The scent of evening jasmine mingled with the faint smoke of lanterns still glowing across the Healing Garden. Mei Lin sat by the plum tree, her fingers wrapped around a clay cup of chrysanthemum tea.
The bicycle leaned quietly against the gate, flecks of dust still clinging to its wheels — a reminder of where she had been.
It had been three days since her return from Red Willow.
Each morning brought a new offering from the villagers — freshly baked buns, rare mountain herbs, or a quiet nod of gratitude. Even the children had begun to mimic her garden work, clumsily watering plants with hollowed gourds.
But Mei Lin felt… restless.
Not uneasy. Not lost.
Just aware — that something had shifted permanently inside her.
She was no longer just the village healer. She had become a symbol — of hope, of resilience, of what one person's hands could do.
That evening, as she tidied the shelves of salves and tinctures, she heard a soft knock at the gate.
When she opened it, she found a tall figure in travel clothes, dust on their boots and a leather case slung over one shoulder.
It was the young apprentice from Red Willow — Jun.
"I hope I'm not intruding," he said, bowing respectfully.
"Not at all," Mei Lin smiled, stepping aside.
"I came to learn. Doctor Liu said you might be willing to teach."
Mei Lin tilted her head. "You left the clinic?"
"For now," Jun replied. "He said I'd learn more watching you with real patients than books could ever offer."
She offered him tea, and they sat under the plum tree. As they spoke of herbs, diagnosis methods, and village superstitions, Mei Lin realized — she didn't mind the company.
Maybe teaching wasn't something to delay for "someday." Maybe someday had arrived.
---
In the days that followed, Jun proved eager and respectful. He took to the morning routines with discipline — sweeping the front, preparing boiling water, and recording every treatment Mei Lin gave.
The villagers were curious at first, some skeptical, but Mei Lin's presence reassured them.
"Everyone starts somewhere," she told them gently. "Even me."
Meanwhile, the bicycle — once a novelty — had become a part of village life. She rode it each week to nearby hamlets, sometimes with Jun running behind, sometimes with both of them pedaling toward places that lacked healers entirely.
In one such village, she encountered an old friend — a midwife named Ping, whose eyesight had begun to fade.
"I can still feel life in a mother's belly," Ping smiled, "but I can't read labels anymore."
So Mei Lin labeled her jars in larger script, and taught Jun how to help.
They left that village with a promise to return soon.
---
Then came a letter.
A real one, this time, tied with twine and sealed with green wax. The sender was not Doctor Liu — but the mayor of a provincial town called Stone Path.
The letter was polite but urgent:
"Our healer has gone missing. The rains have brought mold and illness. Infants are dying. We offer shelter and gratitude to anyone who can come."
Mei Lin folded the letter with trembling hands.
Stone Path was far — nearly ten days by cart.
She glanced at Jun, who had just returned from collecting honeysuckle.
"Are you ready for another road?" she asked.
He blinked. "Now?"
She nodded. "Soon. We'll need to prepare."
They packed dried herbs, clean cloth, distilled spirits, a few of Mei Lin's precious root extracts, and enough rice and lentils to last a fortnight.
The villagers came again to send her off — this time not with awe, but with familiarity. As if Mei Lin's journeys had become part of the rhythm of the valley.
"You'll come back again," Auntie Rong said. Not a question. A certainty.
"Always," Mei Lin replied.
This time, Jun rode the bicycle. Mei Lin sat on the back with their packs. The road ahead shimmered in the morning sun, stretching long and winding between hills.
---
Stone Path was nothing like Red Willow.
It was muddy, grey, and smelled faintly of mildew. The buildings leaned against one another as if weary from storms. People were thin, many coughing, some too tired to speak.
Mei Lin and Jun got to work immediately — clearing space in the town's abandoned schoolhouse and turning it into a makeshift infirmary.
For the first time, Jun took the lead in treating a child with a severe rash, while Mei Lin guided from the corner.
"You've done this before," she whispered after.
"Only in theory," he admitted. "But with you here, the theory lives."
Mei Lin smiled faintly. That was all she needed to hear.
---
They stayed for nearly a month.
Mei Lin taught two village women how to brew simple immunity teas. She guided Jun in recognizing the signs of infected wounds. And in her free moments, she began sketching new garden layouts — imagining a space where healers from different towns could come, not just to learn, but to rest.
One night, Jun asked her quietly, "Do you ever think about giving up the garden? To travel full-time?"
Mei Lin stared into the fire.
"No," she said softly. "But I dream of making it bigger. So no healer feels alone again."
---
They returned home when the village of Stone Path sang for them with drums and gave them a carved wooden plaque: "For the Lady of the Healing Wheel."
Mei Lin laughed when she saw it. "They named the bicycle," she said, amused.
She hung it beside the garden gate.
Back in her village, the herbs had grown wild, but not unruly. The children had tried tending them, some plants were overwatered, some under, but the effort touched her heart.
As she stood there, breathing in the familiar air, Mei Lin looked at Jun and said, "Let's build something more."
And beneath that plum tree — her place of beginning — they sketched a new map.
A Healing Network.
For everyone who couldn't make it to her — they would find a way to reach them.