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 fever.
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.”