Mulan couldn’t really tell whether it was the captain who spoke, or someone else: “You have passed this first test,” rang the low, hollow voice. “You swore you would risk your own life to save your friend, and even in the face of betrayal, you kept your promise.” The captain’s shadow began to fade. “Now, do you know yourself? We shall see.”
When he was gone, Mulan let out a deep breath.
A test. Her lungs nearly gave out with relief. That wasn’t really Shang. It was just a test.
Glass crunched under her boot. Her knees quivered, so she carefully lowered herself onto the ground to gather herself. Thousands of her reflections stared back at her from the smashed glass pieces.
She was bloodied and bruised. There had to be dozens of tiny shards lodged in her body, and one particularly large piece in her thigh. Mulan winced when she saw it, but she knew what she had to do.
She wrapped her hands over the shard.
One, two three.
With one swift thrust, she pulled the mirror fragment out of her leg.
Pain shot up to her temples. Gasping, she hugged herself, clenching her teeth until the sharp gnawing in the leg dulled. Then she pressed on the wound to stop the bleeding.
As the pain slowly passed, Mulan pushed her hair out of her eyes, then glanced behind her shoulder. Shang had said she could advance, but the chamber was empty. Was the test over?
No.
The voice sounded like her own, but it didn’t come from her thoughts.
“Who’s there?” Mulan limped to her feet. Glass scattered down from her clothes and hair with a soft rattle.
The debris on the ground thinned and wobbled, turning into watery, silver-colored pools that gushed across the room, healing the mirrors she had broken.
In every mirror was a reflection of Mulan.
Look hard at yourself, her reflections said.
Mulan looked. She took in her chapped lips, her unevenly cut black hair, the gashes and bruises on her arms, and her fraying sleeves and dirtied uniform.
Which is the real Mulan? The girl in a uniform pretending to be a soldier, or the girl in a dress pretending to be a bride?
“Neither,” Mulan whispered.
Correct. Both are lies.
Mulan flinched. “I’m not a liar.”
You are nothing. No matter how hard you try, no one will ever see you for who you are.
Mulan turned, but another reflection intercepted her.
Your father is right, the mirrors taunted. Shang is right. They’re all right. You’ll never be anyone worthwhile. How can you be? You broke Baba’s heart when you left, you selfish girl.
“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t think—”
Yes, you didn’t think. Just as you didn’t think when you ran off to set off the cannon. You got Shang killed. You are the reason he’s in the Underworld.
“I’m going to save him.”
No you aren’t. Her reflections laughed. Why do you think King Yama really let you down here?
Mulan swallowed, holding in the pain from her cuts. “Why?”
Your deceitful heart, Fa Mulan. King Yama recognized it the moment he saw you. You belong in Diyu.
Mulan’s reflections smiled, their faces slowly contorting and twisting. Their black hair whitened, skin shriveling and graying like a corpse’s. Finally, their eyes blinked open, glowing a bright and terrible red.
This is your fate, Mulan. Your next life will be eternity as a demon. What a warrior you’ll make for King Yama.
Horror washed over her. Mulan gritted her teeth. “If I lose my wager against him, then I have no control over what my fate is. But I have not lost yet. I can still get out of here and bring Captain Li Shang back to the living world.”
You can’t if you’re trapped here.
You can’t if you die here.
“Then show me the way out!”
One of her demonic reflections loomed over the ceiling. We’ll give you a hint, Fa Mulan, she said. Choose one of us. One of us is your true self. Find her.
The mirrors fluttered, shifting until each became a different portrayal of Mulan.
Each mirror is a door. Only one will take you to the gates. The others will take you to the pit of Diyu. But be swift. You don’t have much time left.
The moon appeared above her. The thin crescent was little more than a sliver now.
Mulan turned to her task and frowned. The reflections all looked different. In some, she wore her father’s armor, and in others, she was dressed as a girl, carrying a silk fan, her hair tied in an elaborate chignon as it had been to see the Matchmaker. It was the