Shang grimly waded in the surf, the cold spray misting over his body. He stopped when the water lapped at mid thigh, his gaze sweeping over the horizon. Almost sundown, he had little time. Fingers balled into fists and eyes closed momentarily before he began to swim to a path well remembered. Shang had followed his father on assignments when he was younger, and this coastline was home to a military training base.

Shang's strokes were powerful and controlled, confident in their fluid movements. His motions wasted little energy, sparse and efficient. Soon, he reached a small island of rock and dove under the water. The general swam down to the bottom of the ocean, feeling upwards for the familiarity of the entrance. His fingers probed sharp shells and rocks until the smooth feeling of a band of underwater plants signaled that he was at the correct depth. Shang finally felt the absence of rock and pulled himself through the small hole. He felt himself running out of air, for it had taken longer than usual to get through the tunnel.

By the time he reached the surface his usual topknot had come undone and his muscles had begun to tingle from lack of air. Shang pulled himself out of the water onto a small outcropping. He cursed himself silently when he became distracted and slipped, scraping the palm of his left hand. He had been distracted for most of the day by his fury; it burned him with rage every time he thought of Tigress. How dare she threaten Mulan!

Shang was yet again caught unawares when a hand gripped his arm, pulled him up over the ledge, and roughly set him down. Shang tried to compose himself when he looked upon the petite woman for the first time.

Small feet, delicate hands, tiny waist, graceful neck. His eyes did not trail, but he still observed her ideal features. No wonder his family had considered her a worthy match. However, Shang became uneasy when he caught a glimpse of her cold eyes; she was trying to hide them by looking down demurely. The slightest glint of a calculating, cruel mind laid behind those dark eyes.

"Rise," he commanded, hoping to follow some social pretenses in this excursion. "What do you want, Sui Fu?" Shang said, trying to keep the curtness out of his voice.

When she did not answer, he grew impatient. He had better things to deal with than the whims of a spoiled aristocrat. He knew that she thought of him as a political tool to rise to power, so the less time spent with her, the better.

"I don't have time for this." Shang made a motion to step back into the water, but a quick hand on his arm stopped him.

"Make time," a musical voice said, saccharine and thinly edged. Tigress, known to Shang as Sui Fu, sat down gracefully on the moss, careful not to muss her clothes. How she ever got into the reclusive cave without getting wet in the first place was beyond Shang. He was too tired to think.

Ever since Mulan had gone to the Imperial City, he had to do twice as much by taking over her recruits. They were a handful of jokers, and Shang could only wonder how Mulan had managed them. Shang also didn't have anyone to talk to since Mulan had left, no one to confide in. Secretly, he missed having her around; the camp seemed a little depressed without one of their comedians to liven things up. He couldn't wait for her return, although he would admit that to no one.

"Small One!" Sui Fu said irritably. The sharp woman had noticed his wandering attention and resisted the urge to hit him. "My father wants us to proceed with the agreement. Ever since your father's death, he has expressed a great concern for your well being. You need a wife to take care of you." 'And I need you to take care of China,' she silently thought.

"Of course," Shang answered bitterly. "And if I do not agree?" His expression clearly indicated he intended to refuse her offer.

"Then you shall suffer the consequences."

Shang could not react quickly enough when her fingers sharply pressed into a nerve on his collarbone. He did not even manage a gasp before his body stilled and his world fell dark.

"Come on Khan, we're almost there!" Mulan excitedly whispered into her horse's ear, urging him to canter faster. Her coal black hair whipped behind her, glinting in the blazing sun, as the wind blasted her face into numbness. Mulan's dark brown eyes were bright with eagerness; she had not seen Shang or her friends for over a whole moon cycle. When the neat rows of tan tents came into view, Mulan clucked her horse and encouraged him with a squeeze of her knees. They thundered down the hill and arrived in the middle of the camp. Mulan patted Khan's neck in praise and thanks. "I promise carrots and sweet rice Khan, think of..."

But before Mulan could finish the thought, a figure grabbed her around the waist, still mounted on Khan. Mulan panicked until she realized the figure was only Ling.

"Thank the Heavens, you're back!" Ling exclaimed, an uncharacteristic desperate tone in his voice. When Mulan got a better look at him she saw that there were deep, dark circles under his eyes and his lithe frame was gaunt and stressed. But what frightened her the most was the look of utter despair on his face. She knew her friends would miss her, but that did not account for Ling's pathetic state.

Other men emerged from their tents, most looking little better than Ling. Mulan spotted a disheartened Yao and tried to wave over his attention. She only got a reaction similar to Ling's: another pair of arms needily wrapped around her waist.

Gently prying both of her friends off of her so she could dismount, Mulan's fear began to heighten into panic and anxiety. What caused the pained faces around her?

"What happened, Yao?" Mulan asked quietly, letting Ling cry on her shoulder. Yao did not meet her eyes and scuffed his foot in the dirt, making circular patterns.

"I didn't want to be the one to tell you, but," Yao's voice caught, "pretty boy... Shang, is dead." With that, Yao began to sniffle, then all out bawl. Chien Po appeared behind him, but could offer no words to comfort his sorrows. The other soldiers in the camp bowed their heads respectfully, as well as in grief, and a murmur of sadness stirred.

Mulan knew none of this. Her lips parted and closed, uttering not a sound for the world to hear. Inside her head was a scramble of chaotic thoughts, denying, crying, and seeking. Shang couldn't be dead, could he? He had been so alive, he had kissed her, he had laughed with her, he had teased her, he had...

Mulan did not notice the tears trailing down her face. Her denial to the news was so strong.

"I don't believe you," she announced. "Shang isn't dead, he can't be!" She struck out vehemently, flinging away her friends.

Chien Po shook his head sadly. "We found his torn robe on the beach, washed up by the water. A note on the archery pole claimed he was dead if Fa Mulan did not meet at sundown by the cliffs. That was almost a seven nights ago." Chien Po could not continue, his narrow eyes solemn and sad.

"No! You didn't find him, he has to be alive!" Mulan ran away from the camp, as if to find Shang herself. Her eyes were disbelieving and wild, and her whole body shook as she choked down her sobs.

The entirety of the camp watched her seek solitude at the cliffs, melancholy. They had been without guidance for over seven days and seven nights now, and there had been some hope in Mulan's return. Now, their leader was in the same stage of denial they all had been in a week ago. There was no hope now.