The paper lanterns still fluttered above the Healing Garden as Mei Lin sat with her warm bowl of soup, letting the familiar flavors wrap around her like a soft shawl.
The children's laughter echoed faintly beyond the gate, and somewhere in the distance, a nightjar sang its lonely tune.
She was home — yet not the same.
Her fingers brushed the seeds gifted by the Red Willow physicians, now safely bundled in cloth beside her. There were new herbs to try, stories to tell, and perhaps… futures to shape.
Over the next few days, life returned to its quiet rhythm.
Villagers trickled in, bringing gifts or ailments. They asked about her journey with wide eyes and listened as if she were a hero from the old stories. Auntie Rong simply smiled and said, "She always had it in her."
One late afternoon, while organizing dried ginseng roots, Mei Lin noticed a small pouch tucked inside her satchel. She hadn't remembered packing it. Unfolding the cloth, she found a handful of silver coins — contributions from those she'd helped in her travels. Some were wrapped in notes.
"For your journey."
"May your kindness ride far."
"Come back again someday."
Mei Lin stared at the coins for a long time.
A thought, wild and impractical, began to form.
Later that week, with a quiet determination in her step, she visited the general store at the edge of the village.
Mr. Heng, the storekeeper, looked up in surprise as she pointed at the object displayed in the back — a gleaming steel bicycle with leather handlebars and a wicker basket tied in front.
"You want… that?"
Mei Lin nodded. "Yes. I'll pay in full."
Rumors spread quickly.
By sundown, nearly the entire village lined the main road to see it.
There she was — Mei Lin, the healing woman, the quiet miracle-worker — dressed in her usual simple robes, adjusting the seat of a bicycle like she'd been riding it for years.
A few boys offered tips; Auntie Rong brought her scarf to tie around her hair.
Then, with a breath, Mei Lin placed one foot on the pedal… and pushed forward.
The bicycle wobbled at first, swaying like a drunk goose — but then it found balance. A gentle wind lifted her sleeves, and the basket jostled with a few bundled herbs.
The villagers erupted in cheers.
She laughed freely for the first time in weeks — not just a chuckle, but a full-bodied, head-tilted joy that echoed down the mountain road.
She was the first woman in the village to own and ride a bicycle.
---
Two weeks later, just as the plum trees began to shed their blossoms, a message arrived.
This one was carried not by a boy, but a weary courier who had traveled for days.
He brought no letter, only words:
"A fever has spread through the southern valley. Children are falling ill first. Red Willow has been hit hard. They are asking for you."
Mei Lin's hands froze around the pouch of dried herbs she'd been preparing. Auntie Rong stood nearby, her expression unreadable.
"How bad?" Mei Lin asked softly.
The courier sighed. "Worse than anything they've seen in years."
There was no hesitation.
By dawn, her bicycle was packed with tinctures, cloth bandages, ginger root, and handwritten guides. She left instructions for the villagers and kissed Auntie Rong's hand.
"Ride carefully," the old woman said, brushing Mei Lin's cheek.
The journey was long and the roads rough, but her legs were strong and her will stronger. The bicycle sped past rice paddies, past farms and shrines, the bell around her wrist chiming as she pedaled.
In every village she passed, whispers rose:
"She's coming — the Healing Lady on wheels."
By the time she reached Red Willow, the streets were hushed, not with peace but dread. Children cried in their mothers' arms. Shopfronts were shuttered. The smell of vinegar and herbs filled the air — desperate attempts at warding off sickness.
Dr. Ansel Liu greeted her with a haggard smile.
"I prayed you'd come," he said, and for the first time, she saw fear in his eyes.
Together, they entered the clinic.
Dozens lay on mats — fevers high, lips dry, coughs wracking their small bodies. It was a viral illness — not unfamiliar, but it had mutated. It spread fast and drained faster. Several healers had already fallen ill themselves.
Mei Lin didn't wait. She rolled up her sleeves and began working.
She divided herbs into steaming bowls, instructed caretakers how to wipe fevers with lemon water, used dried elderflower and mint compresses to ease breathing. She organized the healers into shifts, sent older villagers to boil water and wash linens, and even taught one apprentice how to make her fever salve using wild honeysuckle and alcohol.
She slept little. Ate only when others forced her to.
But slowly — very slowly — the fevers broke.
Children stirred. Women wept. The town began to breathe again.
On the seventh day, Dr. Liu approached her beneath the lantern-lit archway of the clinic.
"I think you saved us," he said.
"No," she replied softly, looking around at the others. "We saved each other."
He chuckled. "Will you stay?"
"I want to go home. But I will return — with more knowledge, and maybe more people like us."
---
Back in her village, another message had been chalked on the slate:
"Return safe. You're missed."
She arrived days later, riding slowly up the hill. Her basket was empty, her eyes tired — but her spirit shone.
The children ran beside her as she rode in, their laughter like birdsong.
And as Auntie Rong stepped outside, she smiled and said, "I see the bicycle made it."
"It did," Mei Lin grinned, parking it beside the gate. "And so did I."
That night, as the villagers lit lanterns for the recovered souls in Red Willow and the ones they lost, Mei Lin stood beneath the plum tree, watching the soft light dance on the garden walls.
There were more roads to travel. More villages to reach. But for now, she was home.
And home had never felt so full of promise.