"Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves: one for your enemy, and one for yourself."
(Confucius)

It occurred to Mulan, as she knelt before her commanding officer under the poised shadow of her own sword, that everything she had done since stealing her father's conscription notice led her right to this moment.

The sword landed before her on the cold hard ground.

Relief flooded her, leaving her limbs like jelly. She barely heard Shang's words as he turned away.

Hot tears shivered on her lashes for a moment before dropping into the snow. She wasn't sure if they were from relief or rage.

Mulan felt her friends' presence as they approached. Ling was the first to speak. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice as soft and sad as snowfall. "I'm so sorry."

She shook her head weakly. "Not your fault."

Yao nudged a covered basket with his toe and grunted as he turned away. Mulan lifted the corner of the cloth. The basket was packed with food. Battle rations, sure, but food all the same.

Chien-Po gave her a little bow, as was his way.

"Soldiers!" Shang barked across the pass. The three jumped guiltily. Shang stared right at them. "Move out!"

Chien-Po turned back to Mulan and pressed a bundle of herbs into her hand. "For infection," he said.

Ling looked over his shoulder. The captain and Chi Fu were still preoccupied with a particularly obstinate pack mule a dozen meters away. Without ceremony, Ling dumped a pack of bandages into Mulan's lap and walked away whistling. He wasn't fooling anyone. Mulan smiled and felt a pang, unrelated to her physical injury but no less painful. She would miss these men. She knew they felt it too – each of them sneaked glances back at her until they disappeared over the crest of the pass and vanished from sight.


Whatever medicine the herbalist had administered wore off sometime during the night. Mulan woke up to blinding pain coursing over her in waves. She rode them as surely as she had the avalanche, teeth gritted as tears froze like pearls on her cheeks.

She lifted the hem of her shirt to find the bandage soaked through. She pulled it loose and the wound bled freely. Her flesh was red and hot to the touch. Mulan applied a fistful of snow and hissed at the paltry relief it brought. She was a little aghast at how much pain such a seemingly small wound could bring.

Mushu lit a fire that cast frightful shadows over her haggard face. Mulan's teeth chattered as chills racked her body. The threadbare horse blanket did little to fend off the cold. The herbs Chien-Po left dulled the pain, but the steady throb in her side still kept her awake long after moonrise. Mulan huddled against Khan for warmth and drank melted snow from her helmet. She licked her lips; the sour aftertaste of her own sweat lingered there. Mulan stared into the smoldering fire.

Her thoughts were jumbled and aimless as she replayed the battle in her mind, second-guessing each moment, every choice. If she hadn't gone back for Shang. If she hadn't snatched the last cannon from Yao's startled hands. If she had followed orders like a good little soldier – then maybe she wouldn't be here, freezing to death, alone, while her body waged a war of its own.

Mulan couldn't get Shang's face out of her head – the shadow that had darkened his expression as he'd looked down on her, crouching in the snow. She had seen anger, yes, and betrayal – but there had also been cowardice and fear there.

"A life for a life; my debt is repaid," he had said. But he truly hadn't spared her at all; he'd merely delayed her execution. He was too much a coward to do it himself, so he had left the elements and the pass to do it for him. She narrowed her eyes. Shang had sentenced her to a death without honor. She would survive to return the favor if it was the last thing she did. It wasn't a happy thought, but it did bring her some comfort as she fell into a fitful, fevered sleep.


"Mushu, I need a favor," Mulan began slowly. She needed to pick her words carefully on such a sensitive topic, and charging in like a bull in a tea shop (her usual approach) would win her no aid.

"Just say the word, girl, and I will make it happen!" Mushu said with his usual flair.

Mulan took a breath. "I need you – to light me on fire. Well, only part of me. I can't let this get infected." She gestured at her heavily bandaged torso.

Mushu stared at her, then cracked a smile. "Oh, I get it. You're making a joke. Ha ha ha, color me amused," he said with a wink. "I know they say laughter's the best medicine, Mulan, but I think your sense of humor's gotten a little skewed. What's in those herbs, anyway?"

"I'm serious."

Silence.

"Unh-uh," Mushu said stoutly, folding his snakey little arms over his chest. "Nope. Not doing it."

"Mushu," Mulan pleaded.

The dragon hesitated, his resolve wavering, then looked away. "No."

Mulan groaned and slumped back against Khan's broad ribcage, her face like a storm cloud. The proud stallion glared at Mushu.

"Oh, get off your high horse – er," Mushu stopped. "Look, I'm already in deep doo-doo with the other ancestors! I'm not gonna get Mulan killed on top of gettin' her kicked out of the army!"

"What does it matter?" Mulan said bitterly. "I've already dishonored myself and my family in every way possible. Death would be my only redemption at this point."

"You don't believe that," Mushu said, stricken.

"No," Mulan said. She sat up. "Not really. My best chance at restoring my honor is to hunt down the one who did this and grant him the death he denied me."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Mushu said, waving his arms. "Shan Yu is already dead; the avalanche killed him. The avalanche you caused, I might add."

"Not Shan Yu," Mulan said impatiently, "Shang."

"What?! Are you crazy?"

Mulan said nothing.

"But - but you were making googly eyes at him just yesterday! He's your commanding officer!"

"That was yesterday," Mulan said, her voice as hard as the mountain itself. "Today he's just the man who left me out here to die."


Mulan waited until Mushu was deeply asleep to act. In the meantime, she prepared herself by using a tuft of grass to spread the precious little black powder left to her over the angry red flesh of her abdomen. The granules took hold of the congealing blood there and stung mightily. Mulan stifled a hiss of pain.

She slipped her slender hands under the dragon's tiny, lithe body, holding him gently in place with her thumbs. She had done this once before in the midst of battle, to light the last cannon, but this was a much more delicate procedure. Mushu's chest rose and fell with each breath, and wisps of smoke escaped his nostrils every so often as he snorted in his sleep.

Mulan took aim and squeezed, hard. Mushu woke with a startled cry and a burst of flame. Mulan screamed as her skin ignited. Across the pass, packed snow sloughed off the side of the mountain and a murder of crows took flight.

"Mulan?!" Mushu cried, picking himself up and looking around. She was lying on her back in the snow, as still as death. He pulled up one eyelid and felt her breath on his scales. She was still alive – for now. He gaped in horror at the ashen crust that now marred her side, oozing pus.

Mulan slept through the night and much of the following day. Mushu grew increasingly worried as time passed. He wiped the sweat from her brow and watched her chest rise and fall, praying to the ancestors. Some great guardian he was – he couldn't even protect Mulan from herself! Now she'd gone where he couldn't follow, and grappled with demons while Mushu could only sit by and wait.


Mulan woke slowly, fretful dreams bleeding away as reality took hold. She sat up gingerly as her vision cleared, but she needn't have worried. Her pain was gone. Mulan frowned. She must have slept much longer than she thought. Days, perhaps weeks.

She looked around. She was no longer in the Tung Shao pass and her surroundings were unfamiliar to her. Mulan wondered how Mushu and Khan had managed to move her while she was unconscious. The mountains rose like shadows in the distance. They'd cleared the pass, then, and were in the foothills. She could see smoke curling up to the west, and the dark thatched roofs of a small village. Her heart sank. Was this another town the Huns had razed? They had to be stopped. She wondered where Shang and the troops had gone; why they hadn't defended this town, when they knew what the Huns were capable of. Another laurel of shame to lay upon the captain.

"Mushu?" she called, standing up.

"Your guardian is not here," said a pleasant voice to her left. Mulan whirled around, reaching at her hip for her missing sword.

"Your majesty," she said, dropping to her knees. She'd only seen paintings of the emperor, but this could be no one else.

He said nothing, merely blinking down at her as he waited for her to stand up again. Mulan was left feeling a bit foolish, though she didn't know why.

"I've been waiting a long time to meet you, Fa Mulan," the emperor said.

"You know me?" she whispered.

He smiled.

Mulan heard a faint shout and turned towards the sound. A wave of soldiers had appeared on the horizon, jogging in formation with their weapons at the ready. Their bannermen bore the insignia of the Chinese army. Opposite, another wave of warriors approached to meet them. Huns, though Shan Yu was nowhere in sight. Perhaps they had appointed another to lead them. Mulan's eyes widened. "Your majesty! We've got to move, now!"

But the emperor seemed unconcerned. "I appreciate your sense of urgency, but there is nothing to fear."

Mulan gaped at him. Was he crazy? She wasn't armed; she couldn't protect them both. If they didn't move, they would be trampled. But as the troops came closer, she realized the sounds she should be hearing - horses, the clamor of metal on metal, orders being given - were all condensed into a low, muffled buzzing. The two armies clashed against each other without a sound. As she watched, one man in particular caught Mulan's eye. She would know those eyes and that armor anywhere. She'd inherited both from the man who wore them now.

"This isn't real," Mulan said, slowly turning on the spot. She watched the battle in fascination, as men fought and died around her as if she did not exist. "I wasn't here; this battle happened many years before I was born."

"You are here now," said the emperor, gesturing around them with his staff. "Does it feel real?"

"A soldier can't trust his feelings," Mulan said. "He must trust his training. That's what Shang taught us."

"It is interesting that you still speak of him with respect," the emperor said. By his mild tone, they might have been discussing the weather.

"The lesson holds," Mulan said simply.

The two were quiet for a time. Mulan suspected the emperor was trying to prompt her into revealing more, but she had long since become comfortable with silence.

"I go to dreamland to meet the old sages, just as Confucius did," the emperor said.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The emperor shrugged. "Perhaps there is yet something to be learned from this."

"What can I possibly learn from watching my father get injured?" Mulan demanded. "I can't stop it from happening, and I can't help him. It's in the past. Nothing good can come of it."

"Then why has your mind brought us here?"

Mulan wondered if the real emperor was as frustrating as this one. Instead, she turned her eyes back to watch her father, knowing what was happening a split second before it did. A Hun's blade caught him in the thigh. His leg buckled and he went down.

"Father!" Mulan cried. She tried to go to him, but a sharp pain lanced up her side that brought her to her knees and left her breathless. She looked down to see blood seeping through her tunic in the shape of a magnolia blossom. She fell back, paralyzed by pain and powerlessness.

Fa Zhou got up as if he'd never been injured at all. It was a surreal thing, indeed, to watch him stand up, straight and proud, for the first time in her life. He came to her side and knelt in the dirt.

"Father, it hurts," she whimpered, her eyes searching his.

"I know," he said. His deep, slow voice reverberated through her chest and soothed her. "I know it hurts. But as long as you can still grab a breath, you fight."

"I can't," she said.

"This isn't where you perish, my daughter," Fa Zhou said, his fingers brushing hair from her forehead. For all that this was a dream, she swore she could feel his touch. "As long as you can still grab a breath, you fight. Do you understand?"

Mulan nodded. She took a deep breath and felt the pain burning away. The mirage of her father went with it, fading like a wisp of smoke, his last advice to her still echoing in her ears.


"Father?" Mulan said groggily. Her dry throat caught on the word.

"Mulan! You're awake!"

Mulan tried to sit up, the last of the dream bleeding away. Her father was not here. "Wha's goin' on?"

"Shhhh . . . don't try to talk," the dragon said. Mulan cracked a smile – he talked enough for the both of them. "Just rest."

"I don't think I'm gonna make it out of this alive," she said.

"Don't talk like that!" Mushu said, aghast. "We'll get you all cleaned up; you'll feel better. A nice bath makes everyone feel like new. Speaking of which, you really need one. Pee-yew! You stink!"

"My fever broke," Mulan said, peeling her damp tunic away from her skin. She smiled weakly. "I'm healing."

Perhaps she would make it through this after all. And then: revenge.