The next few days passed under a muted sun.The fields were still green, the children still laughed by the stream, and the smell of freshly turned earth still filled the air — but the peace of Anning Village had thinned, like silk stretched too far.
Achu rose before dawn as always, but her routine had changed.Her first task was no longer the fields, but the sick.
The Healing Shelter
The empty storehouse near the square had been turned into a temporary shelter.The two travelers from Yinhe still lay inside, their fevers alternating between heat and cold. Despite her efforts, white marks continued to bloom faintly beneath their skin — not spreading fast, but never stopping.
Achu knelt beside them, her sleeves rolled high."Did anyone else from your village fall ill?" she asked quietly.
The elder man nodded weakly. "Half the riverfolk. It started after the floods. The water turned pale… we thought it was silt."
Achu's jaw tightened. "And no one else came this way?"
"No. We… we were told to leave the sick behind."
She bowed her head in silence for a moment, then rose to her feet.
"Rest. I'll prepare more medicine."
Morning Across the Fields
Outside, Ran and Chen were already tending the paddies.Achu had taught them well — how to balance the water level, how to loosen the soil gently around the stalks.
"Mom, the new shoots are growing faster than before!" Ran called out, proud and bright.
Achu smiled faintly, brushing her muddy hands against her robe. "That's good. The land listens when you care for it."
Fei toddled nearby, her tiny sandals leaving prints in the damp path. She carried a basket half her size filled with fresh greens, humming tunelessly to herself.
The moment felt almost normal. Almost.
Then Chen pointed toward the horizon. "Mom… there's smoke over the hills."
Achu followed his gaze. A thin, pale plume curled upward — not black like firewood, but white and dense, as if burning wet herbs.
Yinhe Village.
Her heart sank, though her expression remained calm.
"Finish your work," she said softly. "And stay close to home today."
An Apothecary's Secret
Back in her small apothecary room, Achu worked in silence.The scent of herbs, roots, and crushed bark filled the air — sharp, earthy, grounding. She had spread several old scrolls across her table, the paper yellowed, the ink faded.
Her fingertips brushed a sigil stamped at the top of one: The Royal Seal of Zhuang.
Only one group of healers had ever possessed such scrolls — the Emperor's Inner Apothecaries.And only those trained under them could read the ancient formulas written between the lines.
She murmured quietly, tracing the ink:
"The balance of white corruption may only be broken by the fire of life — a spark carried within the bloodline of the Sun Lotus."
Her eyes flicked toward a locked wooden box on her shelf. Inside lay a small crystal vial filled with golden dust — the powdered remains of a Sun Lotus, a flower extinct outside royal gardens.
Using it meant risk.But not using it meant death.
A Visit from the South
As she prepared the next round of medicine, a knock came at her door.
It was the young merchant — the one who had recognized her during the festival. His robes were dusty, his face pale from travel.
"I returned from Yinhe," he said in a low voice. "The sickness is spreading faster. The river's turning white. Villagers are fleeing toward the valley."
He hesitated, then lowered his tone."And the capital has sent scouts — not physicians. They're calling it divine punishment."
Achu's expression didn't change, but her voice carried quiet iron."Punishment for what?"
"For losing the Emperor's daughter," he said.
The air stilled.
Fei stirred in the next room; the children's laughter drifted faintly from outside.
Achu's gaze softened for a heartbeat, then hardened again."You should leave, merchant. The road won't be safe for long."
He hesitated. "If you truly are—"
"I'm a farmer," she interrupted gently. "That's all you need to know."
He bowed deeply. "Then may the gods bless your fields."
The Medicine of Fire and Breath
That night, Achu worked under candlelight.She poured the Sun Lotus powder into the cauldron, mixed it with spirit herbs and mountain spring water. The mixture hissed softly, glowing gold, then fading to amber.
Her hands moved like a dance — graceful, deliberate, yet full of restrained power.At one point, she cut her palm lightly, letting a single drop of her own blood fall into the brew. The potion shimmered, stabilizing.
"Life answers life," she whispered.
The result — a glowing liquid that pulsed like a heartbeat — was not meant for mortal hands. It was a Royal Elixir, designed to balance the flow of yin and yang within the body, to cleanse the corruption of spirit veins.
She sealed it in a clay jar, wrapped it in red cloth, and sat back, exhausted.
Outside, the frogs croaked by the stream; the night was still and heavy.But through the silence, she could feel it — the sickness spreading, the imbalance moving north.
Her peace would not last much longer.
A Whisper in the Dark
When she stepped outside to cool her breath, a faint rustle came from the treeline.
Not the eyes this time — but voices, low and uncertain.
A pair of travelers emerged from the mist, their faces hidden behind cloth. They carried small bundles, their clothes torn from the road.
"Please," one said hoarsely. "They said there's a healer here. Our village… it's turning white."
Behind them, even in the dim light, Achu saw it — the faint glow clinging to their hands and sleeves, like ash clinging to fire.
Her expression stayed calm, though her pulse quickened.
"Come inside," she said softly. "But no farther than the threshold. I'll bring the medicine to you."
She glanced toward the forest as she turned.Somewhere in the shadows, a faint aura stirred — the watchers again. But this time, they weren't alone.
A second presence lingered behind them — older, colder, familiar.
She whispered under her breath, almost like a prayer:"So even the court has sent its hounds."
The Healer's Oath
Before dawn, Achu stood in the middle of her herb garden. The mist curled around her feet, the first light of morning catching the faint glow of protective runes etched along the fence.
Her voice was quiet, but firm:
"This land is under my protection.No plague, no curse, no greed shall touch it.Not while I draw breath."
Her spiritual energy spread through the soil — a soft, golden ripple that touched every leaf, every stalk, every drop of dew.The air hummed faintly in reply.
Behind her, the sick travelers slept peacefully for the first time.For now, Anning still stood.
But beyond the hills, the sky over Yinhe had already begun to pale — not with dawn, but with ash.