By the time Mao Sheng stepped through the creaky wooden door of their cottage, the mountain sky had turned indigo, streaked with stars like silver grains scattered over dark silk.
Their home was small—a single room with a raised clay platform for sleeping, a hearth in one corner, and shelves lined with jars of dried herbs and old scrolls. It smelled of earth, wood smoke, and faintly of ginger. Familiar. Warm.
Mao Sheng gently closed the door behind him and lowered his broken herb bag to the floor.
His wife, Mao Zu, waddled over with furrowed brows. Even in the dim oil lamp's glow, the worry on her face was clear. Her long black hair was tied in a simple braid that draped over her shoulder, her hands pressed protectively over her swollen belly.
"Mao Sheng!" Mao Zu ran to him, her swollen belly swaying as she embraced him. "What happened?! Are you hurt?"
"It's nothing. Just a small beast on the way down," he said, forcing a smile. "Caught me off guard."
She didn't believe him, but before she could argue, he showed his arms and legs conforming as if there were no injuries.
She sighed, her voice trembling slightly with worry, but the sharp scent of blood made her scowl as she muttered in annoyance. "You're covered in blood and dirt. Go wash up right now before the baby refuses to let you even touch him!"
Mao Sheng chuckled weakly, thankful that she didn't see through him more deeply. "Alright, alright," he said, raising his hands in surrender. "I'll go. Can't let our future young master think his father is a beast."
He took a fresh cloth and a wooden bucket from the corner of the room, stepping outside to the washing area behind the house. A stream ran just beyond the trees—a small one, barely ankle-deep, but enough for washing.
The cold water bit into his skin as he knelt and dipped the cloth. He scrubbed at the grime on his arms, wincing as he passed over bruises and shallow cuts. But none of them worried him.
It was his left shoulder.
He slowly peeled off the dried blood-caked cloth binding and exposed the wound… or what should have been one.
What remained now was a faint, pale line—almost healed completely. The kind of recovery that should've taken a week at the very least. Not a few hours.
His hand slipped into his inner robe and touched the cold weight of the red gem nestled close to his chest. Wrapped tightly in cloth, its presence still seemed to hum, faintly... almost like a heartbeat. His own? Or the gem's?
He wasn't sure.
He remembered it clearly—how the bleeding had stopped the moment his fingers brushed the gem's surface. How the skin began knitting itself back together, as if time had been reversed. It hadn't just been a coincidence.
He shivered, though the water was warm.
Looking up at the dark canopy above him, he exhaled.
This is not something meant for someone like me.
He turned the gem in his hand under the moonlight, its surface catching the silver glow. The black spiderweb-like lines had a kind of shifting quality, like they moved ever so slightly beneath the surface. A mystical treasure. That much was obvious.
Why me?
He wrapped the gem again, tighter this time, and tucked it deep within the folds of his robe, close to the skin where no one would see it.
"I can't tell anyone," he muttered, eyes fixed on the gem. "Not Zu'er… not even the wind. Something like this—it might seem like a blessing, but for someone like me, it could all too easily bring disaster."
He splashed water on his face and washed away the dirt and dried blood. The scent of herbs and cooking wafted through the trees—Zu'er had lit the fire.
He came back in from the backyard, freshly washed and whistling a soft local folk tune, a faint smile forced onto his lips
Zu'er was crouched by the hearth, stirring a small clay pot. The rich aroma of mushroom broth filled the room, and beside it was a small pan where slices of dried meat—saved for special occasions—sizzled lightly.
"You better not come near the bedding tonight smelling like a beast," she muttered without looking at him. "You scared me half to death. What were you even doing so late on the mountain?"
Mao Sheng sat down slowly. "Got greedy. Went deeper than I usually do. Found a few rare herbs."
She turned and gave him a long look. "You always say not to risk it. And now you come back half-dead, and you want me to believe it's just for a few herbs?"
He smiled and held up the decades-old ginseng, now wrapped in silk. "Does this count as a few?"
Her breath caught. She reached out, her fingers trembling slightly as she unwrapped it. "By the heavens… this is… this is real."
"Thirty, maybe forty years old," he said. "Enough to get you a proper doctor. Maybe even eat meat every day until the child comes."
Zu'er clutched the herb tightly, her eyes shimmering. "You really did it... You always come back with something, even when you shouldn't."
But then her gaze lingered on him, her smile fading just slightly. There was a flicker of something in her eyes—a quiet question unspoken, as if she were asking, "Is that really all?" Her fingers paused over the herb, and for a moment, the room felt still. She knew him too well not to notice the way his voice hesitated, the way his eyes avoided hers, even if just for a heartbeat.
"Tch… you women really do have a sixth sense," he said with a sheepish chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alright, I won't hide it from you. I took that cursed slope again. Swore last time I'd never touch it, but today… Those damn cultivators were flying around, and I just wanted to get out fast. My legs moved before my head could argue."
She narrowed her eyes at him, unconvinced, but didn't push further.
She stood and brought him a bowl of soup. As she placed it in his hands, she leaned in slightly, whispering, "If something's wrong, you'll tell me, right? You're all I have. We're all each other have."
Mao Sheng's heart clenched.
He forced a nod. "Always."
But the gem beneath his robe pulsed faintly with warmth, as if reminding him of its presence.
No, he couldn't tell her.
Not now.
Not ever.