Section 01 — Hands in the Warmth
Xiao Mei lay on the low wooden bed in the center. The mattress was thin, covered with clean white sheets that now looked too bright against her pale skin. Her face was as white as fresh snow, her lips a faint blue line. Her breaths came slow and weak, like whispers from far away. Each one lifted her chest just a little, then let it fall. The silver lines under her skin had stopped spreading. They stayed frozen in place, thin and shiny like threads of cold metal. But they still looked wrong—cold and strange, stealing the warmth from her body bit by bit. Her hands lay limp at her sides, fingers curled loose as if she dreamed of holding something lost.
Yelan stood by the bed. Her dark brown eyes fixed on Xiao Mei with a steady focus. No fear in them, just deep care—like a sister watching over a sleeping child. She rolled up her sleeves slow and careful. The gray cloth of her robe bunched at her elbows. This let her arms move free for the work ahead. The bandage on her right hand showed clear now. White linen wrapped tight around her palm and fingers. A small red spot had grown on it from the rush earlier. Blood seeped through, dark and wet. It came from the old burn, the one from the festival oil. But Yelan did not notice. Her mind was on Xiao Mei. Nothing else.
The door screen rustled again. Maomao pushed through with a basin in her hands. Steam rose from the water inside, filling the room with a clean, wet smell—like fresh rain on hot stone. Maomao's face was set in her usual sharp look, freckles standing out on her cheeks. Her small frame moved fast, but sure. She knew this room like her own hand. She set the basin down on the table with a soft thud. Water sloshed a little, sending more steam up in lazy curls.
"Here,"Maomao said. Her voice was short but kind. She picked up a clean towel from the stack nearby. She handed it to Yelan. "Water is ready. Just right—not too hot. What herbs do you need first?"
Yelan took the towel. Her fingers closed around the soft cloth. She dipped it into the basin. The warm water soaked in quick. Steam touched her face, soft and comforting. She wrung it out slow. Water dripped back into the basin, drop by drop, making a quiet rhythm. "Nightshade leaves," she said. Her voice stayed calm. Soft like a lullaby. "Crush them fine. Make a powder. Starwort blooms too. Just a pinch. And frostroot extract from the blue jar. Two drops only. No more."
Maomao nodded once. Her eyes showed a spark of interest. She turned to the shelves. Her hands moved fast but careful. She knew every jar by touch. The nightshade leaves came first. She pulled down a small brown jar. Inside, the leaves were dark green and dry, curled like old fingers. She shook a handful into a wooden bowl. The smell came right away—sharp and bitter, like green things gone a bit sour. She took a pestle from the table. Heavy stone, smooth from years of use. She ground the leaves hard. Round and round. The leaves broke apart. They turned to fine powder. Green dust rose a little. It tickled the nose.
Yelan pressed the warm towel on Xiao Mei's wrist. Right where the silver lines started. The skin there felt cold. Like touching ice in summer. The towel brought heat slow. Steam rose from it too. Xiao Mei's fingers twitched. Just a little. Like waking from a deep sleep. Her face softened. The tight lines around her mouth eased. Color touched her cheeks—a faint pink, like dawn on clouds.
Maomao finished the powder. She wiped her hands on her apron. Then she reached for the starwort. A small tin box on the middle shelf. Inside, the blooms were small and white. Dried light as paper. She pinched some between her fingers. Just enough. She dropped them into the bowl. The powder turned softer now. Like fine dust from crushed flowers. It smelled sweet. Mild. Like spring grass after rain. "This mix," Maomao said. She stirred it with the pestle. "It binds things? Stops the cold from going deeper?"
Yelan nodded. She kept her eyes on the wrist. Her touch stayed gentle. Slow circles with the towel. Heat sank in. "Yes. Nightshade fights the sweet poison. It burns it out slow. Starwort holds the blood warm. Keeps it from freezing. Frostroot thaws what the cold has locked inside."
Maomao's eyes went wide for a second. Surprise clear on her face. She reached for the blue jar. Frostroot extract. The label was old, faded ink. She uncorked it careful. The liquid inside was clear as water. It smelled clean and sharp. Like ice fresh from a stream. She tipped the jar. Two drops fell into the bowl. Plink. Plink. The mix bubbled soft. Just a little fizz. Like soda in water. No big change. But the smell shifted. Bitter green with a cool bite.
"You know this from where?" Maomao asked. She corked the jar. Put it back neat. "Not from palace books. Those are full of wasp stings and flower rashes. This feels old. Like ways from far villages. Or family secrets."
Yelan took the bowl from her. The mix felt right in her hand. Warm from the grinding. She stirred it with one finger. Touched the powder. It stuck soft. "From scents," she said. Her voice even. No rush. "I smell the wrong thing. The poison in the air. Then I know what fixes it. The herbs call back."
She scooped some mix on the towel. Green powder stuck to the wet cloth. She pressed it on the wrist. Slow circles again. Like drawing warmth from the sun. The silver lines faded. Just a bit at first. Then more. Color came back to the skin. Pink flush. Warm life.
Xiao Mei made a small sound. A sigh. Deep from her chest. Her eyes stayed closed. But her chest rose better now. Full breaths. Steady. No more rattle.
Maomao watched close. Her head tilted. Eyes narrow. "It works. Look—the chill pulls back. Like ice melting slow. How do you pick the herbs so fast? Most would try one thing. Then another. You knew from the start."
Yelan moved to the ankle. She dipped a new towel. Wrung it. Added more mix. Pressed the same way. Slow. Gentle. Heat and powder working together. "Not pick," she said. "Feel it. The air tells me. The wrong smell pulls. The right herbs push back." Her dark brown eyes stayed on the work. Gentle touch. Like she held something very breakable. A flower petal. A baby's hand.
Maomao leaned in closer. She sniffed the air deep. Her nose wrinkled. "The sweet smell is gone now. You chased it out clean. No trace left." She reached out. Touched Xiao Mei's hand light. The skin felt warmer. Real warmth. "She will be okay. The lines are fading full. Thanks to you. Quick thinking."
Yelan sat back on her heels. She took a clean cloth from the table. Wiped her hands slow. The mix had done its job. The silver lines were gone now. All of them. Xiao Mei's face looked peaceful. Soft lines only. Her breaths deep and even. Like good sleep after a long day.
Yelan smiled small. Just a curve of her lips. "Rest now. She needs sleep. Let the body heal quiet."
Maomao stood up. She took the bowl. Put it away on the shelf. Neat spot. "You saved her. No doubt. Good work. Palace owes you one today."
The room felt quiet again. The warm light from the lanterns fell soft on the bed. Xiao Mei slept sound. Chest rising. Falling. Peace in every breath.