Reflection Elizabeth Lim Quotes

I’ve seen many men dress as girls to evade serving in the army, but never any women who dressed as boys so they could serve.

I am Fa Mulan, a girl who would sacrifice her life for her family and for China. I am a girl who journeyed into the Underworld to save her friend from dying. I am a girl who has fought battle after battle to finally recognize herself in the mirror. And now I do.

only the brave may enter, but only the worthy may leave.

Her reflection's hair was short, but she wore a simple violet robe tied at the waist with a blue sash. At her hip was her father's sword, and tucked in her hair- a blossom from their family's cherry tree. Mulan knelt and lowered her fingers to the glass. It rippled at her touch. "This one. This is me." A beat. Are you sure? asked the girl in the mirror. "Yes," said Mulan firmly. "It doesn't matter whether I'm a girl dressed like a bride, or a girl dressed like a soldier. I know my heart." Mulan flattened her hand against the glass, facing her reflection. Together, they said, "I am Fa Mulan, a girl who would sacrifice her life for her family and for China. I am a girl who journeyed into the Underworld to save her friend from dying. I am a girl who has fought battle after battle to finally recognize herself in the mirror. And now I do.

Mulan stared at the steaming liquid, watching the dried leaves swirl to the bottom. How beautiful the tea looked, too- she'd never seen tea so colorful. Reds and pinks swirled in with amber and blue- like the mesmerizing patterns on a butterfly.

The Lady of Forgetfulness passed the sword to Mulan, but Mulan shook her head. "It's yours, not mine. I have my father's sword waiting for me back in the real world." Meng Po smiled again. "Then take this, as a memory of the battles you have fought here." The sword disappeared, and in its place was a magnolia blossom. Its petals were soft and pink like the blush of a peach. Meng Po tucked the blossom behind Mulan's ear. "There. A reminder that where there is beauty, there is also strength and courage and resilience.

We must be in the heart of Diyu." "The heart of Diyu is a garden?" Mulan spoke up. As far as she could see were flowers and trees, all so lush and beautiful Mulan could almost forget she was in the Underworld. Tall grass tickled her waist as she stepped up to a tangerine tree. Behind it was a tinkling brook, teeming with white-and-red-spotted carp.

She landed on a soft, yielding bed of- flowers? Startled, she sat up and gave a quick stretch before leaping to her feet. An overwhelming aroma of peonies and tangerines and lotus blossoms surrounded her. "Not what I expected," she murmured to herself, overcome by the beauty of this level. If not for ShiShi still stuck in the well, she would have stopped to take a better look at her surroundings.

She'd grown up with few friends. She'd played with the neighborhood boys, chasing pigeons and catching fireflies with them until it was no longer considered proper. By then, the girls in the village scorned her. In front of her mother and father, they pretended to be polite, but Mulan knew what they said about her behind her back. Ill-bred and ill-mannered. She has the temper of a firecracker and the grace of a bull. It's a miracle she even looks like a girl- look at the hay in her hair, and the dirt on her face. What a discredit to her mother! The insults had never bothered Mulan too much. Back then, her mother comforted her by telling her to ignore what people said, and talking to her father would always make her feel better. And she'd had Khan for company... then, later, Mushu and Cri-Kee.

ShiShi landed on his paws with a thump. "Still there, little soldier?" Mulan caught her breath and waited a beat for her stomach to stop churning. "Still here." The stone lion grunted, a sound that somehow indicated he was half impressed that she was still in one piece and half disappointed that the fall hadn't terrified her. "Most men get sick on the way down here." I'm not most men, Mulan thought, but she kept quiet and climbed off ShiShi's back.

Across the lilies was a pond, its waters a vibrant green from reflecting the trees around it. In the center of the pond swam two elegant white birds, their long necks curved toward one another. "Swans!" Cinderella breathed. She leaned against the bridge's rail and gazed at the pair of swans gliding across the pond. At her side, Charles rested his elbows on the bridge. "They're here every evening before sundown. Sometimes, during sunset, you can see the light dapple their feathers. Look." Rays of golden light stroked the swans' wings, which shimmered against the still waters. "I used to come here whenever I could to watch them," said Prince Charles. "I'm certain it's been the very same pair of swans for years. When I saw them, I'd feel a little less lonely." "How happy they look," mused Cinderella, watching as the swans took flight, their feet skidding across the pond before they soared into the sky. "Free to come and go as they please.

All they could do was flutter their fans and bat their eyes. The matchmaker Mother hired bragged that they were perfect porcelain dolls. What she didn't say was they had no minds of their own." Shang grimaced at the memory without looking at her. "They'd say anything to make me like them." How familiar that sounds. Mulan put her hands on her hips. "Not all girls are like that. You have to look at it from their perspective, too. Girls are raised to be pretty and graceful, and quiet." She made a face. "They aren't allowed to speak their minds, and they don't have a choice in who they marry. My parents were lucky that they fell in love, but their marriage was arranged, too. And my mother, she doesn't even belong to her family anymore after they got married. It wasn't my mother's decision, but her family's. They told her that a woman's only role in life is to bear sons." Shang leaned forward. "You sound quite passionate about this." His closeness made Mulan hunch back. Remembering who she was pretending to be, she felt her cheeks burn. "I just... I mean, I bet there are some girls who'd make better soldiers than boys. If they were given the chance." "A female soldier? That's the craziest thing I've heard." "Girls can be strong, too." "Not like us, Ping." Mulan hid a smile. "You'd be surprised.

This garden was peaceful and calm. Pink cherry blossoms and violet plum blossoms graced the sweeping trees. The petals fell like snowflakes, dancing and swirling until they touched the soft, verdant grass. There was something familiar about this place. Her eyes traveled down the flat stone steps. She knew this path, knew those stones. The third one from the bottom had a crack in the middle- from when she was five and the neighbor's boy convinced her there were worms on the other side of the stones. She'd hammered the stone in half, eager to catch a few worms to play with. There weren't any, of course, but her mother had helped her find some dragonflies by the pond instead, and they'd spent an afternoon counting them in the garden. Mulan smiled wistfully at the memory. This can't be the same garden. I'm in Diyu. Yet no painter could have re-created what she saw more convincingly. Every detail was as she remembered. At the bottom of the stone-cobbled path was a pond with rose-flushed lilies, and a marble bench under the cherry tree. She used to play by the pond when she was a little girl, catching frogs and fireflies in wine jugs and feeding the fish leftover rice husks and sesame seeds until her mother scolded her. And beyond the moon gate was- Mulan's hand jumped to her mouth. Home. That smell of home- of Baba's incense from the family temple, sharp with amber and cedar; of noodles in Grandmother Fa's special pork broth; of jasmine flowers that Mama used to scent her skin.

Then, remembering that strange sword just to her side, she leaned over the mountain edge to inspect it. The hilt was dull with age, but still gold, with short wings at the base of the blade that pointed forward. It had to be hundreds of years old. Mulan was about to leave it, but there was something inscribed on the blade itself. She could see only the first word. It was the same as in her name: Fa. Flower. Curious now, she reached down and tried to wrench the sword free. It was stuck tight. "Let me help." Shang knelt beside her and clasped the edge of the hilt. Together, they pulled. Out slid the sword. The weight of it nearly tipped Mulan over the mountain, but she caught herself in time and backed up away from the ledge. Catching her breath, she laid the sword on the grass, wiping it clean of dirt and grime. The characters on the blade glittered in the moonlight. "'The flower that blooms in adversity is the most rare and beautiful of all.

Her sword weighed heavily in her hand. She stared at the polished blade, wondering if its reflection would be the last sight she ever caught of herself. Would she die as Ping, the Fa son she'd made up so she could join the army in her father's place? If she died here, in the middle of this snow-covered mountain pass, she'd never see her father or her family again. Mulan swallowed hard. Who would believe that only a few months ago, her biggest concern had been impressing the Matchmaker? She could barely remember the girl she'd been back then. She'd worn layer upon layer of silk, not plates of armor, her waist cinched tightly with a satin sash instead of sore from carrying a belt of weapons. Her lips had been painted with rouge instead of chapped from cold and lack of water, her lashes highlighted with coal that she now could only dream of using to fuel a fire for warmth. How far she'd come from that girl to who she was now: a soldier in the Imperial army. Maybe serving her country as a warrior was truer to her heart than being a bride. Yet when she saw her reflection in her sword, she knew she was still pretending to be someone else.

Little by little, his eyes warmed into that dusky shade of brown she'd come to miss. A shadow traced the outline of his body, from the curve in his neck to the powerful slope of his shoulders. As his glimmering blue aura faded, his hair blackened, and his skin, bronzed from years of training under the sun, glowed with life. She had no idea what came over her- impulse or instinct- but she reached for Shang's hand. He looked surprised, and for an instant she wondered whether it was because he could feel her touch, or because she had reached for him. Maybe both. Shang's stance loosened, and he drew her close, not letting go of her hand. "I told you once you were the craziest man I'd ever met. I guess I have to change that to the craziest woman." Mulan laughed. "You're delaying us from leaving Diyu to tell me that?" "And that Ping was right about his sister." Now Mulan lifted her chin, curious. "Why is that?" "She's strong and kind and beautiful and brave...." "And also speaks her mind," Mulan reminded him. "... Honest, in the way that counts most." "And she occasionally disobeys orders," Mulan warned him, "even from her commanding officer." "... She has discerning judgment." Mulan smiled. Tentatively, she reached for a wisp of hair that clung to Shang's temple. She brushed it aside gently, and Shang caught her hand in his and brought it to his chest. Mulan's skin tingled. "I'll never meet another girl like her," he said. "Now that the war is over, I'd be a fool to let her out of my sight.

She started to head out, but she passed her room. It was the same as she'd left it: a pile of cushions by her bed for Little Brother to sleep on, a stack of poetry and famous literature on her desk that she was supposed to study to become a "model bride," and the lavender shawl and silk robes she'd worn the day before she left home. The jade comb Mulan had left in exchange for the conscription notice caught her eye; it now rested in front of her mirror. Mulan's gaze lingered on the comb, on its green teeth and the pearl-colored flower nestled on its shoulder. She wanted to hold it, to put it in her hair and show her family- to show everyone- she was worthy. After all, her surname, Fa, meant flower. She needed to show them that she had bloomed to be worthy of her family name. But no one was here, and she didn't want to face her reflection. Who knew what it would show, especially in Diyu? She isn't a boy, her mother had told her father once. She shouldn't be riding horses and letting her hair loose. The neighbors will talk. She won't find a good husband- Let her, Fa Zhou had consoled his wife. When she leaves this household as a bride, she'll no longer be able to do these things. Mulan hadn't understood what he meant then. She hadn't understood the significance of what it meant for her to be the only girl in the village who skipped learning ribbon dances to ride Khan through the village rice fields, who chased after chickens and helped herd the cows instead of learning the zither or practicing her painting, who was allowed to have opinions- at all. She'd taken the freedom of her childhood for granted. When she turned fourteen, everything changed. I know this will be a hard change to make, Fa Li had told her, but it's for your own good. Men want a girl who is quiet and demure, polite and poised- not someone who speaks out of turn and runs wild about the garden. A girl who can't make a good match won't bring honor to the family. And worse yet, she'll have nothing: not respect, or money of her own, or a home. She'd touched Mulan's cheek with a resigned sigh. I don't want that fate for you, Mulan. Every morning for a year, her mother tied a rod of bamboo to Mulan's spine to remind her to stand straight, stuffed her mouth with persimmon seeds to remind her to speak softly, and helped Mulan practice wearing heeled shoes by tying ribbons to her feet and guiding her along the garden. Oh, how she'd wanted to please her mother, and especially her father. She hadn't wanted to let them down. But maybe she hadn't tried enough. For despite Fa Li's careful preparation, she had failed the Matchmaker's exam. The look of hopefulness on her father's face that day- the thought that she'd disappointed him still haunted her. Then fate had taken its turn, and Mulan had thrown everything away to become a soldier. To learn how to punch and kick and hold a sword and shield, to shoot arrows and run and yell. To save her country, and bring honor home to her family. How much she had wanted them to be proud of her.

After all, her surname, Fa, meant flower. She needed to show them that she had bloomed to be worthy of her family name.

advantage

Keep talking to him. Make your voice soothing, like a good cup of tea.

ALL OF LIFE IS A DREAM WALKING, ALL OF DEATH IS A GOING HOME.

The heroes had always inspired her, even if none of them had been girls.

The flower that blooms in adversity is the most rare and beautiful of all.

Taking care of the household is like commanding an army. My mother could be a general in her own right.

A reminder that where there is beauty, there is also strength and courage and resilience.

Soy Fa Mulán, una chica que sacrificaría su vida por su familia y por China. Soy una chica que viajó al inframundo para salvar a su amigo agonizante. Soy una chica que ha peleado batalla tras batalla para finalmente reconocerse en el espejo. Y ahora lo hago.

I meant what I said in front of the gates,” said Shang softly. “I’ll never meet another girl like you.” He shuffled his feet and went on quickly, getting to the point: “You told me in Diyu that you set your matchmaker on fire. Does that mean she never made you a match? I mean, do you have someone waiting for you at home?” Mulan’s mouth curved. She had an idea where this was going now, and she had to press her lips tight to keep from smiling. “I have my parents and my grandmother.” “Would they object if I visited?” “Object?” A laugh tumbled out of her throat. “They might never let you leave.” At that, Shang grinned. Hearing her laugh, Yao, Ling, Chien-Po turned back and waved. “They must be wondering what we’re talking about,” she said, waving back. She touched her cheek. It was hot, and she could only imagine how flushed she must look. Her friends—and especially Mushu—would be very curious about why Shang had made her blush. She’d tell them, but not yet. For now, maybe she could blame it on a good run. “Come on,” said Mulan to Shang, still glowing. “I’ll race you back.” Together, they ran to catch up with the soldiers. They’d march to the Imperial City, to be honored by the Emperor. Then home, to begin the next chapter of their lives.

Work in the palace wasn't half as strenuous as it had been at home with her stepmother and stepsisters, yet Cinderella hadn't been sleeping well. There was so much she'd missed during her unhappy years with Lady Tremaine; now that she was free, there was so much she wanted to do. There was so much she could do. She wanted to see the world and to help others who might have felt as lonely and trapped as she had. She didn't want to have to force herself to smile anymore just to bear each day; she wanted to find out what truly made her laugh, what truly made her happy. She wanted to get to the heart of things- to find the truth, instead of turning a blind eye. She drew a deep breath then, wiping the tears from her cheeks, and got up from her bed. Duchess Genevieve must be wondering what had happened to her. Cinderella faced her reflection in the mirror. "I'm not alone anymore. I have Louisa, the girls from the palace, even Duchess Genevieve..." Then why am I still crying? Because every time she dared hope for something, for some glimmer of happiness, it slipped from her grasp, almost like stardust. Whenever she reveled in something of her father and mother's, Lady Tremaine sold it- or destroyed it. When the Grand Duke was searching for her to bring her to the palace, Lady Tremaine locked her in the tower. When she had finally dared hope someone might care for her, it turned out to be part of a larger ploy. Could any happiness she found actually last beyond midnight?

Chi Fu was right," she said wretchedly. "This is all my fault." "Don't listen to that catfish," Mushu said. "Chin up. You're strong, and you're smart. Heck, you defeated an army of Huns. You'll get the captain through this." "I hope so." "Keep talking to him," Mushu suggested. "Make your voice soothing, like a good cup of tea." Mulan rolled her eyes, but she desperately wanted to believe the dragon's words. "You can make it, Shang," she said to the captain. She touched his arm, then clasped his hand, warming his cold fingers with her own. "Whatever battle you're fighting in there, I'm going to help you." "That's it," Mushu encouraged. "Keep going. Maybe you should give him a little kiss." "Mushu!" The dragon shrugged. "Hey, it works in all those folktales.

The Huns won't be the last of China's problems. The Emperor will always face new threats, new invaders. He needs to have strong, brave men at his side. Men like you, Ping." "Shang," Mulan said, trying again, "stop talking like this." "Now that it's all over, now that my time on this earth is done, do you know what comforts me the most?" He waited, so Mulan gave in. "What?" she asked quietly. Shang lowered his voice. "That I've made a friend like you, Ping. Someone I can trust completely." Tears pricked the edges of Mulan's eyes. This time, she didn't try to hold them back. She knew she couldn't. She swallowed, choking on her words. "Stop talking like this. It's my fault you're wounded." "I would never have thought of firing that last cannon at the mountain," Shang confessed. "I went after you to get the cannon back, but you- you saved us. It was an honor to protect you." How strange, then, that Mulan's tongue grew heavy. There was so much she wanted to tell him. That it was her fault he was hurt; that if only she'd been more alert, she would have anticipated Shan-Yu's attack. She wanted to tell him he was the best leader their troops could have hoped for; a lesser man would have left her to die at Shan-Yu's hands, but Shang was not only courageous- he believed in his soldiers, and treated them as part of his team. She remembered how proud he'd been during their training when she'd defeated him in one-on-one combat. The satisfied smile that'd lit up his face as he wiped his jaw after her kick- she would never forget it. She wanted to tell him that she admired him and had always wanted his friendship.

As she drank, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine she was drinking her grandmother's porridge. What she wouldn't give for a hot bowl of fish congee, sprinkled with green scallions and topped with a dollop of sesame oil! She'd even have willingly downed one of her mother's herbal soups; Fa Li used to make red sage soup almost every day when Mulan was growing up. How she'd hated the smell and pungent taste. She used to pick out the chopped pieces of the root and chew on the sweet wolfberries instead. She missed home so much.

My father used to tell me about the ancient heroes who protected China against demons. How the gods gave them magical stones or lanterns or swords to help them on their quests. But even then, the heroes weren't invincible. They knew fear and loss, yet they fought anyway, because they knew it was the right thing to do. Because in their hearts, they were brave and true." She bit her lip, reflecting on her father's stories. The heroes had always inspired her, even if none of them had been girls.

Making use of the break, Mulan untied the knot on her head. Her hair tumbled down again, brushing against the nape of her neck. She unfastened her armor, freeing her shoulders of their heavy burden. The demons watched her in disbelief. "A girl?" "I am Mulan." She raised her sword high. She'd never fought as herself before- as a woman, not a woman pretending to be a man. No more hiding, no more pretending. No more fears that she'd endanger herself and her family. She was who she'd always wanted to be. Even if that feeling could only last here in Diyu- even if they made it back to the real world and she had to go back to pretending to be Ping, Mulan knew she'd never forget it. Taking off the mask was exhilarating; it spurred her courage.

Mei reached into her pocket and took out another steamed egg cake, this one topped with a dark red date. "How about a treat for the loyal guardian?" ShiShi's fur bristled, and his tail became stiff and straight. "Absolutely not. I won't be fooled into accepting food from you." "Fine, your loss." Mei took a bite. "Mmm. So delicious. I always thought guardians had a weakness for sweets." "Or spirits." Liwei snickered. "Where do you think all those gourds of rice wine go when you leave them for your ancestors at the altar?

She bit her lower lip, a habit the village gossip had once told her was unladylike and unattractive. Strange; all her life she'd striven to become a proper young woman, to make her family proud of her. These past few months, she'd spent doing the opposite. Trying to pass as a man, a soldier. Her worst fear had been that she'd be caught impersonating someone who didn't exist. She never imagined she'd tell anyone of her own free will. She swallowed. "So you... you should know it's true. I'm not... Ping." "If you're not Ping, then who are you?" Shang asked. "I'm..." Mulan sucked in her breath. Her voice shook, and she worried her heart might burst out of its armor. She set down her sword, rubbed the sweat off her palms onto her bare arm. Then she reached for her hair and undid the knot. The black sheet of hair tumbled down, brushing just against her shoulder blades. "My ancestors were right," she said, surprised by how calm her voice was. "My parents never had a son. There is no Ping." She raised her eyes to meet Shang's. "There is only- Mulan.

Four scrolls hung on the east-facing wall, their edges slightly wrinkled with age. Her great-grandfather had spent years painting the scrolls. Each one portrayed a different season- spring, summer, autumn, and winter- in their family garden. Mulan stopped in front of the scroll of spring, studying her ancestor's confident brushstrokes and the delicate cherry blossoms forever captured in midbloom. Her fingers crept up, skimming the painting from the top of the trees to the bright yellow carp swimming in the pond.

Meng Po raised her arms. At once, the gashes on Mulan's skin healed. Her wounds closed, and the dull pain in her ankle vanished. The rips and tears on her sleeves mended themselves, and her soldier's uniform, which had seen battle on Earth as well as in the Underworld, began to shimmer- until the simple muslin and linen cloth became a rich, forest-green silk. Her tunic lengthened, stretching until it flared behind her calves. Fitted over her chest was the finest armor, emblazoned with pink lotus blossoms and a red dragon.

It just struck me how glad I am that I followed you up that hill," Shang continued. "If I hadn't been attacked by Shan-Yu, none of this might have happened." Mulan's lips formed a coy smile. "You mean I never would have gone to Diyu, and you would never have been rescued by Ping's sister?" "That," agreed Shang, "and I might never have discovered how I felt about... about you." Her breath hitched. She couldn't take another step. Her feet had frozen, rooting themselves to the dusty road beneath her shoes. "I meant what I said in front of the gates," said Shang softly. "I'll never meet another girl like you.

Mulan's watery reflection stared back at her: a girl with bloodshot, swollen eyes, pale cheeks, and bruises all over her arms and legs. But that wasn't all Mulan saw. She saw a young woman who'd thrown her heart into becoming a warrior, who'd fought battle after battle, whether it was to please her family and honor their expectations, or to protect China from invaders.

Mulan cast ShiShi an apologetic look, suddenly remembering how she'd cut her own hair before stealing her father's armor. Such a simple action, yet it'd changed everything. She'd severed ties with her old identity and gone from Mulan to Ping, from bride to soldier, from obedient daughter to woman who led her own life. But what if she'd cut too many ties? What if when she went home, her parents no longer recognized her? After all, she wasn't the same Mulan anymore. Sometimes, she didn't even know who she was. She'd thought going to war would show her, but things were never as easy as that.

And this one?" the ghost at the front of the line called, pointing at Mulan. Yama waved his hand. Instantly, his demon guards prepared to jostle Mulan to the back of the line. But Mulan was too fast. She jumped, balancing atop two demons' spears, stepped onto one of the demon's shoulders, and leapt onto King Yama's dais. She closed King Yama's book and rested her palms on his desk. The ghosts and demons gasped at her audacity, but Mulan didn't care. Now she had King Yama's attention.