The thirty-second year of Yongchang, in Changwu County.
At dawn, the sky was faintly pale, and the long street lay sheathed in a layer of white jade. Fine snow drifted down in graceful silence, dampening the spring couplets pasted upon the courtyard gate.
Though the New Year was near, no trace of festivity lingered in the county. Every household had sealed its doors tight.
From within a darkened house came a few suppressed coughs, followed by a child's soft, tender voice.
"Mother, I'm going to fetch some water."
After a pause came the woman's faint reply.
"Don't go too far."
"I know."
With a creak, the door opened. Out stepped a girl of eight or nine, dressed in a sunflower-yellow silk jacket and worn red cotton shoes. Adjusting the felt hat atop her head, she lifted a wooden bucket and walked into the snowy street.
Three months earlier, a plague had descended upon Changwu with merciless ferocity. One by one, households fell ill. It began with fever and weakness, until the afflicted could no longer rise from bed. Red rashes bloomed across their skin, and within days, their bodies rotted away. Officials came to wrap the corpses in mats and haul them east of the city for burning.
Of the five members of the Lu family, only Alice Lu could still stand. At merely nine years old, she bore the heavy task of tending to her ailing parents, brother, and sister alone—a burden far beyond her years.
The well lay by the old temple at the eastern gate, yet Alice Lu, bucket in hand, walked straight toward the west of town. The seams of her shoes had split, letting in the snowmelt; her little face turned paler with every step.
After walking five or six li, the streets grew ever quieter, though the houses grew grander. Turning a corner, she found herself before a three-courtyard mansion, its vermilion gates guarded by a pair of stone lions. She stopped and sat down beside one.
This was the residence of the county magistrate, Clifford Li.
After the plague, the town's population had dwindled. The streets lay deserted, save for the occasional yamen cart rattling past, piled with bodies. The spring couplets upon the Li gates were last year's, the ink now blurred by snow and rain. Not far away, a new carriage stood tethered before the pillars, its chestnut horse lowering its head to lap at the melted snow in the grooves.
Alice Lu drew her knees close, shrinking into herself beside the lion, her eyes fixed upon the scarlet gates.
Above, dark clouds swirled, heavy with wind and snow. Suddenly, with a slow creak, the mansion gates opened, and a figure emerged.
Beneath a fluttering white gown gleamed pale-blue shoes embroidered with rolling clouds, each adorned with a single lustrous pearl. The silk hem swayed lightly, airy as mist, and above it, a veil of white gauze concealed the woman's face.
It was a veiled lady.
As she stepped through the gate, a pair of small hands clutched at her skirt. She turned to see a little girl at her feet, who stammered timidly, "Please… are you the physician who cured Young Master Li?"
The woman paused, then spoke—her voice clear and smooth as polished jade, touched with an icy luster. "What makes you think so?"
Alice Lu bit her lip and whispered, "I've been waiting here for a month. I never saw Young Master Li's body carried out. In all this time, you're the only stranger who's gone in or out of the Li residence." She lifted her gaze, eyes earnest. "You're the one who cured him, aren't you?"
She had kept vigil before the magistrate's gate for an entire month. A month ago, while fetching medicine from the apothecary, she had seen the Li family's carriage there—its servants helping the coughing young master inside.
Young Master Li had caught the plague.
Each day, countless townsfolk fell ill. The apothecaries were overwhelmed, their remedies useless. Common families could only await death at home. But as the magistrate's only son, Clifford Li's heir would not be surrendered easily to fate.
So Alice Lu waited. She saw this strange woman enter the Li mansion, smelled faint wafts of medicine drifting above its roof. One day, two, three—then twenty—and yet no mourning banners hung upon the gate.
The plague took its victims within half a month. Yet now, a full month had passed.
Young Master Li had not died. He had lived.
The woman looked down at Alice Lu. Her expression was hidden behind the veil, but her voice held a detached calm. "Yes. I healed him."
Alice's heart leapt.
For three months, the pestilence had raged unchecked, slaying even the physicians. No healers dared remain in Changwu; all awaited death in despair. But if this woman could save Young Master Li, then perhaps the county still had hope.
"Miss… can you truly cure the plague?" she asked carefully.
The woman smiled faintly. "I do not cure plagues. I cleanse poisons. And a plague, too, is but a kind of poison—thus it can be undone."
Alice Lu did not quite grasp her meaning, but she whispered, "Then… could you save my family?"
The woman lowered her gaze; Alice felt the weight of her scrutiny and grew uneasy. Then the woman said, "Very well."
Alice barely had time to rejoice before the woman continued, "But my fee is dear."
Alice froze. "How… how much?"
"Magistrate Li paid eight hundred taels of silver for his son's life. Tell me, little one—how many are in your family?"
Alice stared, speechless.
Her father, once a humble scholar, had fallen ill and resigned from his post. Her mother earned a meager living with her embroidery, and now that the family's income was gone, what little they had was spent on medicine. Her elder sister and brother grew weaker by the day. Eight hundred taels—no, even eight—were far beyond their reach.
The woman gave a soft, mirthless laugh and walked past her toward the carriage.
Alice watched her retreating figure, memories flashing through her mind—the bitter scent of medicine in the cramped house, her mother's tears, her father's sighs, her sister's gentle comfort, her brother's forced smile. She ran forward. "Miss!"
The woman halted but did not turn.
With a thud, Alice fell to her knees in the snow. "I—I have no silver," she pleaded breathlessly. "But I can sell myself to you! I can work—I'm strong—I can endure anything!" As though fearing disbelief, she spread her small, reddened hands. "I do all the work at home. I can do anything! Please, save my family—I'll serve you all my life!"
Her felt hat slipped off; her forehead struck the snow, cold seeping into her skin. The wind howled under the eaves, setting the lanterns swaying.
At last, a voice broke the silence. "Sell yourself to me?"
"I know I'm not worth that much," Alice said hoarsely, "but I can do everything… anything…"
A pair of hands lifted her gently from the ground.
"To serve me is to know hardship. You will not regret it?"
Alice whispered, "I won't."
"Good." The woman bent down, picked up the fallen hat, and softly set it upon her head again. Her voice carried a strange tenderness. "I will save your family. You will come with me. Agreed?"
Alice gazed up at her and nodded.
The woman took her small hand, her tone calm and faintly warm.
"What a brave child," she murmured. "Then it is settled."