hands behind her back. Her ankle still hurt where the demon had struck her with his spear, but the bleeding had stopped there, too.
Shang, on the other hand, hadn’t even suffered a scratch. His shoes brushed against the ground like shadows, barely touching the earth. He wasn’t even tired. She knew it bothered him. It was a reminder that he was practically dead.
Mulan’s shoulders fell. This was the first time they’d been alone—and not fleeing demons—since she’d found him in the tower.
She sat on a flat rock overlooking the Mountain of Knives, letting her boots sink into the soft, dry dirt. “How do you feel?” Mulan asked Shang. “Are you hurt anywhere?”
“I feel nothing,” he replied numbly. He touched his abdomen, where his physical body had been slashed. “Even this pain is gone. The wound’s healed. I guess ghosts don’t carry their wounds with them.”
Mulan remembered the Imperial soldiers she’d seen standing in line to see King Yama, how they’d still had arrows protruding from their bodies. They’d looked the same as Shang—bodies glowing and nearly translucent—but even from Mulan’s short moments with them, she’d gotten the sense that they had already accepted their fate. Shang, on the other hand, seemed different. It was almost as if he still had a string tethering his spirit to Earth. Once it was cut, though…no, that was why she was here. To take him back.
“You’re not a ghost,” she said.
“I know.” Shang hesitated. “I never thanked you, Ping, for coming to Diyu to look for me.”
A flush heated Mulan’s cheeks. She blamed it on the exertion required to keep climbing this mountain—even though she’d finished climbing minutes ago. She pretended to be preoccupied with rolling up her shortened sleeve. Its threads were frayed now, and tickled her arm. “Trust me, I’d rather be here than up there. It was cold, and I could hear Yao snoring even from my tent.”
That got a laugh out of Shang.
Mulan grinned. “Chien-Po made a soup for everyone. I tried to get you to drink some, but you wouldn’t.” Her smile faded, and a wash of cold suddenly made her shiver.
“I…I couldn’t break your fever, and you were burning up. Everyone said you were going to die.” She inhaled a ragged breath. “I stayed with you, hoping you’d get better, but I must have drifted off to sleep. Then I saw your father’s ghost with you at camp. At first I thought I was dreaming, but it was really him. I promised him I would bring you home.”
Shang was silent. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you earlier.”
“I can’t blame you for that.” She hugged her knees to her chest and laughed through her nose. “There’s a lot to take in after coming to this place. Soldier demons, angry trees, lavish tea pavilions, and mountains of knives. I hardly believe it myself.” She started to get up, but Shang stopped her.
“You need to bandage your feet, Ping. There’s more walking to do.”
“We should get going.”
“We can take a minute for you to dress your wounds,” Shang said, in a voice that wasn’t to be contested, so Mulan sat back on the flat rock and attended to her injury.
“You know, Ping, I’m glad my father got to meet you. He always wanted another son, but…he and my mother never had any other children who lived.”
Shang sucked in his breath. Mulan had rarely heard him talk about his family before. He’d always kept it private. “I know he must be grateful I’ve found a friend like you.”
Someone he can trust, Mulan finished for him in her thoughts. She tightened her bandage. “What will you do after the war, Shang?”
“I haven’t really thought about it,” Shang admitted. “I’ve been away for so many years. I suppose I’ll visit my mother first.” He paused ruefully. “She’ll be lonely now that my father is gone.”
“She must be very proud of you,” said Mulan gently. “Will you stay at home?”
“Not for long.” Shang’s spirit might be pale blue, but she detected a faint blush reddening his cheeks.
“What is it?”
Shang shook his head, pursing his lips tight. His back became stiff as bamboo.
“Come on, tell me,” Mulan teased. “Or I’ll assume the worst. I’m guessing…she’s a terrible cook? No? Hmm…maybe she reads tea leaves. There’s a woman in my village who’s very superstitious. She won’t wash her hair on anyone’s birthday, and—”
Shang arched an eyebrow, the only indication that he was curious what else she might come up with. And that she was completely wrong.
“I won’t