Hi, everyone! New update of substantial size! (Or at least longer than I was expecting it to be. My muse blessed me tonight.)

Also, why is all my A Girl and a Mountain writing done at night? I don't think I've updated a chapter before 2am since...ever. But apparently, as it's 1:15 or so right now, I'm starting to get back into a semi-regular circadian rhythm.

Who am I kidding? I'll be up for another hour reading A Game of Thrones. *sigh*

Well, there's not much to say, except to thank DeGlace for talking some motivation into me (although she probably hasn't realized it until reading this author's note) as well as A Gal Can't Help It for challenging me months ago to update. (She was given an option to tell me which story to write for next, and she chose this one. Unfortunately, I'm super stubborn and only ended up typing this 4000-something words tonight...but still! I give her the second third of the credit to this update.)

But the most important dedication for this update is everyone who's followed, favorited, reviewed, and PM'd me demanding that/asking when I'll update. You guys are the true backers of this story. I had no idea so many people liked it! Hip-hip HOORAH for you!

Enjoy!

Fa Mulan was far from happy.

Asanti was pleasant enough—for a Hun. She was gruff and blunt, but didn't seem to be actively malicious towards her charges. Mulan could respect that, at least, even though she couldn't respect Asanti simply because of what she was. Perhaps in another world, another time, she might have seen a potential friendship in the large woman, but it was this world and this time, so she couldn't bring herself to actively like even the most genteel and friendly of Huns.

Not that any of those existed, mind.

She had been allowed to bathe, albeit with a female escort watching her every move. Apparently the tale little fight between her, Shuurkei, Baatu, and Hantu had spread quickly, as after she had finished bathing, she had received appraising and skeptical looks from any Hun who crossed her path. She could see the thoughts in their eyes: "A Chinese woman? Capable of such a thing?" or "She must have gotten lucky." Either way, their completely unsubtle looks of evaluation were unwanted and disliked, and Mulan was looking forward to getting away from the hustle and bustle of the castle so that she could start outlining a feasible plan to free her friends.

Following Asanti down the once-illustrious halls of the castle, now tainted by the Huns' presence, Mulan thought long and hard about what she was going to do. It would be tricky without knowledge of the layout of the palace, but she was pretty sure that if she could just lose her escort, she could find her way to the dungeons and free her friends. It wasn't going to be easy, but it would be simple.

She was taken to a bedroom where a tray of food had been left for her, and it was presumably her new sanctuary. She was left alone, but she knew without a doubt that someone was waiting for an escape attempt on the other side of the door. They were treating her like a harmless woman so far, and she wasn't surprised given that just about everyone she ever met underestimated her. It seemed that only now was Shan Yu starting to acknowledge that she might be someone to watch out for. She wondered why they weren't terrified of her for her stunt in the Tung Shao pass, and she was forced to believe that word hadn't spread about her involvement there or her identity as Ping despite Shuurkei, Hantu, and Baatu being told. She was sure that would happen soon enough, though, so it was best to make her move before everyone knew that she was dangerous. She obviously didn't desire respect or praise from these people, and the fact that they didn't know what she was capable of put her at an advantage.

She ate her food slowly—it wasn't terrible, but it wasn't the food she was used to. Too gamey, not enough rice, and very obviously more Hun fare than Chinese. She didn't mind though—the meat was more filling than rice, and she could appreciate the vegetables that had been used, even if they weren't cooked the proper way.

As she ate, she thought long and hard about her options. Throwing off the guard was clearly the priority. Even if Shan Yu had basically made it an open challenge for her to free her friends and comrades, Mulan knew that he wasn't actually planning for her to succeed and was also aware that he wasn't going to make it any easier for her just to get her playing his little mind game. Or whatever his twisted intentions were. She wasn't sure what to make of his dare, but she knew that she wasn't going to pass it up.

When she finished eating the food that had admittedly gotten better as she grew used to it, Mulan began to peruse the room for anything that could be used as a weapon. She didn't need anything as straightforward as a dagger or a sword, and perhaps it was better if she used something a little less conventional. She needed the element of surprise against these big, burly Huns; after all, it was what had enabled her to nearly one-up Shan Yu's little posse. Of course, she had lost in the end, but that was three on one and she had been acting more on rage than smarts. This time, she didn't have the luxury of losing against any of the Huns she encountered on her way to the dungeons.

She had soon gathered a few items that looked serviceable: a decorative paper umbrella; a sturdy calligraphy brush with lacquered wood and a sharply pointed tip; several thick silk sashes left behind by the previous occupant; a long, unused candlestick; and a pretty glass paperweight that was heavier than it looked and very easy to wield.

Paper umbrella: easy to use in a sword-like fashion but much more likely to baffle her opponent. It was light and would only be good for thrusting, but it she could get a gut shot, it would definitely hurt her target enough to get the upper hand.

Calligraphy brush: back up weapon and good for killing if she needed to—it would be easy to jam it into an eye socket and at the very least put her attacker out for the count. As much as she would have liked to just go around killing Huns with it, she was smart enough to know that her stay here wasn't going to be as short term as she would like, and the more she riled them the worse her stay would be, not to mention that she would be labeled as more dangerous than she cared for. Her goal was to disarm, disorient, and disable, not go on a murder spree. First off, she wasn't going to lower herself to their level, and second, she didn't need any more enemies than she was going to have once the word truly got around about her role in the Tung Shao Pass.

Sashes: enough gag and bind her unconscious targets once she had disabled them. Her goal was the weave a quiet path, and while the moment the incapacitated Huns were stumbled upon her intentions would be known, their inability to call for help if they woke up before they were found would buy her time.

Candlestick: if the dungeons weren't well lit, she would need a light source so she would know who to free. Mulan wasn't naïve; there would be plenty of people in the dungeon that were rightfully there and she wasn't going to risk letting a rapist or a murderer go free, even if they were Chinese. She wanted to liberate China and its people, but that didn't mean letting those who deserved to be put behind bars go.

Glass paperweight: obviously going to be used to knock her foes unconscious. What else was it good for?

Mulan strapped these weapons to herself artfully, tucking the brush and the candlestick into the sash around her waist and then tying the other sashes loosely around that. Not only would it conceal her trump card and light source, but it was the most innocuous way to keep her methods of binding on her person. The paperweight she held tightly in her hand, and she propped the umbrella up against the wall by the door.

Pressing her ear against the thin wood, she tried to listen for sounds in the hallway. She couldn't pick up anything except the bored tapping of her guard's foot against the tile. He or she was unaware. Tentatively, she cracked the door open.

"Excuse me?" she said in her best Mongolian, inflecting the politest and most unassuming tone she could.

The guard—male, tall, very muscular, not good—turned to her with dark, annoyed eyes. "What?" he barked.

"Can you-can you help me with-with my robe?" she said, purposely stammering in embarrassment but unable to force a blush to her cheeks. "It's…it's…tied too tight. I can't get it undone."

When the guard stared at her for a long moment, uncomprehending, Mulan did her best to lean forward beseechingly and clasp her hands in front of her tightly as she bowed. As she intended, what little cleavage she had became very obvious.

The guard was quite obviously suspicious, but she saw how his eyes strayed downward without his permission. "You're the khan's khatun. I can't," he said at last, forcing his eyes to meet hers.

Mulan frowned. This wasn't as easy as she thought it would be. Then again, she didn't exact have the most voluptuous figure, so maybe her feminine charm just wasn't enough to sway him. Or perhaps this "khatun" thing was a bigger deal than she realized. She would probably never know.

But she was wily, and she decided to capitalize on this whole "khatun" business. "You're going to let Shan Yu's khatun-" her lips stumbled over the unfamiliar word but it was still understandable, "sleep in dirty clothing?"

It didn't quite have the effect she wanted. His face set into a mean, condescending scowl. "You fragile Chinese women," he said spitefully. "Can't even stomach a little dust on your clothes, can you? What did my khan ever see in you?"

Mulan knew better than to respond in kind. He had underestimated her, his prejudice for her gender and race overcoming common sense, and she could tell he would at least "help her" now that he was blind to her true intentions.

She backed into the bedroom, pressing her arms behind her back to hide the paperweight held in a slightly clammy palm. Adrenaline was starting to race through her, and she just needed him to take one more step…

"Aren't you going to close it?" she asked, injecting fear into her voice. "I don't want to be seen!" There was just enough shrillness to intimidate him into shutting the door, and the moment his head was turned, she leapt up with all her might and smashed the paperweight into his skull.

To her surprise, he crumpled like origami left out in the rain. It was quick work to hogtie him and stuff some paper into his mouth. He would not be happy upon awakening.

Quickly, she stole out of the room after grabbing her umbrella and a quick moment of improvisation—the door opened outward, so she grabbed a knickknack from the mantle and stuffed it under the corner of the door to prevent it from opening if pushed. Then she looked down the hallway on both sides and chose to go left, which seemed to lead deeper into the palace.

The building was strangely empty, and that was when Mulan realized that while there was no such thing as being too prepared, they weren't guarding this place like it was about to be under attack. She supposed the time for uprisings had passed and now everyone just treated it like it was home. There were probably guards stationed outside and around the dungeons, but it seemed she would be unimpeded until she reached her destination.

She did come across one other Hun in her search, but he was going the same direction she was and she snuck up behind him with ease akin to child's play. Obviously he was not expecting an attack, and although he did make a small yelp when the paperweight hit him, he went down easily enough and she repeated the process she had done with her guard with him. Then she stashed him in a corner, although not without some effort. He was very heavy, and she was glad she had lured the guard outside her bedroom into where she needed him to be before knocking him out. It seemed that Huns were all dense muscle and not easy to move when they were unconscious.

Eventually she came upon a stairwell from which the thick stench of waste and blood emanated. She heard rather than saw the guards of the dungeon, and began forming a plan that would allow her to outwit the two or three that there were so that she could free her friends.

Soon enough, her idea coalesced, and she started to creep down the stairs.

The past three months had taught Yao a lot of things, and the primary one was that life was more unfair than he had ever really cared to acknowledge. The realization had begun the moment his admired and beloved comrade, Ping, had been revealed to be a woman, and despite all that she had done for China, including saving exactly everyone in the army's lives at the Tung Shao Pass, she had barely escaped with her head attached to her body. It had gone further downhill when the emperor was taken and beheaded like Mulan almost had been by that damned Shan Yu.

Somehow, in his heart of hearts, the moment that the Huns had torn apart the celebratory paper dragon and laid siege to the castle Yao had known that if Ping—Mulan—had been there, the outcome would have been different. Very, very, very different. But she had ostensibly gone home at that point, disgraced and dishonored, and China fell to the Huns within a week. He had been taken prisoner and tortured on end ever since, even after Shan Yu had left to get his brides. The torturing wasn't necessarily unfair, as he knew the same would have been done to the Huns if things had turned out differently, but it was certainly unpleasant all the same.

What was the most unfair, in his opinion, was that after what felt like a lifetime of torture and imprisonment, he was going to die. At least he would see the sun again, as his execution was supposed to be public. Although with the way his luck had been going, it would probably be cloudy and he'd die before even so much as feeling the warmth of the sun's rays on his skin.

Lying on his straw pallet with the stench of urine, blood, and feces surrounding him, he listened to the guards assigned to the dungeons joke around and laugh, and there was the sound of dice rolling. They were probably gambling again. Soon, one of them would get pissed off, and some prisoner would take the brunt of their displeasure.

Another unfair thing in life: for some reason, Yao was "favored" as their punching bag. He preferred it to be himself rather than Ling, although Chien Po could certainly take it better. Unfortunately, Chien Po was not allowed to be removed from his cell at all because the last time he had been let out, the normally gentle giant had nearly killed two men, injured twice as many, and came within a hair's breadth of escape. However, Shan Yu had been nearby and was able to subdue him with rather less ease than normal, but he subdued him nonetheless. It had been overheard that they had been starving Chien Po ever since to emaciate him and prevent him from attempting to escape again.

Ling, on the other hand, had been completely broken. Gone were the cheerful smiles and goofy jokes, replaced by hard eyes, often blank, and the grim look on the face of a man who considered himself already dead except for the fact that he was breathing. That was possibly what hurt the most for Yao, but they rarely saw each other outside dual torturing sessions.

Suddenly, the laughing stopped. It was so silent a pin could have dropped and be heard. Yao cringed, knowing that any minute now he would be dragged out of his cell and beaten bloody.

There were footsteps, but strangely, they were moving away from his cell, not toward it. Yao could only hope whoever lost hadn't decided to go after Ling instead.

More long moments of silence. Curiosity almost, almost made him force himself to stand up and see what was going on outside of his cell.

Then, suddenly, a cry of pain and shouting. But it wasn't a prisoner crying out. One of the guards could vaguely be heard groaning and then there was a loud thump. More cries and shouts of anger, surprise…and then pain, and two more thumps. One Hun whimpered shrilly and then there was a dull smack that rendered him silent.

Yao couldn't believe his ears, so he decided to investigate with his eyes. Something was wrong—but he wasn't sure if it was the good kind of wrong or the bad kind of wrong. He couldn't honestly say he was expecting the former until he saw a man—woman—whom he had never expected to see alive again.

She was different. Her hair was more even now, less choppy, and just a tad bit longer than he remembered. She was also wearing clothes fit for a Chinese noblewoman, and they looked out of place and good on her at the same time. She was wielding, of all things, a fancy paper umbrella and holding a bloody round…paperweight?

Yao couldn't deny that he was baffled. "Ping? What the fuck?"

No, she was Mulan, but he was still so used to calling her Ping, and in this moment, she truly looked like her alter ego despite her feminine clothing and hair. There was that fierce, determined look on her face that he had always associated with the bravest man of their lot.

But then her face softened, and she was clearly Mulan. "Yao? Is that you?"

He could only stare at her, bewildered. And then he realized he was dreaming and sighed. "Yeah. Come to get me out, have ya?" he asked, resignation in his tone. He'd had dreams like this before, although it had always been Captain Li who did the rescuing. Now, Yao wasn't even sure he was alive, so obviously Mulan would come to take his place. Odd, though, that he'd imagine her as her true gender instead of as Ping.

Mulan stared at him, concern clear on her face, before she blanked her expression and unlocked his cell door. "Come on. You have to help me find Ling and Chien Po. It's too big in here and I don't have enough time to do this by myself."

Yao nodded and stood. He was pretty sure there wasn't supposed to be pain in dreams, but perhaps it was one of those fever dreams he'd used to have when he wasn't accustomed to the torture. There was pain then, although not from the creaking of his unused bones and taut muscles. He staggered out of the cell, and was surprised when Mulan leaned down and embraced him. He felt wetness on his ragged, torn uniform, and he realized that she was crying.

Definitely a dream. He almost laughed.

But when Mulan finally pulled away, her face was again hard and determined and so like Ping's. "Let's go."

It was quick work to locate Chien Po—he was in the largest cell. Mulan gasped in dismay at seeing the large man so thin. Even Yao hadn't realized what the Huns had reduced him to: only a shadow of who had had been. He was still tall and towered over everyone, but the potbelly that had once been so prominent was nearly gone. He opened his eyes at the clanking of the keys against metal and sighed.

"Another dream, it is?" he asked in his soft, gentle voice.

"Not quite," Mulan told him. "Can you walk?"

Chien Po nodded. "I can do anything I want to in my dreams." He stood and wobbled, but managed to stay up.

Yao thought it a bit strange that Chien Po was convinced he was dreaming, too. He felt that it was only fair that one of them be dreaming right now, and an alien thought started to take root in his mind. It made his skin prickle, the hairs on the nape of his neck and arms stand tall, and his heart start to race. But he wouldn't believe it until he felt the warmth of sun on his face—but by then he would probably just be waking up to his death.

Mulan watched Chien Po for a moment, a deep, terrible sadness on her face. "Do either of you know where Ling is?"

"I do," Yao said in a surprisingly strong voice. Mulan nodded and motioned for him to take the lead, and he did, with Chien Po walking not far behind. Yao glanced at him and saw that same expression he felt he was wearing on his comrade's face.

What if…?

They found Ling broken and unmoving on his pallet. When Mulan called, he didn't wake, and she became visibly worried. Without waiting for either Yao or Chien Po to act, she jammed the key into the lock and raced into the room to check whether Ling was alive. She held her hand on his nose and pressed her fingers to his pulse point. In the long moment that Yao waited for the verdict, he felt his hands grow slick with sweat and his face pale.

Then Mulan sighed in relief. "He's alive," she said. She looked from Chien Po's emaciated form to Yao, who had retained some of his muscle mass by was severely weakened by months of torture. She made up her mind fairly quickly and with a strength that could only be the product on his imagination—or else Ling was just skin and bone—Mulan lifted him in her arms and left the cell.

"Chien Po, I have a favor to ask," Mulan said, anger in her voice now that she had seen Ling's state. "Can you stash them-" she motioned in the general direction of the guards with her head, "in one of these cells? Let them have a taste for imprisonment."

Chien Po's eyes widened momentarily, but he silently went to obey. Yao realized just how much they had all changed from their time in the cells—it was exactly as he'd imagined it, which explained why this was happening in his dreams. Chien Po was more quiet, less gentle now, given how he manhandled the unconscious Huns; Ling was no longer boisterous but rather practically comatose; and Yao himself had no cutting words to say, no masculinity to put forth. They were all only shells of their former selves.

Didn't include Mulan's strange appearance, but the mind was a strange thing.

Mulan shifted Ling in her arms and there was an apprehensive look on her face. "Is…is Shang…?" She obviously couldn't say the words aloud.

Yao looked at Chien Po, who looked back just as blankly. "Don't know," he said gruffly. He'd all but given up on his captain because of the pain it brought to think about him. It seemed that his subconscious was determined to bring up his every failing before he died.

"Chien Po, I need you to hold Ling," Mulan said sharply. "Can you?"

It was strange to see her like this, dressed as a noblewoman but still just a Ping-like as ever. Chien Po was starting to look dazed, like he couldn't believe his eyes. "Yes," he said faintly, and Mulan passed Ling over.

"I'll be right back. Go hide in a cell in case anyone comes looking."

They did so, and the wait was long and torturous. This was about the time Yao expected to wake up, never knowing if Captain was dead or alive, and never actually escaping the dungeons.

He startled when Chien Po said softly, with a distinct tone of awe in his voice, "This isn't a dream."

Yao looked at him with some of his old spunk. "Of course it is."

Chien Po looked back with a quirky little smile of his face, the kind he used to have when they were serving his favorite food at camp. "Would we both think it was a dream if it was?"

Yao couldn't argue with his own subconscious and wouldn't bother to anyway. He waited to wake up.

There was the light sound of something dragging and then Mulan appeared, a barely-conscious and severely wounded Shang draped partially over her shoulders. "We're done here." Tears sparkled in her eyes. "We have to get you out of the palace quick, before anyone realizes you're gone."

His dreams had never gotten farther than the stairwell, so when they arrived at the top and into the hallway, he wasn't surprised at all to see Shan Yu and his entourage waiting for them, armed to the teeth. The only strange thing was that the five Huns other than Shan Yu looked legitimately surprised. Mulan had reared back and was baring her teeth with a feral look on her face as she stepped in front of Yao, Ling, and Chien Po, and even shifted Shang so that he was partially behind her. Yao had never seen that expression of pure loathing before, and he truly believed that dream-Mulan would kill these men with her bare hands if she had to.

"Well done, my khatun," Shan Yu said, amusement and pride clear in his deep voice.

Of course it was a dream.

He was really anxious to wake up now, though. If this wasn't a dream, he wasn't exactly looking forward to finding out just how much more unfair his life could be.

Ah, um, don't hate me too much, but this was the only legitimate place to leave off. I promise I'll get an update in soon! (I'll do my best, at the very least...Yes, I suck.)

Cheers, and please review!