The morning mist over Anning was silver and still.The fields shimmered with dew; the smell of wet grass carried softly through the air. Ran and Chen had risen early again — Chen turning the soil with a wooden hoe while Ran carried baskets of seedlings, her hair tied with a bright red ribbon Achu had woven for her.
Fei toddled behind them, splashing barefoot in puddles, trying to catch frogs that leapt away faster than she could squeal. Her laughter echoed through the valley like a small bell — fragile, bright, alive.
Achu watched from the edge of the field, a basket of herbs at her side. Her sleeves were rolled up, sunlight gleaming off the faint pattern of scars around her wrist — old burns, remnants of an alchemist's training.
"Ran, don't flood the terrace," she called gently."I won't!" Ran replied, though the water was already spilling over. Chen sighed, grabbed the shovel, and quietly fixed it while muttering under his breath.
Achu smiled faintly. "You two… the fields grow faster than your patience."
She crouched down, checking the edges of the rice shoots. "Good roots. The soil listens to care."It was true — the earth here was rich, vibrant. But lately, even the ground had begun to hum differently.
Something was coming.
The Arrival of the Riders
By noon, the peace broke.From the northern path came the rhythmic clatter of hooves — not the gentle trot of traders, but the strict, steady cadence of soldiers.
Achu straightened slowly, her straw hat shading her eyes.Three riders appeared over the ridge, clad in white and gold. The insignia on their sleeves was unmistakable — the Imperial Court of Zhuang, purification division.
They dismounted before her gate, their expressions cold and formal. The leader, a tall man with a thin face and sharp eyes, bowed curtly.
"By decree of His Majesty's Council," he announced, "we are to inspect all villages within this valley for contamination from the White Disease."
Ran and Chen froze behind Achu. Fei, sensing the tension, clutched at Achu's skirt.
"Inspection?" Achu asked mildly, her tone polite. "This is farmland, not a port. You'll find nothing here but soil and sweat."
The man's gaze lingered on her — too long, too curious. "The villagers of Yinhe claimed a healer resides here. A woman with unusual knowledge."
"I make medicine," Achu replied simply. "Herbs and poultices. The kind that don't ask for names."
The man smiled thinly. "Then you won't mind if we search."
Achu inclined her head. "As you wish. But mind your boots — the field doesn't forgive careless steps."
A Quiet Warning
While the soldiers checked the storehouse, Achu busied herself with washing herbs. Her motions were calm, deliberate — but her mind raced.She could sense it: a faint spiritual resonance around the leader's blade, carved with the same purification sigils used by the royal alchemists.They weren't here to inspect. They were here to confirm.
She murmured softly to the wind:"Stay still, little ones."
Her power rippled faintly — the children's presence dimming like flickering candles behind a veil. To mortal eyes, Ran and Chen were now only blurs of light among the trees.
Moments later, the leader returned. "No contamination. But if you find sickness, burn the bodies. That is the law."
Achu's lips curved faintly, not in amusement. "And if they live?"
"Then they will die later."
She held his gaze, her voice soft but sharp as a blade. "You mistake cleansing for cruelty."
The man paused, something flickering in his eyes — recognition, perhaps. But he said nothing, only turned his horse and rode off, dust trailing behind.
After the Riders
Ran ran up to her, cheeks flushed. "Mom! They were so scary—"
"Shh." Achu knelt, brushing Ran's hair back. "Remember what I told you: fear makes noise. Calm keeps you safe."
Chen looked up from the path. "Are they gone for good?"
Achu didn't answer. Her gaze followed the fading dust on the road. "Not yet."
Work at Dusk
That evening, the village gathered for the festival preparations — fewer songs this time, more silence. Still, lanterns were being strung along the eaves, and the smell of roasted chestnuts drifted from every home.
Achu moved among them quietly, helping an old man mend a broken fence, guiding a young woman on how to mix herbs for dye.
"Tomorrow we'll dance again," one of the mothers said hopefully.
Achu smiled faintly. "Yes. Tomorrow."
But as night fell, she could feel the pulse of the land again — a faint, irregular heartbeat beneath the soil. The sickness was spreading faster than anyone realized.
The Hidden Sick
After the others had gone to sleep, Achu returned to the storehouse.The two travelers she'd treated now slept soundly — the white marks fading. The elixir had worked.
But another lay in the corner now — one of her own villagers, shivering under layers of cloth.His breath came in shallow gasps.
"It started on my arm," he whispered. "Now it's in my lungs."
Achu pressed her palm to his forehead — cold, damp, trembling.She could sense the corruption spreading through his meridians, a pattern that shouldn't exist in any natural illness.
This was no plague.It was an experiment.
Achu's Martial Grace
She stood, eyes narrowing. "So they're testing it again…"
Her hand rose — and for a moment, the calm farmer's mask slipped away.The air trembled around her as her qi flared softly, golden and sharp. Her stance shifted — fluid, poised — the unmistakable rhythm of the Azure Veil Form, a martial style once reserved for the imperial guard.
Her eyes glowed faintly in the lamplight.
She stepped outside, the night air cool against her skin. The forest was too quiet — no cicadas, no wind.
Then, a whisper of movement — a glint of metal among the trees.
Achu didn't move. She simply exhaled.
A soft snap echoed. The branches above quivered — and a shadow fell, unconscious before it hit the ground.
"Still testing the borders," she murmured. "Tell your master Anning is no place for experiments."
She turned back to the storehouse, her power fading like the last ripple on water.
The Candlelight Oath
Later, after tending the sick and tucking the children in, Achu sat alone by the window. The candle's flame wavered softly against her face.
In the reflection, her eyes looked older than her years.
"I promised peace," she whispered. "But peace dies if no one defends it."
Outside, the wind carried the faint sound of the stream, and the laughter of her children still lingered in memory.
Tomorrow, she would return to the fields again. She would smile, cook, and live as though nothing had changed.But she knew the truth: the empire's shadow had found her once more.
And this time, it came wearing the color of purity.