Reflection

by Elizabeth Lim

  She started kicking the air, using her weight against Huoguai so the demon juddered back toward the Cauldron—and toward Shang.

  But then Huoguai stopped fighting her. Instead, he tightened his tail over her waist and reached out with his claws to toss Shang into the river. Shang leapt out of the way, but Mulan panicked. Her getting onto the Cauldron wasn’t worth the risk of losing Shang. Knowing she needed to do something before Huoguai reached the captain, she stabbed her sword into the demon’s tail.

  Huoguai shrieked. He lost control for one precious second, and Mulan uncurled his tail from her waist and reached for his wings, grabbing onto whatever she could as Huoguai veered out of control, flames spiraling out of his fingers and tail. He clawed at his wings, trying to pluck Mulan off as he regained control of his flight. His tail slashed and whipped, spurting waves of fire.

  Inspired, Mulan grabbed the tip of his tail and thrust its flames at his wing. Smoke blustered into the air, and she could smell Huoguai’s wings charring. It might not hurt him, but it distracted him. Before he could stop her, Mulan reached for the sword still lodged in his tail, plucked it out, and stabbed it into his wing. She could feel the blade pierce Huoguai’s thick muscle, the sharp edge scraping against bone. Without hesitation, she ripped her sword down, slicing off half his wing.

  With a deafening cry, Huoguai began to fall. He spiraled, careening down toward the river. Mulan clung to his remaining wing, trying to steer him toward the Cauldron so she could jump back onto land. But he fought back, fixing them for the river and its waterfall. His tail whipped at her, trying to grab her so they’d both go down.

  She had no choice but to jump anyway.

  She knew she wouldn’t make it. She could see Shang holding out the pole, ShiShi beside him, his arms outstretched to catch her. But even if she could make it to land, the river was in her way. She would fall right into its stream, onto the crest of the waterfall, and then plummet down its cascading black waters.

  Shang saw this, too. Teeth gritted, he bolted to his feet and leapt over the waterfall, extending the pole that extra length Mulan needed so she wouldn’t fall.

  It happened so fast. Mulan slammed onto the pole, landing hard on her chest. The impact drew a gasp from her lungs, and as soon as she caught her breath, she tried to wrap her arms around the pole and kick up her legs onto its support.

  “Hold on!” Shang shouted.

  Her body slipped, but Mulan seized the pole again with her hands.

  Shang was floating above the waterfall!

  “Hold on,” he shouted again. “I’m going to pull you in.”

  The river beat at them. Shang, unused to his ghostly abilities, wobbled.

  Mulan gasped as the pole quaked and her feet dipped into the river’s icy waters. Below her, she saw Huoguai still spinning in and out of the waterfall. It would be a long, long drop down.

  “Look at me, not Huoguai,” said Shang, his pale blue figure shimmering as he hovered over the river. “I’ve got you. Hang on.”

  The wind fought them. They began to dip toward the river, and Mulan’s stomach swooped. “Are you sure you know how to fly?”

  “I don’t. Hang on!”

  Mulan dangled off the pole. Dust spilled from its rocky surface. A sinking feeling lurched in her chest, and she started inching her hands across to the center of the pole, where it was stronger.

  “It’s not going to hold me!”

  “Almost there,” Shang said, leaning his body toward the Cauldron. “Hang on. Just a little longer.”

  Mulan tried not to look up at the pole. She could feel it collapsing under her grip.

  Shang was so close to the Cauldron his cape brushed against the rocky bank. Just one more step, and ShiShi would have pulled them to the ground. They would have been safe.

  Then the pole snapped in two. Mulan screamed.

  She flailed, her fingers slipping through Shang’s. He couldn’t grab her; he was a spirit, little more than a shadow. A powerful rush of water surged behind her back. The river was ready to take her.

  He might not be able to touch her, but the Lady of Forgetfulness had said he could touch anything that belonged in Diyu—like her sword.

  “Grab my sword!” Mulan shouted.

  Just in time, Shang reached for the blade hanging at her side. “I’ve got you,” he said, teeth clenched and jaw tight.

  Still clasping the sword, he hauled her up until her arms folded over the Cauldron’s rocky shoulder. Mulan rolled onto the dome, pressed her hand against the edge of the cliff, and looked down.

  At the very bottom of the waterfall, trapped within the river’s black waters, was Huoguai. Smoke cascaded over the demon’s face as he struggled against the crashing waves. Then he was gone, washed away.

  She let out a sigh of relief. “That was close.”

  “Of all the foolish things to do,” said Shang, shaking his head. “You nearly got yourself killed.”

  Mulan grinned. “Couldn’t let Huoguai throw you into the bottom of Diyu.”

  “Well, it worked. You defeated him.”

  “We both did.” She inhaled to slow her heartbeat. Her grin softened into a smile. “And you flew just now.”

  “I…I don’t know how I did it,” Shang stammered. “I was worried about you. When I saw you about to fall into the river…I just…jumped.”

  “You could have fallen in the river yourself.”

  “It was worth the risk. You’re important.” Shang flinched, realizing he’d said something he hadn’t meant to. He cleared his throat, shuffling his feet uncomfortably. “I mean, you’re one of my soldiers. You did the same for me. Just now. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Mulan couldn’t help it; her smile widened at how uncomfortable Shang looked. Something about the way he’d said she was important melted her inside.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “My pride is battered,” ShiShi answered for her. The lion huffed, untangling his burnt mane with displeasure. “But I’m intact.”

  Shang returned her sword to her. “You’re hurt,” he said, gesturing at Mulan’s bruises.

  “Worry about me later,” she said, gathering her breath. “Look.”

  She pointed at the sky. Now that Huoguai had been defeated, the world around them brightened. The streaks of crimson behind the clouds faded, and the sky turned blue as the clearest summer day. Even the smoke cleared, and the hissing from the craters and chimney rocks became silent.

  At last, there was no fire demon guarding the pillar. The moon shone on its dark stones, the slanted light hitting upon a metal placard posted at the base of the tower. Mulan and her friends approached it wearily.

  “‘To Youdu,’” Shang read. “‘The City of the Dead.’” He paused. “Is that where the ghosts…live? Before they ascend to Heaven?”

  “Most of them,” ShiShi replied.

  “Most?”

  “The citizens in Youdu are mostly there because they don’t deserve the torture chambers of Diyu but also don’t deserve Heaven quite yet.”

  “But some ghosts never make it to Youdu?”

  “The very good ones,” ShiShi replied, “and the very bad ones.”

  Shang said nothing, but his brow was tense, deep in contemplation.

  He must be worried we won’t make it, Mulan thought. We wasted too much time fighting Huoguai.

  She jumped to her feet, ignoring the pain bubbling in her side and arm.

  “Come on,” she said. “You can’t both be that eager to stay on this level.”

  “I’d be faster if you weren’t in my way,” ShiShi said, harrumphing as he navigated the narrow steps. “Need I remind you I have four legs compared to your two?” He tailed her, bounding up three steps at a time.

  She pressed a hand against the pillar’s wall, using it to steady herself as she climbed the spiraling steps. She wiped her dusty fingers on her pants, and glanced back at Shang.

  The captain followed, easily keeping up. But unlike ShiShi
, who huffed and grumbled all the way up, Shang was quiet. Often, he looked up at the blackening moon.

  Mulan followed his gaze to the sky. Something glimmered just above the pillar, catching the fading light of the moon and reflecting it onto the sky. At first she thought it might be a star, but Diyu had no stars.

  Could it be a mirror? she wondered. She’d seen something like it on the Bridge of Helplessness. But she hadn’t thought much of it then, and she didn’t think much of it now.

  After all, what could a mirror possibly have to do with their journey to the Gates of Diyu?

  Mulan was starting to get used to the stark scenery changes that happened whenever they passed through one of King Yama’s special portals. But when she pushed open the door, she wasn’t prepared to arrive inside a rather peaceful and quiet temple.

  Golden-eyed green dragons swirled around the columns, and round yellow lanterns swung from the tiered, tiled roofs. In the center of the temple was an enormous gold statue of King Yama. Yama’s pupils alone were bigger than cabbages, and his beard glistened, clearly newly polished—but its size and opulence weren’t what struck Mulan as strange.

  “I’ve never seen King Yama smile,” ShiShi muttered, frowning at the grinning statue and echoing her thoughts. “I’m guessing this statue was sculpted before the gods tasked him with reigning over the Underworld.”

  “Where was he before?”

  “Legends say he was a great scholar,” ShiShi replied. “One who was just and fair, and had a brilliant mind for bookkeeping. So the Eight Immortals put him here, to keep records of the Underworld for all eternity.”

  Mulan felt a pang of sympathy for Yama. That was no easy task. “No wonder he’s always scowling.”

  “Indeed.”

  Surrounding Yama’s statue were countless sticks of incense, bowls of oranges, and cups of rice wine, all made in offering. And on the wall were hundreds of round bronze King Yama medallions.

  “That’s a sign,” Mulan said, striding up to the wall. “These medallions are on every one of the doors we’ve crossed.”

  “Or they could simply be a tribute to King Yama,” ShiShi replied, shaking his fur clean of ash. “I doubt we’d find the portal so easily.”

  Maybe he was right. Hanging from each of the medallions was a little metal placard, not too different from the ones that had been nailed on King Yama’s doors. Except delicate red tassels dangled from these placards, which looked much like the wish cards she’d seen in temples back in her village.

  Mulan reached for one of them. Please let me reunite with my mother in Heaven.

  I beg you, King Yama, please do not send my brother to the Cauldron.

  I pray you take care of my family, King Yama. Let my sons and daughters live to a ripe old age.

  Mulan set down the placards, moved. They were wishes, wishes made by the ghosts living in Youdu.

  She caught Shang looking at the wishes, too. He skimmed through them one by one, as if he were looking for one he’d recognize.

  The lion frowned, coming across his reflection in one of the grayish puddles beside the large water gourds. ShiShi glared at Yama’s statue. “I swear I can hear him laughing at me.”

  Mulan listened. She did hear a rumble, but it wasn’t from the statue. “I think that’s just the noise coming from outside.”

  She wandered to the front of the room, past the open door. The sky was the darkest blue, but it was bright, as bright as the sky she’d seen on the Bridge of Helplessness. Stars wove across its canvas so that Mulan could almost make out the celestial tigers, birds, tortoises, and dragons she’d read about as a child.

  To her surprise, she saw Shang leaning against the wall. He was staring at the moon again. “Shang?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You keep looking at the moon.”

  “It looks different here,” he replied. “Bigger, brighter. But more shadows.” He raised his chin to the eastern part of the sky. “Is that the bridge you crossed into Diyu?”

  “The Bridge of Helplessness,” Mulan named it, recognizing the stone bridge winding through the clouds. Maybe the exit wasn’t in the temple after all.

  She hurried down the stairs into the city. “The bridge is on the hundredth level. If we can see it from here, there must be a way to it.”

  “Finally.” ShiShi huffed after them. “I could use some fresh air. Where to?”

  Mulan halted at the street, unsure of the answer herself.

  “Follow the moon,” Ren had said. But here in Youdu, the moon shone everywhere. And, as she soon noticed, every door in the city had King Yama’s face on it.

  Great, she thought. She hiked up her shoulders, refusing to give up hope.

  “We ask,” she said. “There has to be someone here who knows the way.”

  The problem was, there were too many people to ask. The city stretched as far as she could see. Youdu was certainly colorful, with its bright kites and blue-tiled roofs and sun-shaped lanterns. Peddlers lined the dirt-paved streets, and wagons full of cucumbers and fish and oranges trotted to and fro, jostling against pushcarts and rickshaws and ghosts carrying buckets of flour or water. Pig-faced demons butchered chickens and ducks, ghosts played mah-jongg on the roofs, and a trio of wiry-bearded ghosts rolled dumplings in the corner to sell.

  “We don’t have enough time to interrogate every ghost and demon,” ShiShi said. “The sun will rise soon in the real world. The moon is already—”

  “I know,” Mulan said, glancing at the sky. Only a sliver of the moon remained. The rest was covered in shadow. “Give me a minute to think. If this is the last level before the gates, getting out of here must be all anyone thinks about. Someone has to know.”

  Mulan went up to the first ghost she saw, a man carrying a basket of carrots. “Excuse me, sir. Do you know how to get to—”

  “Watch where you’re standing,” he spat. “You’re in everyone’s way.”

  Mulan frowned, but she bowed her head. “Sorry. I’m just trying to find the path to the hundredth level.”

  Another ghost overheard their conversation and smirked. “Aren’t we all?” she said. “You’ll get there when King Yama decides you’re ready.”

  According to their wager, that would be never. “That’s the only way?” Mulan pressed. “What about the bridge?”

  The ghosts didn’t bother looking up at the sky. “What about it?”

  “There’s no door?”

  The ghost woman shrugged. “The Chamber of Mirrors is rumored to be on this level.”

  “The Chamber of Mirrors?” cut in another ghost. Mulan’s conversation was drawing a small but eager crowd of eavesdroppers. “Even if it were on this level, why would you want to take its test?”

  “Better to wait,” agreed the ghost carrying the carrots. “I heard if you don’t pass the test, King Yama traps you in the mirror forever.”

  “Where is it?” Mulan asked.

  “If I were to guess, it’d be near the Courtyard of Worldly Justice.” The ghost woman pointed north, toward the towering pagodas and pavilions peeking out from behind the squat city buildings. “But I’d think twice before looking for it, if I were you.”

  “No one leaves the Chamber of Mirrors,” one of the ghosts said darkly. “You should wait. Your turn will be called.”

  “After all, there’s no rush.” Another ghost threw her a narrow look.

  That was her cue to leave. “The Chamber of Mirrors,” Mulan repeated. “Thank you!”

  She dipped out of the crowd and regrouped with Shang and ShiShi, who’d been waiting for her by the fruit stalls. She was about to ask Shang if he could fly up to the roof and get a view of the Chamber of Mirrors, but noticed his attention was elsewhere.

  A dull ache rose in her throat. They’d defeated Huoguai, and they had only one level to go before they reached the gates. Yet ever since they’d left the Cauldron, Shang hadn’t been himself. Yes, he wasn’t the type of man to wear his emotions on his sleeve, but usually when he was pensive it w
as because he was considering strategy—or analyzing weaknesses to help them win a battle. Now that most of the battles had been fought…why did he act like he’d overlooked something important?

  Worried, Mulan went up to him. “Shang—”

  “You’re back,” interrupted ShiShi, oblivious to whatever was going on in the captain’s mind. “What did you find out?”

  Mulan dropped her hand to the side. “We need to find the Chamber of Mirrors.”

  “Any idea where?”

  “One of the ghosts said we should start in the Courtyard of Worldly Justice.”

  ShiShi nodded and took the lead down the bustling street. Mulan walked beside Shang. “What’s the matter?” she asked quietly.

  Shang pursed his lips. “Nothing.”

  “Are you worried we won’t make it out in time?” she said, sidestepping a crowd of merchant ghosts. “We will.”

  “That’s not it.”

  His eyes flickered, and Mulan glanced back to see what had caught Shang’s attention. An elderly ghost with a trimmed beard and a red cape just like General Li’s.

  Now Mulan understood. “It’s your father, isn’t it? You think he might be here?”

  “No,” Shang said. “You told me that he was hiding from King Yama before he went to Heaven, and I believe you. I just…”

  “What?”

  “I just hoped I might see him. Before we left Diyu.”

  His confession struck a chord of emotion in her. So that was what had been on his mind. Sorrow pinched her heart. They’d been in such a hurry to leave Diyu it hadn’t even occurred to her Shang might want to see his father. And now that they were almost out, it must have been difficult for him to leave his father behind without saying goodbye. “We could look for him.”

  “There isn’t time. Youdu is too vast. Besides, my father may already be in Heaven.”

  She swallowed, not knowing how to comfort him. In front of them, ShiShi started to slow down. She could tell from his raised ears that he was listening.

  “Tell me about your father, Shang,” she said. “We only spoke briefly.”

  Shang hesitated. “Growing up, I…I hardly ever saw him. And when I did, I was always so afraid that I would do something wrong or not live up to his expectations.” He drew in a deep breath. “I wish I could have spent more time with him. He was always away on duty. I suppose I wanted to be a soldier so I could see him more. So I could make him proud of me. But now I’ll never have that chance.”