The first signs came with the rain.Soft, silver drops that smelled faintly of ginseng and ash.By dusk, every rooftop in Anning glistened as if washed clean of sorrow.
The villagers said the White Disease had vanished overnight.No more pale rashes, no more breath that turned to frost.Those who had hovered between life and death woke with color in their cheeks and a hunger for warm rice porridge.Children ran barefoot again.Mothers sang as they hung clothes in the wind.
Only the cultivators noticed what the rain had taken.
The Fading Strength
At first it was only exhaustion.A soldier in the southern watchtower found he could no longer leap the wall with light-foot steps.A monk's flame talisman flickered out mid-prayer.By morning, whole sects reported their inner qi ebbing like tidewater drawn back to sea.
The capital trembled.Armories fell silent; training grounds emptied.Even the Emperor, once radiant with divine vigor, now breathed like an old man — calm, mortal.He neither raged nor mourned; he only watched the sunrise and whispered,
"So this is what living feels like."
Life in Anning
In Anning, the fields thrived.New shoots pushed through soil that had lain dull for years.Frogs croaked in the paddies, fat and loud.Ran measured the rows with careful eyes, humming while Fei toddled after dragonflies.No one spoke of miracles, but everyone worked as if the earth were listening.
Chen alone sensed something missing — the faint pulse that had always hummed beneath his skin whenever his mother was near.He waited by the stream every evening, hoping the breeze might carry her voice again.
The Letter
Three weeks after the rain, a small hawk arrived.No seal this time, only a folded scrap bound in silver thread.Chen untied it with shaking fingers.
"To my children.Balance is the cure and the cost.The world must learn to breathe on its own.When the soil drinks enough sunlight,look for the first white bloom — that is where I rest.—Achu."
The paper smelled of wild herbs and smoke.Ran pressed it to her heart and cried.Fei clapped her hands, unaware of what was lost, chasing the bird as it flew back toward the mountains.
The Realization
That evening, Chen walked beyond the fields to where the new grass shone pale under moonlight.He knelt and touched the soil; warmth pulsed beneath his palm — not qi, but life itself.In that quiet thrum he finally understood what his mother had meant.
Dominance made the strong stand alone.Balance let everyone stand together.
He looked up at the starlit valley, now vibrant with voices and harvest songs.A gentle smile tugged at his lips."Thank you, Mom. You didn't take power away… you gave it back."
The White Bloom
When spring returned, a single white flower bloomed by the riverbank where Achu had once bathed Fei.It glowed faintly at dusk, petals trembling like breath.The villagers called it the Healer's Blossom.They never plucked it.They simply left offerings — a bowl of rice, a cup of tea, a whispered prayer.
Sometimes, when the wind was right, the petals danced across the water, drifting toward the mountains.And for a heartbeat, the air smelled again of herbs, rain, and starlight.