On the seventh day of her posting at the war camp, the sky turned the color
of old iron. Thunder rumbled, but no rain came — only news: rebel scouts
were spotted near the southern ridge.
That night, under a dim moon, the camp was ambushed.
Flames erupted suddenly — someone had spilled oil across the food tents. A
volley of fire arrows followed. Within seconds, the camp was ablaze.
Tents crumpled like dying birds. Smoke turned the air thick and black.
Horses screamed. The smell of burnt canvas, flesh, and herbs choked her.
Li Xian didn't flinch.
She grabbed her satchel of herbs, bandages, and the dagger General Yuwen
had given her two days before.
As fire roared, she sprinted from tent to tent, dragging wounded soldiers out
from burning canvas and splinting wounds with shaking hands. One man, his
leg half gone, bit into her arm to keep from screaming — she didn't cry out.
She stumbled over a collapsed young archer. His chest bled freely, his
breath shallow. She pressed cloth into his wound, her hands trembling.
His eyes were wide with fear, fixed on nothing.
He gasped, blood bubbling from his lips — and then went still.
And in that moment, something inside her cracked.
Her hands stopped moving. She stared at his lifeless face and suddenly —
she saw her mother again. Pale, breathless. Her father, his lips dry with
fever. The garden. The coughing. The stillness.
The trauma came crashing back like a storm.
She stumbled back from the body, breath ragged. Her knees buckled. But
then another voice cried out in pain from nearby — and she moved again.
By sunrise, General Yuwen found her near the embers of the medic tent,
wrapping a soldier's shattered arm.
Her robe was soaked in blood. Her braid had come undone, black hair
streaked with soot. Her eyes were hollow but clear.
He crouched beside her. "Why didn't you flee?"
She looked up, eyes red but dry.
> "If the empire falls, let me be among the first to stand. I am not just a
healer."
The general studied her for a long time, then unsheathed his belt dagger. It
was curved and worn.
> "Then learn to use this. For not all wounds can be healed with herbs."
She took it in both hands and nodded.
That night, she carved her first oath into wood and burned it under the
stars.
> "To shield the broken. To never run from fire. To live without fear."