1
The herb was still there.
Tomás had worried, during the nights, that someone might have pulled it out, or that an animal had eaten it, or that he had simply imagined its existence. But when he walked to the edge of the forest the next morning, there it was. The small plant with round leaves and that strong, alcanforado smell.
He crouched beside it and examined it carefully. The leaves were thick, almost fleshy, and when he pressed one gently between his fingers, it released that familiar aroma. Like eucalyptus, but stronger. Like menthol, but earthier.
He had brought a small clay pot and a wooden knife. He cut three leaves, trying not to damage the plant, and placed them carefully in the pot. Then he covered the base with soil, the way Granny Liu had taught him when they gathered mushrooms.
Xièxiè - he whispered to the plant. It felt ridiculous, but also right.
Back in the village, he went to his house and prepared his workspace. He had two small clay bowls, some water, and a smooth stone for grinding. He placed the leaves in one bowl, added a little water, and began to crush them with the stone.
The smell filled the room. Strong, medicinal, alive.
Wei Chen appeared at the door, drawn by the odor.
What... what is that? - he asked, wrinkling his nose.
Tomás looked up and smiled.
Medicine. I hope.
Wei Chen entered and sat on the floor, watching with curiosity as Tomás continued grinding. The leaves turned into a green paste, thick and fragrant. Tomás added more water, little by little, until it became a murky liquid.
What plant? - Wei Chen asked.
The one near the forest. The one that smells strong. I don't know the name yet.
Wei Chen thought for a moment, then said:
Qīngliáng cǎo. Cool grass. Some people use it for... - he touched his head, his stomach - ...for pain? For sick?
Tomás nodded. He wrote in his notebook: "Qīngliáng cǎo. Used for pain, sickness. Strong smell, alcanforado. Possibly has antimicrobial properties."
Then he looked at Wei Chen and asked:
You want to see something? An experiment?
Wei Chen did not know the word "experiment," but he understood the invitation.
2
They walked to the fields where the bean plants grew. Tomás had already marked the spot in his mind: a patch of sick plants, smaller than the others, with yellowing leaves and weak stems. He had passed them many times, always noting their decline.
He stopped in front of two plants that were particularly bad. They were almost identical in size, in color, in their sad, drooping appearance.
This one - he said, pointing to the left plant - no medicine.
This one - he pointed to the right - medicine.
Wei Chen frowned.
Why? Both sick. Why only one?
Tomás tried to explain with simple words:
I need to see if the medicine works. If I put medicine on both, and they both get better, maybe it was not the medicine. Maybe it was the rain, or the sun, or something else. But if one gets better and the other stays sick... then maybe the medicine did something.
Wei Chen was silent for a long moment, processing this.
So... you let one suffer? On purpose?
Tomás hesitated. It sounded bad when Wei Chen said it like that.
I... yes. But it's the only way to know for sure. If the medicine works, then I can help all the others. One sick plant now, or many sick plants later.
Wei Chen looked at the two plants, then at Tomás, then back at the plants. Finally, he nodded slowly.
I understand. It is... cruel, but wise.
Tomás felt a small pain in his chest. Cruel. Was it cruel? In university, they called it "control group." It was standard practice. But here, in this small village, with these plants that someone had planted and watered and hoped for... it felt different.
He pushed the feeling away. Science required sacrifice. Sometimes.
He took out his small pot of qīngliáng cǎo liquid and poured it carefully around the base of the right plant. Then he stepped back.
Now we wait.
Wei Chen looked at the sky, then at Tomás.
How long?
Days. Maybe a week. We watch every day. We write what we see.
Wei Chen nodded. Then he pointed to the left plant, the one without medicine.
What do we call this one? The... the one you let suffer?
Tomás thought for a moment.
Control.
Wei Chen repeated the word slowly: "Con-trol." He wrote it in the air with his finger, memorizing the sound.
Control - he said again - Good word.
3
The next five days became a ritual.
Every morning, after breakfast, Tomás walked to the field. Wei Chen often accompanied him. Sometimes Xiao Wang came too, running ahead, eager to see what the foreigner was doing.
They would stand before the two plants and observe. Tomás would take out his notebook and write:
Day 1: Control plant (no medicine) still yellow, leaves drooping. Treated plant: no visible change.
Day 2: Control plant: slightly more yellow. Treated plant: leaves look... maybe a little greener? Hard to tell. Need better light.
Day 3: Control plant: one leaf completely yellow, falling. Treated plant: definitely greener. Stem looks stronger.
Day 4: Control plant: two leaves dead. Treated plant: new leaf growing? Small, but there.
Day 5: Control plant: dying. Treated plant: visibly healthier. New leaf confirmed.
On the fifth day, Tomás knelt before the treated plant and touched its leaves. They were firm, green, alive. Next to it, the control plant was a skeleton of its former self, brown and brittle.
He looked at Wei Chen, who was staring at the two plants with an expression Tomás had never seen before. Wonder. Confusion. Respect.
It worked - Wei Chen said. It was not a question.
It worked - Tomás confirmed.
Wei Chen crouched and touched the treated plant gently.
How? How did you know?
Tomás shook his head.
I didn't know. I hoped. Now I know.
He took out his notebook and wrote the final observation:
Day 5: Experiment successful. Qīngliáng cǎo extract appears to have positive effect on sick bean plants. Control plant (untreated) confirms that improvement is not due to environmental factors. Next steps: test on more plants, different concentrations, different application methods.
He looked at Wei Chen and smiled.
Now we help the others.
4
That evening, word spread through the village.
Tomás did not know who started it. Maybe Xiao Wang, who had watched every day with wide eyes. Maybe Wei Chen, who had told his wife. Maybe someone just passing by the field who noticed the two plants, one dead and one alive, side by side.
Whatever the source, by the time Tomás sat by the communal fire, people were looking at him differently.
Granny Liu brought him an extra bowl of soup, patting his shoulder as she handed it over. Hunter Shi gave him a small nod, which from Shi was practically a speech. Even Old Zheng, the village chief, looked at him for a long moment from across the fire, his expression unreadable.
Wei Chen sat beside him, unrolling a scroll and pretending to read, but Tomás could see he was watching the reactions too.
They think you are a sorcerer - Wei Chen said quietly.
Tomás almost choked on his soup.
What? No. I'm not. It's just... it's science. It's...
Wei Chen held up a hand.
I know. You know. But they... they have never seen this. A man who makes sick plants better with green water. A man who comes from nowhere, who speaks strangely, who writes in a book all day. What would you think?
Tomás looked around the fire. The faces looking back at him were not hostile. Just... curious. Wondering.
I would think it's magic - he admitted.
Wei Chen nodded.
Yes. Magic. Or something like it. You have to teach them. Slowly. Like you teach me words.
Tomás thought about this. He had spent five days on an experiment that, in his world, would be a minor class project. Here, it was a miracle.
How do I teach something so big? - he asked.
Wei Chen smiled.
The same way you eat a bowl of soup. One spoon at a time.
5
The next morning, a woman was waiting at his door.
She was young, maybe twenty, with a baby on her hip and worry in her eyes. When Tomás appeared, she spoke quickly, too fast for him to follow. He caught only a few words: "plant," "sick," "please."
He looked at Wei Chen, who had arrived just behind her.
Her garden - Wei Chen explained - Small. Behind her house. Something is wrong with the vegetables. She wants you to see.
Tomás hesitated. He was not a doctor. He was not even sure his experiment had really worked. It could have been luck, or something else he had not controlled for.
But the woman's eyes were desperate. And the baby on her hip was crying.
Okay - he said - Show me.
They walked to her house, small and humble like the others, but with a tiny garden behind it. Rows of vegetables, carefully planted, now wilting and yellow.
Tomás crouched and examined them. The leaves had brown spots, irregular, spreading. The stems were weak. The soil was wet, too wet, with standing water in the furrows.
He looked at the woman and made a watering motion.
Too much? - he asked.
She nodded vigorously, then pointed to the sky, making a gesture of rain. It had rained heavily three days ago. The garden had not drained properly.
Tomás looked around. The garden was in a slight depression, lower than the surrounding ground. Water would collect here naturally. And with no drainage channels, it had nowhere to go.
He stood and walked to the edge of the garden, examining the soil, the slope, the path of the water. Then he took out his notebook and sketched a quick diagram.
Problem - he said, pointing to the depression - Water stays. Roots drown. Plants sick.
The woman looked at him, not understanding all the words, but understanding the gesture.
He pointed to the edge of the garden, where the ground sloped slightly away.
We need to make a small channel. Here. So water can leave.
He made a digging motion with his hands.
The woman nodded slowly. Then she pointed to herself, to the garden, and made the same digging motion. She would do it. Today.
Tomás smiled.
Good. And... - he pointed to the sick plants - Remove these. The worst ones. They will not get better. Leave the others, maybe they recover.
She nodded again, and for the first time, her eyes lost some of their worry.
As they walked back to the square, Wei Chen was quiet. Finally, he said:
You did not use the green water.
No.
You just... looked. And told her to dig.
Tomás nodded.
Sometimes the problem is not the plant. It's the water. Or the soil. Or the sun. You have to look at everything.
Wei Chen was silent for a long moment. Then he said:
In the village, we have people who know plants. They learn from their parents. They do what their parents did. But they never... look at everything. They look at the plant. Not the water, not the ground, not the slope.
Tomás shrugged.
That's what I was taught. In my world. To look at everything.
Wei Chen looked at him with that same expression from the field. Wonder, confusion, respect.
Your world must be very strange - he said.
Tomás laughed.
You have no idea.
6
That night, Tomás sat by his small hearth and wrote in his notebook.
He wrote about the experiment, the success, the dead control plant that still bothered him a little. He wrote about the woman and her garden, about drainage and soil saturation. He wrote about Wei Chen's questions, and about the way the villagers looked at him now.
Then he wrote something else. A list.
Things I have learned in this world:
1. Plants have líng, but líng is not magic. It is something real. I need to find out what.
*2. Traditional knowledge is real knowledge. Granny Liu, Hunter Shi, even the woman with the garden - they know things. But they don't ask why.*
3. I am not a sorcerer. I am a scientist. But here, they look the same.
4. The experiment worked. Science works here. The rules are different, but they are still rules.
5. I miss mate. I miss bread. I miss my abuela's empanadas. But this place... it's starting to feel like home.
He closed the notebook and looked at the door. Outside, the Shenmu whispered in the wind. Somewhere, a child laughed. The village was alive, normal, daily.
He thought about the woman with the baby. Tomorrow, he would check her garden, see if the channel worked. Maybe it would. Maybe it wouldn't. But at least she had tried something new.
That was enough. For now.
He lay down on his straw bed and closed his eyes.
Un día a la vez, he thought. One day at a time.