Reflection: A Twisted Tale Read online

  “Behold,” murmured ShiShi at her side, “the Gates of Diyu. The entrance to the Underworld.”

  Two demon soldiers stood on either side of the gates and stomped their feet. Then they each pressed one of the demon faces, so quickly Mulan couldn’t tell which ones they touched. The gates let out a loud tremble, then began to slide open.

  As soon as the opening was wide enough for her to pass through, the demons pushed her inside. ShiShi materialized beside her.

  “Stop gawking,” the blue demon said, snickering. “You’re in the Underworld now.”

  The Gates of Diyu thudded shut behind them, but Mulan didn’t look back. The view ahead nearly made her forget where they’d come from.

  Mulan’s breath caught in her throat as she stepped onto a ledge inside a cavernous chamber—so high the blue demon’s taunt echoed for minutes, and so deep, she could hear a river gushing far below. The cave had expanded a thousandfold in height, depth, and width. She could hardly see the other side.

  But it appeared the other side was where they were heading. For the demons prodded her forward, toward the mouth of a stone-paved bridge arching away from the ledge.

  “The Bridge of Helplessness,” ShiShi marveled. “Few have crossed it and been permitted to return to the other side. From here there’s no turning back, little soldier.”

  ShiShi’s warning didn’t frighten Mulan. She was focused on holding her own against the demons, who seemed intent on tripping her. She watched her footing as she ascended the three steps that led onto the bridge. The stones were washed a bleak gray; they were smooth and flat, likely worn down by the demons’ constant marching.

  No structure such as the Bridge of Helplessness could have existed outside of Diyu. Mulan recognized the impossibility of it even before taking her first step. No ropes suspended it, and no poles supported it. Yet the bridge was so long Mulan couldn’t see its end.

  The demons made her step onto the bridge first. ShiShi followed, his shadow dwarfing hers. The lion was nearly as wide as the bridge itself, but Mulan hardly noticed. There was too much emptiness ahead—and below.

  The railing was way too low for comfort. Mulan wasn’t afraid of heights, but a glimpse of what lay beneath the bridge made the muscles in her legs tighten. It was impossible to gauge how high the bridge was, given that below were levels upon levels of harsh ridges and cliffs, stone deserts, and villages overrun with ghosts and demons. Somewhere far down, she thought she spotted the Mountain of Flames ShiShi had mentioned to the demons. Plenty of screams came from that direction. And she’d been right about the river. Its black waters surged, winding in a serpentine path across the craggy terrain below.

  Wooden torches lit the bridge, the flames dancing like wild fireflies trapped in glass lanterns. Mulan tried to keep track of how far they’d gone by counting the torches, but after 108, she stopped counting.

  It was hard to imagine that only hours ago, she’d been climbing the Tung-Shao Pass’s snowy cliffs, firing cannons with Mushu on her shoulder. Her training as a soldier had not prepared her for the Underworld—for demons and magical caves and who knew what else!

  Even with Shang’s massive guardian now at her side, she was uncertain how she’d fare in Diyu or if they’d even be able to rescue Shang. She missed her own guardian. Yes, ShiShi had centuries of experience guiding China’s greatest military heroes—but Mushu understood her, and he knew her secret. Mulan didn’t know if ShiShi would still stand by her if he found out she was a woman. And a woman soldier, at that.

  Would Shang? she wondered, remembering how much she’d wanted to tell him the truth when he’d woken up just before they had reached camp.

  Something glinted to the side, catching the torchlight as well as Mulan’s attention. It grew more brilliant as she progressed down the Bridge of Helplessness, but she couldn’t figure out where it was coming from.

  “ShiShi, do you see that?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at the lion. “Those lights flickering on the cave stones.”

  “I don’t see anything,” the lion replied.

  “The lights look like they’re bouncing off something. Like large pieces of glass…or mirrors.”

  “Perhaps,” ShiShi allowed. “But mirrors will be the least of our concern in Diyu, little soldier. They’re not going to help us rescue Li Shang.” He growled at the blue-faced demon behind them. “Omph. Stop pushing me.”

  Mulan lowered her gaze back to the demons, whose march had synchronized behind her and now slowed because there was something blocking their path.

  Not something, Mulan realized as she got closer. Someone. Ghosts.

  Four of them sat cross-legged on the bridge, looking bored and playing a game of mah-jongg. Unlike General Li, they glowed orange and yellow instead of blue. Mulan wondered what the colors meant.

  The ghost in the north position was the first to see her. A grin broke across his face, and he nudged his opponent on the left. All at once, they got up, crossed their arms, and floated toward Mulan.

  “What do you think you’re doing, boy?”

  “You can’t cross the Bridge of Helplessness if you’re alive.”

  “I’m here on business,” Mulan said, borrowing ShiShi’s line.

  “Business?” the ghosts exclaimed. They turned to the demons escorting Mulan and ShiShi across the bridge.

  “Who is this?” one of the ghosts, a woman, demanded. “Who are you bringing into Diyu?”

  “I am Ping,” Mulan answered for herself. “I’m here to see King Yama.”

  She tried to slip past the ghosts, but they followed her.

  “King Yama doesn’t like visitors.”

  “Especially living visitors.” A ghost leered at the demon guards through his spectacles. “You should know better, Languai.”

  Languai, the blue demon who appeared to be in charge, spat. “Go away and mind your business.”

  “We guard the bridge just as much as you do,” the ghost reminded him.

  “Perhaps we should throw him off the bridge,” another ghost suggested. “Then he won’t be living anymore. King Yama would like that better.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” ShiShi growled from behind. “The boy’s with me. I have an appointment with King Yama.”

  The oldest ghost’s eyebrow rose. “An appointment? That’s unusual.” He circled ShiShi. “And with a guardian, no less.”

  “Stop giving the boy such a hard time,” the female ghost urged. She smiled at Mulan, kindly yet sadly. “He reminds me of my son; he was a soldier, too. Let him cross.”

  “Yes, let him cross,” agreed another ghost. “I want to know what King Yama thinks of him. Nothing ever happens here anyway.”

  The ghost with the spectacles frowned. His aura was the brightest of the four, as orange as ShiShi’s eyes. He studied Mulan. “There’s something different about this one.”

  “Jiao, you always say that.”

  “No, really. I don’t know what it is.”

  “The guardian said he has fairy blood.”

  “That’s not it,” Jiao said. “There’s something else. I can feel it.”

  “You don’t feel anything. You’re dead.”

  While the ghosts bickered, the demons pushed Mulan forward.

  “Stupid gossips,” Languai muttered under his breath. “Be happy. Now you’ve gotten the attention of the ghosts.”

  “Is that bad?” Mulan asked.

  The demon laughed maliciously. “You’ll see.”

  Jiao, the ghost with the spectacles, was still watching her, a curious expression unfolding over his translucent face. “Let’s keep an eye on this one. It isn’t every day we see an outsider visit Diyu. There is something different about him.”

  Mulan swallowed. She knew what was different about her, but there was no way the ghosts could sense that she was a girl, was there?

  Languai poked Mulan’s rib with the hilt of his sword. “Stop dallying. We don’t have all night.”

  Mulan cringed from his jab. A
ll night, she repeated to herself.

  She craned her neck up until she could see the very top of the cave. There was a hole in the ceiling, just small enough to permit a soft beam of moonlight. When she squinted, she could make out a faint outline of the moon. It was full and bright, hanging like a golden pearl against the black sky.

  It’s still night, she thought. I have until morning to save Shang.

  She quickened her pace, forcing the demons to hurry after her.

  “I’ve never seen a mortal so eager to meet King Yama,” Languai muttered after her.

  Another snorted. “That’s because he doesn’t know any better. Look at him, rushing toward his doom. Even if King Yama doesn’t kill him, he won’t last long in Diyu.”

  Mulan ignored the demons. Their words didn’t frighten her.

  She’d crossed the point of no return knowing the price: that once she entered the Underworld, the world above would become a distant dream—one she might never wake and return to, ever again.

  But fear, guilt, grief—she’d buried those emotions the moment General Li told her she had a chance to bring Shang back. Now, mere steps from the mouth of the Underworld, courage swelled within her. Courage and hope and determination.

  She only hoped they would be enough.

  Every time Mulan thought she’d reached the end of the bridge, she was wrong. The stone path seemed to extend forever. Every now and then she felt as though she were actually sprinting across the back of some stone-scaled dragon that kept growing and growing to keep her from reaching its tail.

  If it was a test of her determination, Mulan didn’t fail. Eventually, the number of torchlights on the bridge decreased, and no new ones appeared. Twelve, eleven, ten lights, she counted…then, Finally! Mulan spied the other side of this vast cavern.

  She stepped off the Bridge of Helplessness and paused to catch her breath. She looked up, surprised to see the sky.

  I guess we’re no longer underground, she thought, her eyes skimming the silvery clouds for traces of the moon. There was something peaceful—and beautiful—about the sky here. The stars appeared closer; they shone brighter than any she’d ever seen. She wasn’t sure if it was the same blue sky that blanketed the world above or a different one stitched especially for Diyu. She suspected the latter.

  Shadows flickered ahead; behind her the demon guards huffed and puffed to catch up with her.

  She didn’t wait for them, or for ShiShi. She pushed forward, entering a passageway brightly lit with lanterns and guarded by armed demon sentries. The walls stretched as far as she could see, and the ground gradually sloped upward, creating a hill into which hundreds of stone steps had been carved. She couldn’t make out what was at the top of the hill, for she was at the tail end of the longest line she had ever seen—all ghosts!

  There had to be thousands, no, hundreds of thousands of them.

  “What are they waiting for?”

  Languai, the first to catch up with her, cackled at her confusion. “To see King Yama. You didn’t think you were the only one with an appointment, did you?” He grinned. “You’ll be dead just in time to meet him.”

  The demons all laughed at Mulan’s foolishness. Mulan ignored their taunts and turned to ShiShi.

  “These are the recent dead,” ShiShi murmured. The ghosts’ expressions were long and grave or surprised, as if they’d only just discovered that they had died. A good number had arrows in their chests or other terrible wounds of combat; some looked to have been poisoned, and many were very old.

  “Wait here,” Mulan said to ShiShi so they wouldn’t lose their place in the queue.

  “Where are you going?” ShiShi barked.

  She slipped deeper into the throng, making for a rocky outcrop where she might get a better view up the hill to where King Yama was. The demon sentries were too busy keeping order in the line to acknowledge her: ghosts were gossipy, and prone to getting into fights with one another, Mulan noted. Maybe it was because they were bored.

  A few dozen places ahead of ShiShi, she thought she recognized some of the Huns that had perished in the avalanche. She didn’t see Shan-Yu, though—

  “Ping!” someone shouted. “Ping, is that you?”

  Mulan scanned the crowd ahead, recognizing the voice of one of the soldiers that had been in her regiment only yesterday. She hadn’t been close to him, as she was with Ling, Yao, and Chien-Po, but Captain Li’s intense training had created a bond among all his recruits. She jumped off the rock, her voice tight with emotion. “Xiaobo?”

  He looked the same as always, a thin black mustache slanting down to the sides of his chin and a defined bulge protruding from the belly of his armor. He turned around so she could see the arrow in his back. “Got shot by a Hun.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Mulan whispered.

  “Don’t be.” Xiaobo shrugged. “It doesn’t hurt anymore. Besides, I’ve got Lei and Xing to keep me company.”

  He stepped to the side so Mulan could reunite with two more soldiers from her regiment. In spite of the smiles they wore when they saw her, they too had been felled by arrows. Her chest grew tight.

  We left the mountain pass so hastily, we never grieved for our comrades who died in battle. Too many. She glanced at Lei, Xiaobo, and Xing. I barely got a chance to get to know them.

  “You look like you just got here,” Lei remarked. “Don’t worry, we’ll catch you up to speed.”

  “All these Huns keep popping up in line.” Xing cocked his head back at Huns behind them. “Hundreds of them, all shivering—like they got buried in the snow.” He elbowed Mulan, a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. “Does that mean what I think it does?”

  She nodded slowly. “They ambushed us, but we managed to defeat them.”

  Xing’s face lit up. “Yes! I knew we’d win.”

  Unlike his friends, Lei didn’t look thrilled. He stared at the arrow lodged in his belly. “Ping, did you die in the battle, too?”

  Mulan decided it was best not to answer that. “I need to speak with King Yama,” she said carefully. “Are you waiting for him as well?”

  “Yes, and it’s the worst.” Xing shuddered. “I was pretty good when I was alive—I think. I never overate my share of rice, never gave my ma any trouble, and didn’t cry or curse when I got conscripted. Or when Captain Li Shang slapped my knuckles during training.” He winced. “That really hurt.”

  Lei rolled his eyes. “I just hope I won’t have to stay too long in Diyu. I’d rather go back to Earth as a cockroach than wait in line any longer.”

  The line finally moved, and Xiaobo, Lei, and Xing inched forward.

  Xiaobo let out a sigh. “We’ve already waited all day, but we’re still way back in line. From the looks of it, we’re going to be here forever.”

  Mulan glanced up at the moon, still faintly visible high above. I can’t wait forever. I only have until the morning.

  “I’m glad I got to see you fellows,” she said, about to rest a hand on Xiaobo’s shoulder. Remembering he was a ghost now, she drew her hand back.

  “Ping, where are you going?”

  “My business with King Yama can’t wait,” she replied, and pushed her way forward up the gently sloping hill. Stealth was not a skill Captain Li had drilled into them during their training, and Mulan was grateful for her light-footedness and smaller figure. The shades didn’t pay any attention to her. They were busy talking to one another, and there were more than a few reunions—some happy, some not so friendly.

  Her goal was the dais on the top of the hill, furnished with a wooden table piled high with scrolls and books. Was it King Yama, or one of Yama’s minions sitting behind the desk? The books blocked her view.

  A commotion broke out ahead, and Mulan saw a lion’s tail angrily whipping about.

  “I am not cutting the line! I may rightfully go to the front, because I am not dead!”

  “ShiShi!” Mulan muttered, angling her way through the crowd toward the immense lion.

  ShiShi grunted whe
n he saw her. “There are you, little soldier.”

  “I thought I told you to wait in line.”

  He looked at her sternly. “One doesn’t sneak into King Yama’s throne room. One strides in proudly and with dignity.”

  Mulan cast a sidelong glance at the demonic guards standing along the line. “I don’t think that’s a good idea—”

  “King Yama!” ShiShi shouted, his deep voice reverberating across the hollow chamber. “I am the great guardian of the Li family, and I am here regarding an urgent matter. I request an audience with you. King Yama!”

  No one responded except the angry ghosts who swarmed around him, shrieking and cursing, but ShiShi powered through them toward the dais.

  Mulan grabbed ShiShi’s mane, and together they ran up the hill. The shouting and shrieking spread. Angry ghosts snatched at them, but their shadowy fingers slipped right through Mulan’s armor.

  “Guards!” the ghosts began to shout. “They’re cutting the line.”

  The pandemonium grew until the entire chamber reverberated so loudly Mulan couldn’t even understand what the ghosts in front of her face were shouting at her. Then—

  “ORDER!”

  The cave walls boomed, tiny rocks tumbling down from the ceiling onto the ghosts and demons below.

  Mulan’s knees quaked.

  “I WILL HAVE ORDER IN MY COURT.”

  Mulan and ShiShi snapped into the line, straightening before the terrible voice. Demon sentries grabbed her and ShiShi.

  “BRING THE INTRUDERS TO ME. NOW.”

  King Yama, god and ruler of the Underworld, did not look happy to see them.

  His lips, barely visible under his thick peppery beard, twisted into a scowl. His eyebrows, which slanted up like two thick storm clouds and were so long they curled down his temples, furrowed with displeasure.

  Mulan didn’t know whether she should be awed or frightened. After all, it was the first time she had ever encountered a deity. To her surprise, Yama didn’t glow like his subjects, and he looked nothing like the demons. Yet his appearance was monstrous.

  Wrinkles contorted his face, and his cheeks were ruddy; his eyes flickered a fiery red and yellow. His neck was thick as the trunk of a willow tree, and his wild black hair was so abundant it rivaled ShiShi’s mane. When he stood, as he did now, the top of his heavy gold crown disappeared into the dark space above, and his black and emerald robes flooded down the steps past his desk.