The flickering lanternlight swayed with the evening breeze, casting shifting shadows across the courtyard walls.
Mei Lin's breath hitched as she pressed her palm flat against the cold stone behind her. Her other hand, still trembling slightly, curled into a fist by her side.
She had faced disease. Death. Nightmares of her past that clawed at her in the quietest hours.
But she had not prepared for him.
Not here.
Not now.
The name—Shen Liyan—echoed louder than the temple bells ever could.
Jun stepped closer, voice low. "Mei Lin… is it someone you knew?"
She didn't answer.
Her eyes remained fixed on the archway beyond the courtyard. For a moment, she imagined him standing there—broad-shouldered in his field uniform, expression unreadable, the way he always was when the world burned around him.
He wouldn't recognize her.
Not like this.
Gone was the powdered makeup, the painted lips, the silk and jewels she had worn behind closed doors.
Gone was the name she had once been forced to answer to.
But still… what if he did?
"I need to stay out of sight," she finally said, voice quiet but firm.
Jun frowned. "Is he dangerous?"
Mei Lin didn't respond right away. Her gaze shifted to a paper lantern swinging gently from a beam, its orange glow blurred by mist and memory. When she finally spoke, her voice held the weight of years.
"He's not the danger. The past is."
Jun said nothing more, but she could feel his concern humming just beneath the surface—like a wire drawn too tight.
---
That night, the temple transformed from a sanctuary to a battlefield.
The sick groaned under the open sky. Lanterns burned low, casting coppery light across the stone floor slick with herbs and sweat. Mei Lin moved between bodies like a ghost herself—quick, precise, silent.
She avoided the main corridors, sent Jun to fetch supplies, and kept her head lowered whenever uniformed men passed by.
She made herself invisible.
But the unease in her chest didn't fade. It grew sharper with each hour, curling around her ribs like a vice.
By midnight, it snapped.
A commotion rose beyond the gate—the thunder of boots, urgent voices shouting commands, a carriage rumbling over the cobblestones.
Jun burst into the infirmary, breathless. "They've brought more from the west district. And—he's here. Shen Liyan."
Mei Lin froze mid-step.
Before she could speak, Dr. Ansel Liu's voice echoed down the hall: "Mei Lin! Come quickly—we need you in triage!"
She stared at Jun, stricken. "Where?"
"The east side of the temple courtyard."
Her pulse roared in her ears.
The triage tent.
The one closest to the outer path—where the new arrivals would be sorted.
Her heart thudded against her ribs like a war drum.
But there was no time to hesitate.
---
The triage zone was chaos. Stretchers lined the walkway, overlapping in places. Some patients were barely conscious. A child whimpered beside her dying father. Another man coughed thick, rust-colored blood into a cloth.
Mei Lin dropped to her knees beside a groaning woman, already reaching for gloves and gauze. Her movements were sharp, clinical. She had no room for hesitation. Not here.
A boy was delirious and burning with fever—she slipped a cooling balm beneath his tongue and moved to the next. Her hands worked fast, applying tinctures, checking pupils, pressing cloth to a wound that wouldn't stop bleeding.
The sound of the city seemed to fall away.
Until a new shadow fell over her.
A tall figure. Unmoving.
Her breath caught.
"Doctor Liu," came a voice—deep, familiar, unmistakably his.
Mei Lin didn't dare look up.
"Who's your lead here?"
Dr. Liu hesitated, glancing toward her. "That would be—"
But Mei Lin rose quickly, cutting in before he could finish.
"I'm tending this section," she said, voice steady but low.
The silence that followed was too still.
"I see," came the man's voice again—measured. Then, softer:
"You sound familiar."
She didn't flinch.
Didn't breathe.
"I've been to many clinics," she murmured, still facing away.
Another pause.
The air felt heavy, like the sky before a storm.
Then—footsteps.
Fading.
He walked away.
And Mei Lin exhaled like a drowning woman breaking the surface.
---
But she knew this wasn't the end.
Shen Liyan was many things—brilliant, calculating, unrelenting. A man who saw what others missed. And once he caught the scent of a secret, he did not stop chasing it.
As she cleaned her hands in silence, the trembling returned. Not from fear of exposure. But from memory—vivid and unwanted.
The sound of strings plucked in a private chamber.
The scent of jasmine and sandalwood.
His voice, then softer, younger. A question never answered.
---
Dawn crept slowly over the rooftops, painting the courtyard in gold and gray. Mei Lin sat on a bench near the outer wall, the basin of used linens cooling beside her. Her face was blank, her mind racing.
Around her, the temple stirred to life once more.
Lanterns were replaced. Tea boiled. Sickness slept.
But she was awake.
And in her chest, a storm was coming.
She whispered to herself, the words small and fierce:
"He's close. And soon… he'll remember."