slumped over Khan’s neck in front of her. She kept her hand on Shang’s shoulder, steadying him as Khan clopped along the icy pass. The Tung-Shao Pass, where they’d defeated the Huns, was hours behind them now, but there was no end to the snow. Worse yet, even as they plodded down the mountain, it seemed to only get colder, not warmer.
Worry festered in Mulan. Shang was getting worse. More and more frequently, she and Khan stopped to let the captain rest. Yao and Ling and Chien-Po tried to hang back and keep her company, but with Chi Fu watching, she’d told them to go ahead with the others.
Over the day, she fell far behind the rest of the soldiers, but Shang needed the rest. What began to trouble Mulan was his temperature—every few hours, his skin glowed with fe
ver.
Here she was, teeth chattering and skin rippling with goosebumps. Practically freezing, while Shang was burning up from inside. But she couldn’t risk taking off his blankets and exposing him to the cold. Seeing him struggle against the heat, hearing him grunt with pain and mumble deliriously—they were punches to her heart.
Only once before had she felt so helpless: when Baba had been called to war. Desperation to save him had swelled in her chest, just as it did now. Desperation, then determination. But with her father, the way to save him had been clear: she’d gone to war in his place. With Shang—what could she do other than ease his suffering?
I’ll think of something, she thought as she kicked at the snow. She trudged onward. Shang’s mumbling faded, and worriedly, Mulan searched for his pulse.
“How’s he doing?” Mushu asked, head hanging low. Seeing how heartsick Mulan had been the past day, the dragon looked sorry for the comments he’d made earlier about her surviving instead of Shang.
“Not great,” Mulan said quietly. She brushed her hand across Shang’s forehead. As the captain slept, the sweat on his skin dried into flakes of ice. “But his fever’s down. A little.”
“That’s fantastic news,” Mushu exclaimed. He added, “He looks way better. More color in his cheeks.” To demonstrate his point, the dragon pinched Shang’s skin.
The captain did not look better. His face stayed deathly pale. His lips were blue from the cold, and his hair was thick with frost. “Mmm…” he mumbled in his sleep.
“See?” said Mushu. “Even he agrees.”
Mulan gritted her teeth. She didn’t add that Shang’s wound hadn’t ceased to bleed. It’d slowed, but every time she checked his bandages, the blood was still warm, still fresh. There was nothing she could do to stop it.
Trying to hide her despair, she urged Khan to walk faster.
Her cricket, Cri-Kee, hopped onto her shoulder and chirped. It sounded consoling, but Mulan sighed and kept walking. The sun hung low on the west horizon; it was almost nightfall. The sooner they caught up with the others, the better.
She couldn’t stop replaying that moment she’d shot the cannon. She should have drawn her sword and been prepared to counter Shan-Yu right after she fired. But what had she done? She’d watched, grinning like an idiot—because her plan had worked.
Shang had paid the price for her mistake.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, Mulan berated herself. If she’d been a better soldier, they’d be marching to see the Emperor now while shouting to all about their victory. Instead, she’d gotten their captain gravely injured.
Shang let out another ragged breath, and his features contorted with agony.
Mulan touched his forearm. “I’m here,” she said, even though she knew her words wouldn’t help him with the pain. She couldn’t bear seeing him suffer like this.
I’ll never forgive myself if he dies, she thought miserably. If there are any gods listening, please…please spare Captain Li’s life. He’s a good man. He doesn’t deserve to die.
Of course, she got no reply. She hadn’t expected to.
Mulan blinked away her tears and wiped her nose on her sleeve. Crying over Shang wasn’t going to help him. Getting him to warmth and safety, and to the Imperial City—that would.
The troops weren’t as far ahead as she’d feared. If she squinted down the path, she could make out Chien-Po’s burly figure marching down the hill. The end of the mountain path was near; she could see a forest not too far away. Past the forest, they’d meet the Yellow River, and they’d follow its course north toward the Imperial City. Even from where she stood, she could make out the Emperor’s glittering palace.
So near, yet so far.
At best, it was two days’ journey. But for Shang, each hour was a battle to live. She could hear the pain in his breath; she could see it whenever his chest rose and fell.
“Chi Fu was right,” she said wretchedly. “This is all my fault.”
“Don’t listen to that catfish,” Mushu said. “Chin up. You’re strong, and you’re smart. Heck, you defeated an army of Huns. You’ll get the captain through this.”
“I hope so.”
“Keep talking to him,” Mushu suggested. “Make your voice soothing, like a good cup of tea.”
Mulan rolled her eyes, but she desperately wanted to believe the dragon’s words.
“You can make it, Shang,” she said to the captain. She touched his arm, then clasped his hand, warming his cold fingers with her own. “Whatever battle you’re fighting in there, I’m going to help you.”
“That’s it,” Mushu encouraged. “Keep going. Maybe you should give him a little kiss.”
“Mushu!”
The dragon shrugged. “Hey, it works in all those folktales.”
“That’s enough,” she said, turning away so Mushu wouldn’t see the blush creeping across her cheeks. Of all the crazy ideas! “Let him sleep.”
For a moment, Mulan was glad Shang was unconscious and probably hadn’t heard the dragon’s suggestion to kiss him. She squeezed his hand again. “Sleep, Shang. We’ll catch up with the others soon.”
They couldn’t be more than an hour from the bottom of the hill. She tugged on Khan’s reins with her free hand, but the horse wouldn’t budge. Khan whinnied.
Then—
Shang’s hand grew warmer, and his breath steadier.
Mulan jolted, relief swelling in her heart. “Shang?”
“Is it morning already?” he rasped, coughing.
“You’re awake.” Mulan instantly dropped his hand, remembering that he was her commanding officer. She fumbled for her canteen. “Here, have some water.”
Shang tried to sit up.
“Easy,” she said. “You’re on my horse.”
Shang winced, then laid his head back down on Khan’s neck and let out a groan. “Where are we?”
“Half a day from the Tung-Shao Pass. Maybe less.”
“Where are the others?”
Trust Shang to get straight to business, even when he was critically wounded. “Up ahead. Not far.”
She paused, already dreading the answer before she asked, “Is the pain better?”
A shadow passed over Shang’s face. Suddenly, he looked vacant and lost. “Is my father here? I heard him speaking earlier to Chi Fu. Tell him I’m almost finished with my training.”
“Your father? But Shang, your father is—” Mulan stopped. Shang knew his father was dead. Chien-Po had found the general’s helmet on a battlefield, strewn with the slaughtered soldiers of General Li’s army. Shang had taken his father’s helmet and hung it on his sword among the fallen in the snow. They’d all respectfully watched him do it. “Shang?”
Mulan put her palm against the captain’s cheek. His skin burned with fever, much hotter than before. “Shang, wake up.”
Mushu crept to Shang’s side and waved a claw in front of the captain’s face.
“I don’t want my father to see me like this,” Shang mumbled. He blinked drowsily. “Is that a snake on my stomach?”
“Who are you calling a snake?” Mushu said, offended.
Mulan snatched Mushu away. “Leave him alone,” she whispered through gritted teeth.
“You might want to take a look at him,” said Mushu. “Um, his eyes are looking glassy, and his skin’s red. He’s not looking too hot. Well, if you want to be totally accurate, he is looking hot—”
“Yes, I know,” Mulan interrupted, a note of panic in her voice. She slipped off her horse and dragged Shang off Khan’s back, lowering him onto the snow with a grunt. She peeled off the blankets Chien-Po had wrapped over his body, then gently lifted his head and carefully dribbled the water from her canteen through his parted lips.
“Shang,” she said, tapping his cheek with her fingers. “Shang, it’s Ping. I’m here. Wake up. Talk to me.”
Shang’s head bobbed to the side. “Ping?”
“Yes,” Mulan said. “I’m here.”
“You know,” he murmur
ed, “I was so frustrated with you at first.”
Mulan tilted her head.
“You were the worst soldier I had ever seen, Ping. Do you remember? Always last in every exercise. You couldn’t run, you couldn’t shoot, you couldn’t fight. I was so certain that you were completely unsuitable for war—I sent you home.” Shang let out a dry chuckle, and for a moment, his eyes opened. “And yet, you surprised me.”
Mulan inhaled. Good, good. Keep him talking. “Surprised you how?”
“You worked hard,” Shang continued. He sounded far away, almost delirious. “You got better, and you got smart.” He closed his eyes. “No, you were always smart. I didn’t see that at first. But I did see that when you got better, everyone else wanted to improve, too. You inspired them to work hard, Ping.” His voice drifted. “You had faith in them. But I…I didn’t have faith in you.”
His eyes opened again, surprisingly clear this time. Mulan could see her face reflected in his pupils, framed by pools of deep, deep brown. “I’m sorry.”
“Shang, there’s nothing to be sorry about.”
Shang reached for the canteen. He held it himself, hands shaky, and took a long sip. Then he exhaled. “Ping, I know I’m dying.”
“You’re not.”
“I can feel it.” Shang set down the canteen, and his hand fell to his side on the snow. “You should leave me here.”
“I’m not leaving you,” Mulan said firmly. “You’re coming with me.”
Shang coughed, and the corners of his lips lifted into a wry but tired smile. “Still can’t follow orders, can you, soldier?”
Shang coughed again, and Mulan reached for the stack of blankets Yao and Ling had made as a pillow for him. She carefully arranged it under his head. Sweat beaded his temples, and she patted his skin dry before it froze. When he blinked again, this time his eyes were bloodshot.
“Shang, are you all right?”
He let his head sink into the makeshift pillow. “I thought I saw my father earlier.”
“I know,” Mulan replied quietly. “You called out for him. You must have been dreaming.”
Shang turned his head, his gaze meeting hers. “In my dream, he was still alive.” His voice was tight, and Mulan could tell that he hadn’t yet had the chance to grieve for his father. The news of General Li’s death had come too suddenly. “My father was a general for twenty years. He died protecting China. Ever since I was young, I wanted to follow in his footsteps.” He managed a weak laugh. “But here I am, about to die after my first battle in command.”
Reflection: A Twisted Tale Page 2