Autumn crept into Anning quietly.The air grew thinner, crisper; the rice fields shimmered gold under a pale sun. The harvest festival ended weeks ago, and laughter still clung to the air like incense smoke.
But beyond the hills, the wind carried whispers.
The White Disease had spread.
The News Arrives
It was Chen who first brought the message.He ran through the morning fog, clutching a letter sealed with a neighboring province's crest — faint blue wax, already cracked from travel.
"Mom! It's from the magistrate of He'ang!"
Achu looked up from her herb baskets, dirt still clinging to her gloves.The letter smelled faintly of smoke. She broke the seal, eyes scanning the uneven script.
"The white patches now cover the arms and neck.The patients lose sensation. Then warmth.Their breath turns shallow; their veins pale.We've buried fourteen in three days."
Her grip tightened slightly.
Ran, watching from the doorway, asked softly, "Is it… the same sickness?"
Achu folded the letter and said nothing.
Despite the growing fear, Anning's routines continued.The villagers still harvested beans and millet, still dried herbs in the sun, still shared gossip over the fence.
But the laughter had grown quieter.The trade carts from the south arrived late — some never came at all.Even the birds, Achu noticed, seemed to avoid the valley road.
Fei, now a chattering toddler, toddled around the courtyard clutching a little broom, sweeping imaginary dust.
Ran helped the elders with their medicine packs, delivering dried flowers and roots Achu prepared.Chen took charge of the stream traps — catching fish for barter, though lately, the merchants wouldn't take fresh goods from Anning.
"They think the sickness travels by scent," he muttered one afternoon.
Achu only replied, "Fear always spreads faster than disease."
The Apothecary at Night
That night, when everyone slept, Achu sat in her small herb room.Lantern light flickered over glass jars and scrolls of faded prescriptions.
She unrolled one — her own handwriting, from years ago.A formula written for the Imperial Apothecary, long before she fled the palace.
'Root of life for body in decay; bloom of yin to still the breath; essence of gold to purify the marrow.'
The ingredients were rare — forbidden, in truth.The golden essence, if brewed wrong, burned the spirit roots.It could save a body, but destroy one's cultivation forever.
A cruel exchange.A perfect cure.
Achu's hands stilled over the parchment.Outside, the night crickets sang like tiny clocks counting down a decision she didn't want to make.
A Visit from the Emperor's Shadow
The next morning, a hawk landed on her windowsill — feathers black as ink.A letter hung from its leg, stamped with the imperial seal.
"The Emperor requests the Lady Achura's counsel.The White Disease has reached the capital outskirts."
Achu closed her eyes briefly.The sickness was no longer just a distant tragedy — it was clawing toward the heart of the Empire.
She stood at the village well, watching the bucket rise and fall with the rhythm of her thoughts.Ran approached, hesitant. "Are you… going to help them?"
Achu's gaze drifted to the distant mountains — where the capital shimmered like a mirage beneath the clouds.
"I don't know," she said. "If I give them the cure, it will end the sickness — but those who drink it will lose their roots. No cultivation. No legacy. The Emperor's heirs, his generals… their power will vanish."
Chen stepped closer. "And if you don't?"
Achu's voice softened. "Then the land itself will thin. Villages will empty. Anning will be next."
Silence hung between them — heavy, honest.Even the wind dared not interrupt.
That night, the moon was high and thin.Achu gathered her satchel — old scrolls, sealed herbs, a jade bottle bound with red string.
Ran clung to her arm. "You'll come back, right?"
Achu smiled faintly, brushing her hair aside. "I always do."
Fei stirred in her sleep, murmuring her name. Chen looked away, pretending not to see the shimmer of light forming around his mother's feet.
As Achu rose, her robes dissolved into starlight — a thousand petals of qi scattering through the dark.
By the time the rooster crowed, only her faint fragrance lingered.
The Palace Once More
At dawn, the capital's gates opened to a figure cloaked in white.The guards stiffened — not because of recognition, but because the air itself trembled.
Achu walked through the silent corridors until she stood before the great hall.Her father, the Emperor of Zhuang, sat upon the throne — robes heavy with gold, but his face pale, tired.
"Father," she said quietly, bowing once. "The world you built is dying."
He looked at her long and hard. "Then save it, daughter."
Achu met his gaze. "I will — but not without cost. When the sun rises, your Empire will still breathe… but your power will not."
The Emperor's jaw tightened. "Do it."
Achu turned away, her silhouette dissolving into the glow of morning."Remember this," she murmured as she vanished, "mercy is heavier than any crown."
Back in Anning, Chen stood at the river, watching the reflection of the sunrise ripple on the water.A faint warmth brushed his cheek — like his mother's touch carried by the wind.
In the distance, a single white petal drifted down from the sky, landing softly in the stream.
The disease would soon vanish, so would the age of power too?