Stop thinking like that, she thought miserably. You sound like he’s going to die.
She watched his chest rise and fall, the movement so imperceptible she wondered if she imagined it. She couldn’t even hear him breathe. Reaching for his wrist, she kept her hand over his, feeling for his pulse.
Still there. Still faint.
“Shang is not going to die,” Mulan whispered aloud. She choked back a sob. “He’s not.”
But even she couldn’t persuade herself. Moisture tingled in her eyes, and the swell in her throat hurt more and more as she tried to hold in her emotions. He’s not.
Hot tears trickled down her cheeks as she unfolded her arms and sat up. She wiped her face, tasting the salt in her tears as they slipped into the corner of her mouth.
Her hands trembled at her side, and her head felt light. Fatigue was catching up with her, and she blamed it for her doubts.
Need to sleep, her body begged. Just a little. Just for a few minutes.
No. The world swayed. Her eyelids half closed. Must watch Shang. Must. Watch.
You can’t take care of him if you don’t take care of yourself. Sleep. Just a little.
Just a little. Finally, Mulan crawled away from Shang’s side and retreated to the back corner of the tent, leaning against a pole. She hugged her arms against her chest and stretched out her legs over the frosted grass. Her breathing slowed.
She didn’t know how long she slept—minutes or hours—before a burst of wind brushed her cheek and woke her.
Moonlight seeped into her eyes. Had the tent’s flap come loose? Mulan jerked upright with worry and started to get up to close the flap against the chill breeze.
But then she froze.
It wasn’t moonlight at all, or a loose tent flap.
It was a man, leaning over next to Shang. He was dressed in a military uniform, but he wasn’t one of Shang’s soldiers, and they had to be days from the closest village. That was odd.
But even odder—he glowed. Was she dreaming? Mulan rubbed her eyes. He still glowed.
From his hair to his boots, he radiated a soft greenish blue, as if someone had put a lantern in the deepest part of the ocean. His ghostly face shone so brightly Mulan couldn’t make out his features. His voice was low and soft. “Please don’t die,” he said to Shang. “It is not yet your time.”
Careful to stay shrouded in the shadows, Mulan rose. She didn’t recognize the stranger, and his uniform was blue like the rest of him, so she couldn’t identify his rank. But she could tell his armor’s quality was better than Shang’s. A clue that he was an officer of high rank.
A general!
“My son,” the general said, “can you hear me?”
Mulan held her breath. My son? If the man was Shang’s father, then he was…General Li.
No, that’s impossible. General Li is dead. I must be dreaming. I must be so tired I even know I’m dreaming. She shrank back in her corner. General Li’s body shimmered with watery blue light—and his boots, Mulan saw, barely touched the ground.
Definitely can’t be real. I should go back to sleep.
But she couldn’t. Not while General Li wept over his son’s body. She watched his shoulders shake as he exhaled. It was a ragged, sorrow-ridden breath, one that touched Mulan to the core. If this ghost, this spirit truly was Shang’s father, she had to do whatever she could to ease both their suffering.
She took a step toward him. If General Li saw her, he didn’t acknowledge it. His attention was on his son.
“Do you remember, Shang, when you were a child?” he said. “Even then you were already my best student. Do you remember how your ma would scold you for studying military history instead of the classics, and how you turned her zither into a target for your shooting practice? I had to reprimand you, but inside, I was so proud. You weren’t afraid of anything, except disappointing me. And when it finally came time for you to lead your own regiment into battle, I…I had such high hopes for you. But I should not have underestimated Shan-Yu’s army. I failed you, my son.”
Mulan pursed her lips, unsure how to address a ghost. “General Li?”
Shang’s father turned to her, and a quiet gasp escaped Mulan’s lips. The general’s resemblance to his son was striking; they had the same probing, dark eyes, the same square jaw and earnest brow. But unlike Shang, gray streaked the general’s hair along his temples, and a carefully groomed beard dressed the lower contours of his face.
Mulan composed herself. “I’m Ping. I’m your son’s…” She stumbled over what to say. Recruit? Soldier? “I’m your son’s friend.”
At that, General Li’s expression softened, and he bowed his head. “Ah, I see. Thank you for watching over him, Ping. You will be released from your duty shortly.”
Mulan frowned at his words. What did he mean, she’d be released shortly? Was Shang going to die?
She started to ask him, but the question clung to her throat. So she said instead, “General Li, pardon me for asking, but—but how are you here?”
“Shang will not make it through the night,” General Li informed her sadly, without answering her question. “He will join me in the Underworld.”
“Sir,” Mulan croaked, her voice crawling out of her lips, “what are you saying? You can’t mean that Captain Li is going to d—”
“Yes,” General Li cut her off. “I thank you for all you have done. But there is nothing that could have saved my son. Shang’s spirit is already on its way to Diyu. In the morning, he will pass on.”
Diyu. Her grandmother had told her stories about the Underworld when she was a girl. About how every person, good or bad, descended into Diyu upon death for judgment. There, King Yama, the ruler of Diyu, would judge one’s time on Earth and determine how long one must stay in the Underworld as a ghost. Some would have to wait a year, others centuries. Some would never leave. They became demons.
Be a good girl, Grandmother Fa used to say, or King Yama will turn you into a demon! Respect your ancestors—or none of their ghosts will greet you when you descend to Diyu and guide you through the Underworld.
Mulan blinked. All those tales…they were just folklore. Legends. Weren’t they?
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head at General Li. “No. There has to be a way to save him.”
“I’m afraid there is not.”
“You’re a spirit,” she reasoned. “And yet, you’ve managed to break the boundaries between here and Diyu. You must know of a way I can save Shang.”
General Li hesitated. His face was sorrowful. “I shouldn’t be here. My family owes you its gratitude, Ping, for watching Shang over these last few hours—”
“No,” Mulan said. “You don’t.” She curled her fists, sucked in a deep breath. “I owe Shang my gratitude. It’s because of me he’s dying. Your son saved me from Shan-Yu. If not for him, I would be dead. It is I who owe him a debt. And I will do whatever it takes to save his life.”
General Li studied her. “Anything?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Tell me if there’s a way to save him. I heard what you said—that it isn’t his time to die yet. He is a good man, your son. Please help me save him.”