feathery in her pocket, Mulan reached inside and pulled out a delicate pink flower. The magnolia blossom Meng Po had given her.
She uncurled her fist and inhaled. Did she dare hope that meant Shang was better?
Please. Let him be well.
The ringing in her ears faded, and now she heard quiet but steady breathing coming from the middle of the tent.
She took a few steps to his bedside, then knelt and folded her arms on the stool by his head. Seeing him, she let out a ragged breath. He was still asleep, but his hands were folded above his blanket over his chest. She was sure she’d tucked them at his sides before.
Twisting her hands to warm them, she reached out her fingers to touch his forehead.
His skin was cool. His fever was gone.
Mulan felt the blood rush to her ears, but she didn’t dare shout out to the rest of the soldiers outside. Not yet. She needed to be sure.
Her hands still shaking, she lifted his blanket and checked the gash on his abdomen.
No infection. The flesh around his wound was still inflamed and pink, with flecks of dark dried blood around the gash. But a thick red line had formed in the middle, the makings of a scar. The wound had closed!
Shang coughed. His voice was hoarse, but he half opened one eye. “I…I thought I told you to leave me behind.”
Mulan’s hand jumped to her mouth. She nearly choked with relief. “Shang!”
His face scrunched, brows knitting together as the sunlight returned with its full intensity. He blinked again, both pupils focusing on her. Color bloomed in his cheeks, almost like the flush on his face when he’d seen her cross the Bridge of Serenity, but here Mulan took it as a sign that he was feeling better.
Shang propped himself up using his elbows.
“Slowly,” she said, hiding a smile as she put her hand behind his back to help him. “How do you feel?”
“Disoriented,” replied Shang. “But better. Much better.”
He pressed the back of his hand against his forehead, wiping away the sweat. He stretched as he sat up, his chest broadening and the muscles in his arms flexing under his sleeves. Mulan blushed for noticing.
“Good.” She turned, afraid Shang might see. Breathlessly, she touched her face, its heat giving away the beam radiating on her cheeks. It took all her restraint not to fling out her arms and hug Shang.
She didn’t know why she was being so shy. He’d told her in Diyu how he felt about her. Yet when she looked at him again, Shang quickly averted his gaze, as if she’d caught him staring at her.
“How long was I asleep?” he asked hastily.
“A little more than a day.”
Shang pulled his blanket over his lap and leaned forward. He wouldn’t look at her, she noticed. And he hadn’t said a word about them being back in the real world.
He’s acting strange. Did he not remember what had happened in Diyu? Did he not remember that she was Mulan, not Ping?
A twinge of disappointment tightened in her chest. That meant he didn’t remember seeing his father, didn’t remember ShiShi or the moments they had shared…the closeness they’d developed after she’d told him the truth about herself.
Didn’t remember what he’d told her just before they crossed the gates—about not letting her go.
A lump hardened in her throat. Her hands moved, reaching for a canteen, but she was hardly aware of what she was doing. She felt suddenly cold, as if the world had changed in some irrevocable way, and only she knew it.
Stop it, Mulan. It didn’t matter that Shang didn’t remember their time in Diyu. It didn’t even matter if her entire journey in Diyu had only been a dream.
Shang was better.
That was the most important thing. He wasn’t going to die.
Even if he no longer remembered she was Mulan, not Ping, the bond they’d shared in Diyu had been real. She would find a way for them to be close again.
But how? Now that the war was over, she and Shang wouldn’t have much time left together. After they paid their respects to the Emperor, she’d go home to face her parents, and Shang would return to his home as well…and face his mother and her plans to marry him off.
Her shoulders sank. She couldn’t lie to herself by pretending that thought didn’t bother her.
No matter what, she wouldn’t make the same mistake again. She would tell him the truth about who she was. Soon.
Joy surfaced to