The world returned in pieces.
First, there was a deep and throbbing ache, pulsing at the back of my neck and side.
Then the scents—smoke, herbs, and blood—heavy in the air.
I blinked slowly, fighting through the fog clouding my mind.
Wooden beams stretched across the ceiling above me. Faint lantern light flickered against rough walls, almost drowned out by sunlight filtering through the open window.
I tried to move and immediately regretted it.
Pain flared through my side, down my leg, across my back.
“Easy,” a voice said nearby.
I turned my head, gritting my teeth.
Master Kai sat at a small table a few feet away, grinding something with a mortar and pestle. His robes were rumpled, his face drawn with exhaustion.
“You’re awake,” he said without looking up. “Spirits willing, you’ll stay that way. What have you got in you, boy?”
I tried to speak, but all that came out was a dry croak.
Kai pointed toward a clay cup beside the bed. “Drink. Slowly. You need to keep hydrated with the rate you’re healing.”
I forced my arm up. It felt like lifting a boulder. The cup was heavy in my hand, and the water tasted faintly of iron, but it eased the sandpaper lining my throat.
When I could finally talk, my voice was a ragged whisper.
“…Wei Lin?”
That got his attention.
Master Kai set down the pestle and stood, joints popping audibly. He walked over and checked the bindings around my ribs with professional efficiency.
“He’s alive,” he said at last. “Barely. Lost a lot of blood. Worse than you, if you can believe it.”
Relief flooded me so fast it made me dizzy.
I sank back into the bedding, letting the tension bleed out of my battered body.
“You’re lucky, Fang Wu,” Master Kai said, his voice low. “Lucky that girl found you when she did. Another five minutes…”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
I remembered the last thing I saw. Lian Rui’s face, wide-eyed and pale as I collapsed at the gate.
“How long…?” I rasped.
“Just a day,” he said simply. “You’ve been in and out with a fever. The worst of it’s gone now.”
I shifted slightly and felt the rough bindings around my ankle.
“Quite honestly, kid, you’re a freak.” Kai continued, “Only the spirits know how you made it all the way back into town.”
I closed my eyes.
It felt like a lifetime had passed since that night. The blood, the wolves, the scream that still echoed in my head.
Wei Lin’s mother.
I swallowed thickly. As selfish as it was, with her death, went my answers.
It still stung. I could have saved her.
“You should rest,” Master Kai said, stepping back toward his table. “The council’s calling a meeting. After this latest attack, the whole village is stirred up like a kicked nest.”
I didn’t answer.
I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, letting the pain and exhaustion wash over me.
The hours dragged.
The sunlight crept across the room, slow and heavy, turning the space into a muggy, stifling box. Sweat beaded on my forehead. I drifted in and out, the heat making the edges of my vision pulse.
It must’ve been close to midday when the door creaked open.
Soft footsteps padded across the floor.
I turned my head, muscles stiff and protesting, just in time to see a small figure approaching with a tray balanced in both hands.
She couldn’t have been older than ten. Maybe younger. She wore a faded green robe tied at the waist with a frayed belt, and her hair was pulled into two crooked buns that stuck out wildly to either side of her head, making her chubby cheeks stand out.
“Food delivery!” she announced brightly, plopping the tray down on the stool beside me. “Master Kai said you need to eat or you could ‘cark it’.”
I blinked, caught somewhere between amusement and confusion. No, definitely confusion.
She beamed at me. “I’m Fi Yan! My ma works at the herb stalls. I help Master Kai sometimes ‘cause ma says I talk too much and she needs peace.” She kept smiling like that wasn’t weird.
I managed a raspy, “Thanks.”
She grinned wider, clearly taking that as an invitation to continue.
“You’re Fang Wu, right? The one who carried Farmer Wei all the way from the paddies?” Her eyes went wide, practically glowing. “Everyone’s talking about it. They said you looked like a blood ghost—face all white and clothes soaked red!”
She mimed staggering dramatically, arms flailing.
I huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh.
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“Well, you don’t look like a ghost now,” she said cheerfully. “Just kinda gross.”
“Appreciate it,” I muttered dryly, reaching for the tray.
It was simple fare—a bowl of rice and some boiled greens. It smelled like heaven.
I ate slowly, savoring each bite, while Fi Yan perched on the edge of a crate and chattered nonstop.
Apparently, Master Kai was grumpy but “had a soft heart like mashed bean cake.” Madam Shen could heal a broken arm just by glaring at it. Lian Mei and Lian Rui had been in town that morning looking for medicinal herbs. And according to Mei Yan’s best friend’s uncle, the town council was planning something big.
“Probably a dragon hunt,” she said, nodding seriously. “Or maybe they’re finally getting rid of the giant mud toads. Master Kai says I’m not allowed to fight toads. Not after last time.”
I didn’t want to ask.
I couldn’t ask.
Dammit all—I had to ask.
“What happened with the mud toads?”
She puffed up like she’d been waiting her whole life for someone to ask.
“I tried to ride one,” she said proudly. “Biggest one in the west paddies. Old Sourback. I tied a rope around its neck and everything! Almost had it too. Until it jumped into the creek and dragged me with it.” She lifted her sleeve, revealing a long, faint scar running up her forearm. “Master Kai said if I ever tried to ride another toad, he’d sew my mouth shut.”
I stared at her.
She grinned wider, completely unfazed. “Worth it though. I almost tamed him!”
I shook my head, not sure whether to laugh or be impressed. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Awesome, right? I’ll get him next time. Then I’ll have my very own spirit animal.”
Honestly? It kinda was. I wasn’t ashamed to admit, if I was ten I’d probably be right there with her.
I gave her a small smile and a nod. “Yeah. That’s pretty awesome.”
Eventually, Master Kai barked her name from somewhere deeper in the house.
Fi Yan hopped to her feet. “Gotta go! Don’t die while I’m gone! And I’ll tell you another one of my adventures!” she called cheerfully over her shoulder.
And with that, she was gone, leaving the door swinging slightly in the breeze.
I set the empty bowl aside and exhaled, the room suddenly very quiet without her in it.
For a long moment, I debated staying put. Letting my body rest.
But I couldn’t.
I needed to move. I needed air. Especially from this stuffy room.
Gritting my teeth, I swung my legs off the bed.
Pain flared immediately but it was bearable. The worst of it had dulled to a steady, throbbing background hum. I could feel something deeper working beneath the surface.
The Qi.
My body was healing faster than it should’ve. Not instantly. But enough to notice.
I pushed myself upright, swaying slightly.
One step.
Another.
I made it to the door, braced a hand against the frame, and shoved it open.
Sunlight poured over me, warm and blinding.
I squinted against it and stepped outside.
The air smelled of warm stone and humid earth, tinged faintly with the heavier scent of herbs drifting from the healer’s house behind me.
Across the road, maybe twenty paces away, sat The Crooked Reed. The tavern’s sign swung lazily in the breeze. Beyond it, the familiar sprawl of rice fields shimmered under the sun.
A few villagers hurried by, baskets slung over their shoulders, casting quick, curious glances in my direction.
I stood there for a while, legs stiff, weight leaning on my uninjured side. The village buzzed around me, farmers hauling baskets of grain, children chasing each other barefoot, running down the street with no regard.
I shifted my grip on the doorframe, trying to steady myself, when a voice called out.
“Well now. I didn’t think I’d be seeing you standing already.”
I turned my head carefully.
Madam Shen was walking slowly up the road toward me, a large satchel slung over one shoulder. Her robes were dusted with rice chaff, her silver-streaked hair pulled back in a practical knot. She was the town’s main herbalist and from what I gathered, the closest thing Fallen Mist had to a doctor besides Master Kai.
Her eyes crinkled as she drew closer, but there was a tightness in her mouth that didn’t match the smile.
“You’re tougher than you look, Fang Wu,” she said, coming to a stop a few paces away.
I inclined my head slightly. “Trying to be.”
She gave a small, approving hum and adjusted the strap of her satchel.
For a moment, she just studied me.
Then she said, softer, “Thank you. For what you did.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
Madam Shen continued before I could find words.
“Wei Lin’s like family to me. Always has been. His ma… she was a good woman. Stronger than she had any right to be. You did more than anyone could’ve asked.”
I clenched my hands at my sides.
She must’ve seen my face, because she let out a small, rough chuckle.
“Don’t look like that, boy. You didn’t bring this on her. Those beasts would’ve come either way. It was bound to happen. We all told Wei Lin to move into town. The forest hasn’t been safe for years now.”
She looked out across the fields, where the green and gold of the rice paddies blurred into the haze of the distant hills.
“I was just waiting,” she sighed. “Waiting for the merchant from Lianzhou to arrive. He was carrying the spirit pill we needed. Another two days, and she would’ve had it.”
Her mouth tightened.
“But life’s a stubborn thing. Comes when you don’t want it. Leaves when you’re not ready.”
I stared at the ground, the weight in my chest pressing harder.
“I’m sorry,” I said hoarsely.
Madam Shen gave a short, almost amused snort.
“You’re young,” she said. “You think you can fix everything if you just try hard enough.”
She stepped closer, reaching out to give my shoulder a light pat. Her hand was firm, calloused from years of grinding herbs and gathering roots.
“You fought,” she said. “You saved Wei Lin. That’s more than most would’ve managed.”
Then, with a final squeeze of my shoulder, she shifted her satchel higher and turned to go.
“Rest while you can, Fang Wu,” she called over her shoulder. “The world doesn’t stop turning just ‘cause we’re hurting.”
And with that, she strode away down the road, weaving between villagers without looking back.
I watched her go until she disappeared into the crowd.
The ache in my ribs deepened.
Not from the wounds.
From something heavier.
The village moved around me like a slow current.
Vendors called from side streets, hawking bundles of dried herbs and skewers of roasted meat. The scent of cooked rice and smoke from a dozen chimneys hung thick in the air. A farmer trundled past with a broken wheelbarrow, muttering curses under his breath.
Fallen Mist wasn’t big. Maybe three hundred, three hundred and fifty people at most. A patchwork of homes stitched together by dirt paths and stubborn rice fields. Fences leaned. Roofs sagged. Everything was worn thin by time and weather, but it was alive. And over the weeks I had grown to rather enjoy it.
I leaned against the side of the healer’s shop, letting the sun warm my face.
I caught a glimpse of Lian Mei hauling a heavy sack over one shoulder, her freckled face set in a scowl as she argued with a wrinkled shopkeeper.
I shifted my weight, careful with my ankle. It still throbbed under the bandages, but the pain was a dull hum, manageable.
The door behind me creaked.
I turned just in time to see Fi Yan sprinting toward me, her two crooked buns bouncing wildly with every step.
“Fang Wu!” she called, waving one hand high in the air. “You gotta come!”
I raised an eyebrow. “What is it now? Another toad-wrangling contest?”
She skidded to a stop in front of me, dust puffing up around her sandals.
“No! Everyone’s gathering at the main hall! Right now! All the elders are there and it’s really, really important!”
She grabbed my sleeve and tugged.
I sighed, pushed off the wall, and followed her.
The main hall wasn’t far. A wide, sloping-roofed building perched near the center of the village, raised slightly above the square on a foundation of old stone.
Today, the space outside was packed.
Villagers filled the square, milling around in loose clusters, murmuring quietly. Some carried tools, gripped tight in calloused hands. Even the old men from the tavern were there, standing straighter than usual, their tile games abandoned.
Up near the wide stairs of the building, four figures stood in a line.
I recognized a few of them from passing glances in town—stern-faced men and women, weathered by years of hard work and harder seasons. They wore simple robes, but they carried the kind of weight that only came from living a lifetime on the edge of survival.
Their expressions were grim.
They waited in silence as the crowd slowly settled, the noise fading to a low, expectant hush.
I found a spot near the edge, leaning carefully against a fence post.
Fi Yan hovered beside me, practically vibrating with curiosity.
“What do you think it’s about?” she whispered loudly.
I didn’t answer.
Because deep down, I already knew. And it wasn’t good.