Lin Wei sat alone by the well, feet swinging, his mind still replaying the quiet gesture: a single finger raised to her lips. A secret. A warning. A bond.
He made the vow then and there, his head bowed to the old stones of the square and his heart thudding like war drums in his chest.
She had spared him.
She had saved the village.
So he would protect her—even if she never needed him to.
However, before he could even process what came next, a shriek shattered the moment.
Across the square, there was a blur of movement out of the corner of his eyes before one of the cooking fires practically erupted. A child, no older than seven, stumbled screaming from the cooking pit. Pots were overturned as he clung to his face, his shrilling screams echoing in the cool night air. Firewood scattered as he continued to stumble around before the boy's body rolled to the dirt with a sickening thud.
He didn't move, didn't seem to so much as breath.
Gasps from the villagers filled the air.
"Jianyu!" a woman cried, rushing forward, her skirts hiked high on her hips as terror was etched into every line of her face.
The child had tripped trying to carry a bowl to his family's hearth. He'd fallen face-first into the open flame, and now he lay still on the ground, his hands blistered, red, raw, and bleeding. Patches of skin on his arms and cheeks were scorched and bubbling, some peeling away entirely.
For those who could stomach looking closer, it was easy to see the white of his bone and the yellowish layer of cooked fat. The smell of charred flesh tainted the evening air, mixing with the smoke of supper, but no one even thought about the food.
People backed away. Some covered their mouths even as a few children began to cry. They didn't know what was going on, their families keeping them from seeing the thing of nightmares. But they could feel the tension and was reacting to it.
"Someone!" screamed a male voice as he raced toward the burned child. "Get the Doctor!"
One of the older kids turned around, ready to bolt to the hut on the outskirts of the village, but they needn't bother.
'Doctor' Shen, the only medicine man around for days, was already watching from under the awning of one of the houses. His skinny arms were folded in front of him as his brow furrowed in a look of disdain.
He let out a cough to let everyone know that he was there, but other than that, he didn't move.
The boy's mother screamed again, wanting to cradle her son in her arms, but not knowing where to touch. It scared her that he was so still. Even when his father dropped to his knees beside the boy, the boy didn't so much as flinch.
Turning to the man, the woman shuffled over toward the doctor, the palms of her hands pressed together as she begged. "Please!" she croaked, her voice not working. "He's dying. Please help him! I'll do anything, I'll be your slave, your ox, your dog. Just save my son!"
Doctor Shen sneered, his too-thin face twisting with disgust as he looked down at the woman. He stroked his straggly white goat-tee as he continued, the superior tone of his voice not surprising anyone. "Children should be taught not to play near fire. Foolishness breeds consequences."
"But—" she sobbed, banging her forehead off the ground until it started to bleed. "We'll pay!" she announced desperately. "We'll pay whatever you want!"
Doctor Shen sniffed, patting away the invisible dust on his dingy, grey robe. "You should have considered that before you brought him into the world without the means to protect him."
Zhou Cunzhang clenched his fists, jaw tight as he turned toward the doctor, but before he could speak—
The sound of soft footsteps seemed to carry all the weight of the world. "Funny thing about protection," came a soft voice as the crowd parted and a young girl strolled to the center of the circle. "Only those without strength focus on it and weaponize it."
"Do you mind?" the girl continued, waving her hands toward the little boy as she looked at his father.
"I…" sputtered the man, looking around. "I don't understand."
"Do you want me to heal your son?" she smiled. It was strange words coming from the mouth of a child barely older than the hurt kid, but they carried a weight that the villagers had never heard before.
"Please!" begged the mother, turning away from the doctor and hurrying back to the child. She ignored the blood pouring down her face. "If you can heal my son, I will do whatever you want or need me to," she continued, making the same offer that she had to the doctor.
"You don't need to worry about deals with me," chuckled the girl as her hands hovered over the still child. "Children are always free of charge."
The white mist flowed out of her hands and drifted over the boy like fog across the mountain. Unlike the poison-black cloud Lin Wei remembered, this one glowed faintly with light. It smelled faintly of apples and cinnamon—warm, nostalgic, and comforting.
Soft. But not weak.
Everyone turned as the mist curled gently around the child's body.
While everyone was staring at the boy, the father was staring at the girl.
She looked ordinary—dusty clothes, bare feet, a loose braid over one shoulder—but the way the mist obeyed her was anything but. The vapor threaded over the boy's skin, soaking into his wounds. The blisters hissed, deflating before the redness faded like smoke on the wind. Patches of burned skin mended. His breathing evened out.
Within seconds, he was whole.
His mother stared down at her son, blinking in disbelief. Jianyu, the boy, trembled, completely traumatized by what had happened; he was no longer in pain.
Gasps rippled through the square as the boy sat up and dove into his mother's arms.
"What… what did you do?" one of the villagers asked, her voice no more than a whisper.
The girl slowly rose to her feet and flicked her wrist at the mother, healing her forehead without thought. "He's fine now," she said, brushing her hands on her skirt. "Just be more careful next time."
The boy's parents knelt in stunned gratitude, but she was already turning away.
"Wait," Chief Zhou called after her. "What's your name?"
She paused for a second, looking over her shoulder at the man who spoke.
For a moment, Lin Wei thought she wouldn't answer. That maybe she didn't have a name. That maybe she was actually a spirit, just like he'd feared.
"Zhao Xiuying," she said at last, a slight smile on her face.
And just like that, she disappeared into the crowd again—vanishing before anyone could stop her.