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.
She held her breath. “We really shouldn’t keep you any longer.”
“Worry not, young Ping, I have all the time in the world.”
“She’s right,” ShiShi agreed. “We should stay here longer. Trust me, most of Diyu isn’t half as nice as Lao Lao’s pavilion.”
Mulan pursed her lips, glancing at the lion worriedly. “Where are we in Diyu?” she asked Meng Po.
“This is the twenty-fourth level. I’m afraid you’re quite deep into King Yama’s realm.”
Mulan’s hand jerked, nearly dropping the cup onto her lap. “The twenty-fourth level?”
Alarm flickered in Shang’s eyes, but he composed himself quickly. “Gracious Lao Lao, would you be so kind as to tell us the way to the gates?”
“There is only one path out of Diyu,” Meng Po replied. “I’ll tell you after you drink.”
Mulan graced Meng Po with her best blank face. “I already did. It’s the best tea I’ve ever had.”
“Is it, now?” Meng Po fanned herself. “If you’d truly drunk it, you wouldn’t remember what the best tea was.”
Mulan’s face grew hot. She stood, lunging to escape the pavilion.
“Stay,” Meng Po said sharply. Paper panels unfolded like scrolls to cover the pavilion’s open sides. At once, the pavilion darkened, and Meng Po’s eyes narrowed. “Please. It is rude to refuse the hospitality of one’s elders.”
Mulan swallowed. They were trapped.
“I know who you are,” Mulan said through clenched teeth. “You’re not anyone’s lao lao. You’re the Lady of Forgetfulness.”
Meng Po rose from her seat. Her hooded eyes opened wide, unblinking. “And you are the soldier who stole Captain Li Shang from the Tower of the Last Glance to Home. Now drink, or I will be forced to set my demons upon you.”
“No.”
“My tea is meant to be a consolation. I assure you, it will be much more painful for you—for both of you—if you do not drink. You will never make it to the hundredth level.”
“You’re right. We won’t.” Mulan snatched the teapot from her hands and tossed the tea at the woman’s face. “Not if we stay here.”
“Ahh!” Meng Po shrieked, her long white hair dripping with tea.
“Come on, Shang.”
Shang was already on his feet. He lifted a rosewood table and hurled it at one of the panels. The paper ripped, and as Shang tore his way through, Mulan smashed ShiShi’s teacup with her foot. The lion blinked, stirring from Meng Po’s spell.
“Get up!” she shouted. “Lao Lao is Meng Po.”
ShiShi bolted to his feet and leapt out of the pavilion. Mulan followed, landing in one of the rosebushes. She pushed her way through the flowers and leaves to the brick path they’d found earlier. Behind her, Meng Po shouted furiously in a language Mulan didn’t understand.
She ignored it. They needed to find a portal out of this level, and fast.
Shang was one step ahead of her. “This way,” he said, heading north. “Where’s ShiShi?”
“He’s—” Mulan whirled around to make sure ShiShi was still with them. He wasn’t.
She gasped, spotting him behind her—in the garden. “The trees have him.”
ShiShi dangled from the top of a tree, his golden fur nearly completely swathed by long sleeves of pointed green leaves. One crooked branch curled over ShiShi’s mouth, preventing him from roaring, but when the lion saw Mulan and Shang, he thrashed furiously. He swept his paws at every branch that dared wrestle with him, his sharp claws digging into their arms and shredding their leaves.
Another tree extended a warped arm toward Mulan. She jumped back.
“Ping!” Shang’s jaw tightened as he assessed the trees.