The new market season arrived with color and noise.From the southern road came the creak of wagons and the clatter of hooves; from the northern gate, a chorus of merchants calling prices over each other.For the first time in years, Anning's square was filled with strangers — bright fabrics, exotic spices, polished tools gleaming under the sun.
Children ran between the stalls, holding roasted corn and laughing.Fei chased a wind-blown paper crane, while Chen helped his mother arrange bundles of herbs on their family's table.Ran bargained over dried persimmons with a woman who claimed to be from the eastern province.
It looked like prosperity.But to Achu, it smelled like danger.
The Eyes Behind the Trade
Achu's gaze drifted across the square — not at the merchants' goods, but their hands.Too smooth for farmers. Too steady for traders.One man's left wrist bore the faint outline of a tattoo — the sigil of the Royal Apothecary Order, half-erased but never forgotten.
Her smile never faltered as she sold a packet of dried herbs.Inside, her thoughts had already begun to move like quiet gears.
"They're watching again," she murmured later as she walked past Lin, who was unloading sacks of grain.
"I saw them," Lin replied under his breath. "Two near the old well. One by the smithy."
"Good." Achu adjusted her straw hat. "Then we start tonight."
The Quiet Preparations
That evening, while the villagers celebrated the successful trade day with rice wine and singing, Achu gathered her family behind the herb garden.The air smelled of damp soil and sweetgrass.Lin stood at her side; Chen, Ran, and Fei crouched in front of her, their faces curious and a little excited.
"Mom," Chen asked, "are we training again?"
Achu smiled faintly. "Something like that. Tonight, we learn the language of herbs."
The Language of Herbs
She placed several plants before them — lavender, mugwort, sage, dried chrysanthemum, and a small stalk of cocklebur fruit.
"Each plant," she said softly, "is not just for healing. It speaks.To those who listen carefully, it warns, protects, and guides."
She touched the lavender first."This one is calmness. Burn it when you want to clear the air — or when strangers' intentions feel unclear."
Next, the mugwort."For concealment. Its scent bends the spirit. Scatter it along the paths you wish unseen."
She crushed a leaf of sage between her fingers; the aroma curled into the night air."This cleanses the boundary between the seen and unseen.Use it when fear begins to linger."
Fei blinked, mesmerized. "Mama, the plants talk?"
Achu smiled. "They whisper. You just have to listen in silence."
Hidden Defenses
Over the next few days, the lessons continued.The villagers saw only an apothecary tending her garden and teaching children about herbs — but Lin noticed the pattern.
Achu was weaving subtle defenses around Anning.Strips of dried wormwood hung at crossroads; ash lines of burned sage encircled the fields.Even the irrigation water shimmered faintly with floating petals that formed unseen sigils when the moonlight hit them.
"Every plant holds a memory," she explained one night as she placed sprigs of mint near the chicken coop. "If something unnatural enters the village, the herbs will wither first. That's our warning."
Lin watched her, both awed and uneasy."You're setting traps."
"Not traps," she corrected quietly. "Boundaries. This is how nature defends itself. We just learn from it."
The Market's Second Day
When the traders returned the next morning, their movements were tighter, more deliberate.One of them passed Achu's stall and paused to ask about "rare medicinal roots from the north."Another brushed by Chen, his eyes sharp and assessing.
By dusk, Achu knew for certain — these were not merchants.They were scouts.They were measuring Anning's silence, counting the herbs, tracing the source of the cure.
That night, the cocklebur fruits in her garden had all split open at once.A warning.
Achu sat under the veranda, sharpening a sickle not for harvesting, but for readiness.Lin stood near the gate, his posture too still for a farmer's.In the distance, the mountain wind carried faint laughter — and beneath it, something else.The rustle of boots in grass.
Fei peeked from the window, whispering, "Mama… are the bad people coming again?"
Achu's hand paused on the blade."Maybe," she said softly, eyes on the moonlit field."But this time, the land will answer before I do."