Reflection: A Twisted Tale Page 9

“No,” ShiShi replied with a huff. He looked at their surroundings suspiciously. “We fell a long way. We must be in the heart of Diyu.”

  “The heart of Diyu is a garden?” Mulan spoke up.

  As far as she could see were flowers and trees, all so lush and beautiful Mulan could almost forget she was in the Underworld. Tall grass tickled her waist as she stepped up to a tangerine tree. Behind it was a tinkling brook, teeming with white-and-red-spotted carp.

  “Don’t eat anything,” ShiShi warned her. “Or drink anything either, for that matter.”

  “Why not?”

  “King Yama’s playing a game with us. And in his domain, he sets the rules. No unnecessary risks.”

  Mulan nodded, remembering their trial in the forest. “We need to find a way back up.”

  “Unless one of you can sprout wings,” ShiShi said drily, “I don’t see a way of going back up.”

  She shielded her eyes and looked at the sky. It was blue as the paint the porcelain artists back in her village used—just as brilliant and bright—but there was no sun. If she squinted hard enough, she could make out the moon behind one of the flat white clouds. A quarter of it was now black.

  “Don’t look so surprised,” ShiShi said, noticing Mulan’s stricken expression. “You took your time in the tower. And then there was that godforsaken well. At least we have Li Shang now.”

  She nodded numbly. She had no idea how far they’d fallen from Diyu’s gates, and—she couldn’t tell how much time they had left until sunrise.

  Which, she supposed, had been King Yama’s plan all along. There was no way he’d have let them leave Diyu directly from the Tower of the Last Glance to Home.

  “There,” Shang said, pointing. A gilded pavilion peeked out of the trees, its jade-and-gold-painted roof camouflaged by the lush greenery in the courtyard surrounding it. “Maybe it’ll lead elsewhere in Diyu.”

  “It could lead us deeper into Diyu,” his guardian argued.

  “Or it could lead up.”

  “Shang’s right,” said Mulan. She swept her foot across the dirt, unveiling a brick path that led to the pavilion. “We have to try. Perhaps this pavilion has one of those portals that leads elsewhere.”

  “I don’t like this,” ShiShi grumbled, but he followed behind Mulan and Shang, his paws crushing the flowers. “The last time I was invited to a pavilion like that one was with Li Shang’s great-great-grandfather. He had the grandest statue of me made and put in the center, and everyone marveled at how glorious I looked. Then it got demolished a few years later during a battle.” He moaned. “Terrible memory of such pavilions.”

  Mulan smothered a chuckle and kept her gaze forward. The pavilion overlooked a pond that was fed by the brook she had noticed earlier. Inside they could see two wooden benches and dark rosewood tables with carvings of foxes on the legs. A pot of tea rested on one table, its steam curling into the air.

  “Wait,” Shang said, raising a hand before they got too close. “We’re not alone.”

  “I’ll go,” ShiShi said. “After all, I have the most experience here in Diyu. I can smell demons from a thousand paces away.” And before anyone could stop him, he strode to the pavilion, sniffing at the pink and white rosebushes along the path. One of the bushes rustled, and he pounced on it.

  “Wait, ShiShi—be careful!”

  Too late. As soon as Mulan cried out her warning, a bronze spade popped out of the bush and smashed ShiShi on the head.

  “OW!” the lion cried.

  Out of the bush emerged a short elderly woman. She wore a round straw hat and a creamy green robe with a yellow sash. The spade gleamed in her hand, and she raised it at ShiShi threateningly. “That’ll teach you, you bully of a lion, trying to scare a poor old lady.”

  “He’s with us,” Mulan said quickly, stepping in front of ShiShi.

  “He’s my family guardian,” Shang added.

  The old lady’s eyes twinkled. “Ah, soldiers! You should have said so before. Can’t be too careful these days, not with all these demons and ghosts scurrying about. Just the other day, I caught a demon lurking by my plum trees.”

  “ShiShi isn’t a demon,” Mulan said.

  The old lady tossed the spade into the bushes, then grabbed Mulan by the arm and tapped her armor. Mulan noticed for the first time that the old woman didn’t glow or look translucent, like Shang. She seemed almost…alive.

  The old woman wrinkled her nose. “Fashion has changed since I was last on the hundredth level. Who is the emperor now?”

  “Is the hundredth level the highest level?” Mulan asked, ignoring the woman’s question. General Li had said the bamboo forest was on the seventy-ninth level, but he hadn’t been able to tell her much more. “Is that where the gate is?”

  “You’re a quick one. Yes, the hundredth level is where King Yama’s throne room is.”

  “What level are we on now? How do we get there?” Shang inquired.

  “That isn’t so easy.” The old woman sighed. “Things here are constantly shifting. It’s like a maze. Very easy to get lost. Luckily for you, I know Diyu like the back of my hand.”

  “Maybe you could help us,” suggested Shang.

  “Have some tea first,” replied the old woman. “All these questions make me thirsty.”

  “Thank you, ma’am, but—”

  “Lao Lao,” the old woman interrupted. “You must call me Lao Lao. Everyone thinks of me as their grandmother in Diyu. We’re all family down here. It’s been so long since I’ve had company, especially that of such brave and honorable young men—and with such an impressive-looking guardian, no less!” She touched ShiShi’s mane admiringly, which seemed to immediately win over the lion despite his misgivings about her earlier. “Come, come.”

  Mulan and Shang exchanged a look. “I’m sorry, Lao Lao, but we’re in a rush—”

  “I won’t take no for an answer,” the old lady interrupted. Mischief twinkled in her dark, hooded eyes. “And don’t tell me you don’t have time. In Diyu, we have all the time in the world.”

  Lao Lao ushered them toward her pavilion.

  “Luck must be on our side,” said ShiShi happily, still preening over the woman’s praise.

  “But should we trust her?” Mulan asked. The old woman’s energy and short stature reminded Mulan of Grandmother Fa. If not for her white hair, which was so long it reached past her waist, and her pointed chin unlike Grandmother Fa’s round one, the resemblance would have been striking. Maybe too striking.

  “We don’t have to trust her,” said the guardian, “but not everyone in Diyu has ill intentions. Perhaps she can help us get out of here. I’d prefer that over wandering aimlessly about the Underworld.”

  Shang seemed to share Mulan’s concern, but he relented. “It’s worth a try.”

  He entered the pavilion first, and then ShiShi sucked in his breath so he could squeeze himself between the pillars. Following the lion, Mulan ascended the pavilion’s delicate steps and walked inside.

  It’d been a long time since she had been surrounded by actual furniture: the cushions were silk, the backs of the benches latticed with intricate designs of butterflies and birds, and the round rosewood tables all had candles scented with rose and honeysuckle.

  “Sit, sit.” The old woman gestured at the benches, and at the cushions on the floor, where ShiShi promptly made himself at home. Mulan noticed the three empty teacups on the table. Had they been expected?

  “What a long day,” the old woman said, reaching for the pot of tea on the table. “Would you pass me your cup?”

  Shang shook his head, and Mulan remembered how he’d tried to take her arm in the tower but couldn’t touch her. “I don’t think I can—”

  “You can touch anything or anyone that belongs in Diyu,” Lao Lao told him. “These cups, these benches, the flowers in my garden.” She met Mulan’s gaze. “But I’m afraid your companions are off limits, so long as they are still living.”

  Hesitantly, Shang picked up the nearest
teacup; his skin was so transparent he could see the flowers painted on the porcelain through his shadowy fingers. He passed it to Lao Lao, who lifted the pot to pour them tea.

  “Let me help you with that,” Mulan said, rising. “The pot must be heavy.”

  “No, no. I’m stronger than I look. All that gardening.” The old woman tilted the teapot’s spout into the first cup. “You soldiers must know about the war that’s going on upstairs. I’m afraid my news is rather out of date. King Yama is always extra irritable whenever there’s a war. Overcrowding. And work becomes unbearable for him. But I’ve heard all about you three. Captain Li Shang; his guardian, ShiShi; and Ping, am I correct?”

  Shang and ShiShi nodded. Mulan stole another glance at ShiShi’s spot across from her. It was odd that all the pillows and cushions had been laid out there for him.

  “How do you know our names?” Mulan asked.

  “It isn’t often King Yama allows outsiders from the world above,” Lao Lao replied. “You must be a rather special young man, Ping. The boy with no name, some are calling you.”

  “No name?” Shang repeated. “But his name is Ping.”

  Mulan fidgeted, remembering the comment King Yama had made when he couldn’t find “Fa Ping” in his book. “What about you?” she pressed Lao Lao. “Who are you?”

  “Just an old lady lucky enough to have a garden in Diyu.”

  “You aren’t a ghost,” Mulan pointed out. “You look alive.”

  Lao Lao laughed at Mulan’s observation. “I’m not a demon, if that’s what you’re worried about. King Yama and I have…an understanding.” The old woman winked at Mulan. “Though it seems I’m not the only one he grants special privileges.”

  Mulan frowned.

  ShiShi cleared his throat. “You’ll have to forgive him, Lao Lao. It’s the little soldier’s first time in Diyu. He’s a bit edgy.”

  “I can’t blame you, Ping,” said Lao Lao with a chuckle. “It can’t be easy being the only human traversing the Underworld. You’re lucky to have the great Li guardian to guide you. You especially, Captain Li Shang.”

  ShiShi’s fur bristled with pride once more. “Li Shang is the son of the esteemed General Li. I’m going to make him a great hero one day. Once we get out of Diyu, of course.”

  “Speaking of getting out of Diyu,” Mulan interrupted, “Lao Lao, you mentioned that the gate was on the hundredth level.”

  “Yes,” replied Lao Lao. “It is the only way out of here. But most never see that level again once they have entered Diyu. Your best bet is to make it to the ninety-ninth level—the City of the Dead, Youdu—and stay there. The rest of Diyu is full of hidden dangers. There are endless chambers full of suffering and misery, and beasts from your nightmares. Step into the wrong one, and you may be trapped there forever. But Youdu is quite nice.”

  Mulan glanced about the pavilion. All six sides were open, so one could enjoy the view of the garden and pond from every angle. She could easily jump out if she wanted, so why did it feel like she’d entered a cage?

  “Oh dear,” said Lao Lao. “I can see I’ve alarmed you, Ping. Worry not. This isn’t one of the dangerous levels. You’re safe here. Besides, nothing in Diyu can harm a ghost.”

  Mulan frowned again. “If nothing in Diyu can harm the ghosts, then why are there torture chambers throughout the levels?”

  “Ah, you’re a clever one. Not every ghost must be punished; those who do not pass their time in Youdu.”

  “And can they be harmed?”

  “Nothing can harm a ghost unless they are sentenced to be tortured. You see, a ghost’s body is like water. They can touch whatever is in Diyu, but they may also pass through it if they choose. It takes some practice, especially flying and such, but most are here long enough to master it.” Lao Lao tilted her head. “They also feel nothing—not the pain of a thousand lashes, of flesh being burned, or of eyes being gouged. Not unless they’ve been assigned to suffer a punishment. King Yama has a knack for determining what one’s worst fear is and making them confront it—if they must be punished, that is.”

  She paused, seeing the worry on Mulan’s face. “Your friend isn’t a ghost. He’s close enough, of course, but his body in the real world has not yet died. Until then, almost nothing in Diyu can harm him.”

  “Almost nothing?” Mulan repeated. “Before you said nothing.”

  “Did I?” The old woman shrugged. “Ghosts can be trapped or get lost. Those would not be ideal fates for the captain.”

  “What about Ping?” Shang pressed. “He’s not a ghost.”

  “Ping needs to be careful. Very careful.” She plastered on a smile and pushed their cups forward. “Drink, drink. Your tea is getting cold, and you both must be thirsty.”

  “I’m not,” Mulan said, remembering ShiShi’s warning. A warning the lion himself was promptly forgetting as he continued to sniff the tea.

  “What?” Lao Lao said with a laugh. “You look uneasy, Ping. Are you afraid it’s poisoned?”

  “Of course not,” Mulan said quickly. “We just have a long journey ahead of us, and—”

  “All the more reason to drink. A sip or two won’t delay you too long.” The old woman carried the teapot to them and opened its lid so the tea’s aroma could waft to their noses. “Could anything dangerous smell so wonderful? Answer me that.”

  ShiShi’s regal fierceness melted away as he accidentally inhaled the scent of the tea. He sighed. “Oranges. And jasmine. With just a hint of ginger.”

  Mulan had to admit the tea’s aroma was heavenly. The scent wafted into the air, enveloping her in a warm, invisible embrace. The smell made her feel safe.

  She looked into her teacup and saw herself smiling rather idiotically. Behind her, one of the brass lanterns hanging from ceiling appeared in the tea’s reflection, and she thought she saw King Yama’s face appear—as it had on each of the doors they’d found in Diyu.

  Maybe there was a portal inside this very pavilion!

  She blinked, pushed her teacup away, and turned back to look at the lantern.

  King Yama’s face disappeared, and the light inside the lantern flickered and danced. The brass caught the light and took on a spectrum of mesmerizing colors.

  Mulan blinked, and the lantern returned to how it’d been when she first entered the pavilion. No King Yama, no strange colors.

  “Ping?” Lao Lao prodded.

  Mulan’s jaw hung agape. Her answer, which had been clear as day only a second ago, fled from her lips. Her brows furrowed. What was the matter with her? She couldn’t remember! “Uh, I…um…”

  “Stay and have some tea,” the old woman said, placing Mulan’s teacup in her palm, “and I’ll tell you all about Diyu. I’ve been here a long time, you know.”

  Mulan stared at the steaming liquid, watching the dried leaves swirl to the bottom. How beautiful the tea looked, too—she’d never seen tea so colorful. Reds and pinks swirled in with amber and blue—like the mesmerizing patterns on a butterfly.

  “Dooo tellll,” ShiShi slurred. “I loovee a good story.…”

  Mulan tore her gaze from the tea. Her head felt light, dizzy. What was it she was trying to remember? A warning, a story—something!

  She touched the side of her head, trying to keep it from throbbing. Shang had inhaled the fragrance of the tea; she could tell because his dark eyes looked glassy, and he grimaced as if he were trying to fight off the dizziness, too.

  What was it I had to remember? Something about…not eating, not drinking in Diyu. Why? Because…because it would be taking a risk.

  But who had told her this?

  ShiShi? Yes, he’d warned her…but that wasn’t what she struggled to remember. It was something about the tea…the tea! General Li had told her that Shang would have to drink a tea that would make him forget his past life. Was that what she’d just smelled? Then the old lady was Meng Po, the Lady of Forgetfulness, and they were in her pavilion!

  Mulan’s hand trembled, and she almost dropped the cu
p. She placed her hand over the tea so its smell wouldn’t make her forget anymore.

  Her mind raced. They had to get out of here, but how?

  ShiShi had that dreamy grin on his face. He didn’t seem to have moved to drink the tea, to Mulan’s relief, but once his stupor wore off, she had no doubt he would.

  And Shang.

  “It’s my special five-flavored tea,” Meng Po was saying to him. “Have a sip, Captain.”

  No, he couldn’t drink!

  Come on, Mulan. You had no problem being clumsy back home. You spilled tea over the Matchmaker and made a fool of yourself in front of the whole village. Meng Po is not an old lady. She’s a cunning servant of King Yama.

  Mulan elbowed Shang. Her elbow went straight through his spirit, but it knocked the cup out of his hands. It shattered on the ground.

  To her relief, Shang’s eyes cleared. She shot him a look. Play along, it read.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m clumsy. Shang always said I was the worst soldier in the regiment.” She faked a laugh. “Didn’t you, Shang?”

  Shang raised an eyebrow, and then he forced a laugh, too. “Um, the worst.”

  Meng Po dipped her hand into her pocket, and it resurfaced with yet another cup. “Not to fret. I have plenty of tea.” Her voice was still warm, but an undertone of impatience pickled her words. “I’ll refill your cup. But Ping, yours is still full. Drink up.”

  She’s a sharp one, Mulan thought. She pretended to sip, but when Meng Po wasn’t looking, Mulan threw the cup’s contents over her shoulder. She flicked her eyes at Shang, and he nodded.

  “How do you make your tea?” Mulan asked, trying to buy time. “It smells so heavenly. Do you grow the leaves yourself? Or do they come from another part of Diyu?”

  “I grow them myself,” Meng Po said, pouring Shang a fresh cup. “I don’t venture out of my garden often.”

  “Why is that? Are you trapped here?”

  “No, no. It’s just that I prefer it here. It’s so peaceful, you see.”

  Too peaceful, Mulan thought. No birds, no insects, only fish. She leaned over to watch the carp swimming beside the pavilion. There’s something wrong about this place.