Dawn had just spilled over Brookwood's wooden palisade when Ling Yue woke. The hut's window had no glass, only rough burlap to break the wind. He lifted the cloth and looked out at the garden beading with damp. The thrill from last night's reading of Travels in the East had not faded—the bronze medicine box, the blue-green short tunic in the illustrations, and the four words "Eastern shaman-physician" had sunk into him like seeds. They hadn't sprouted yet, but they made him more certain he could recover his memory.
He rose and opened the bronze box, carefully taking out the herb seeds—dong quai, licorice, and sweet wormwood—the very ones his master had once placed in his hands. Their husks still carried a faint medicinal scent. Crouching on the plot he'd cleared yesterday, he pressed shallow holes in the soil with his fingers, set two seeds in each, and covered them lightly. As his fingertips touched the earth he instinctively gauged its moisture, and he murmured a hazy chant, as if urging the seeds to quicken—something that had come back to him after seeing "Eastern shamanic methods of cultivating herbs" in the travelogue.
"Ling Yue! We're here to help!"
Tom's voice called from beyond the fence. Behind him came Lily and three townsfolk—an old man whose cough Ling Yue had cured yesterday, the woman who'd brought bread to little Jack. Each carried a tool, each wore an eager smile.
"Perfect timing,"
Ling Yue straightened and pointed at the weeds. "This patch isn't done. If you don't mind, toss the weeds into that earthen trench. We can use them as compost later."
"No problem!"
The villagers got to it at once. Tom turned the earth with a hoe; Lily crouched and picked out stones; the elders sorted Ling Yue's herbs and spread them by kind on laid-out straw to dry. As the sun climbed, the garden filled with the thock-thock of hoes meeting soil and the easy talk and laughter of the townsfolk. Even the wind seemed warm with bustle.
While planting, Ling Yue listened to their chatter. An old man named Hank said, "Mr. Ling Yue, you don't know—ever since the magic-plant spores spread, the vegetables all died. Master Grey only serves the nobles. We common folk forage in the forest, and many have made themselves sick."
"Exactly,"
Martha sighed. "When little Jack fell ill, if it hadn't been for you, I don't know what we would've done. Master Grey calls your herbs heresy. I say he's just afraid you'll take his business."
Ling Yue didn't answer, only paused a beat in his work. He recalled the shadowed look on Grey's face yesterday and felt, dimly, that the man would not let this go.
Sure enough, before long someone shouted from beyond the fence: "Ling Yue! Master Grey wants you! Says there's important business to discuss!"
The caller was Grey's apprentice, a boy of fifteen or sixteen with a timid look who didn't dare step into the garden. Ling Yue frowned and looked at Tom. "What does he want with me?"
"Nothing good, that's for sure."
Tom set down the hoe, wary. "You embarrassed him yesterday. He's likely out to make trouble. I'm coming with you!"
Lily nodded quickly. "I'm going too! I'm a mage apprentice—if he tries anything, I'll report him to the Magic Council!"
Ling Yue thought a moment and shook his head. "No need. I'll go alone. If he's looking for trouble, you coming along will only make it awkward. Don't worry—I'll be fine." He put away the seeds, brushed the soil from his clothes, and followed the apprentice toward the clinic at the town center.
Grey's clinic stood in the center of town, a stone-built house grander than the rest, with a wooden sign at the door: "Potion-Maker Grey." A sharp potion smell hit Ling Yue as he entered. Shelves were lined with bottles of colored liquids. Grey sat behind the counter, lazily stirring a bottle of green draught with a glass rod.
"You're here."
Grey glanced up, his tone unreadable. "Sit. I asked you here to talk about 'practicing medicine.'"
Ling Yue sat in the chair opposite and said nothing, waiting.
Grey set the rod down, leaned forward, and fixed Ling Yue with a stare. "You've treated people with herbs and cured Tom and little Jack—that I admit. But Brookwood has rules. All practitioners must be certified by the Magic Council. You have no magic badge and no certification. Strictly speaking, that's 'illegal practice.'"
Ling Yue frowned. "I only want to help people. I never thought about legality. Besides, your purification potion fails with certain illnesses. My herbs can cure them—why shouldn't I use them?"
"Because your herbs aren't tested by the Council. Who knows their side effects?"
Grey's voice rose. "If you harm someone, who takes the blame? Me? Brookwood? I'm doing this for the town's sake—and yours."
Ling Yue looked at him, knowing full well this wasn't about "responsibility" but about business threatened. After a few seconds' silence he said, "What do you propose? I can apply to the Council, but I don't use magic. I may not pass."
"I have a way."
Grey smiled suddenly, took a small paper packet from under the counter, and slid it across. "This is 'mild magic powder.' Not poisonous—just enhances the effect of herbs. From now on, when you treat people, add this and call it 'magicked herbs.' That way you fit the Council's rules, and the villagers will trust you more. Of course the powder isn't free. Each time you treat someone, I take thirty percent of the fee."
Ling Yue picked up the packet, opened it, and sniffed. The powder was pale yellow with an odd sweet, rank tang—no "mild magic powder" but paralysis powder. In small amounts it relaxed the body for a time, but mixed with herbs—especially those that clear heat and toxins—it would aggravate internal dampness. It wouldn't kill outright, but it would make illnesses recur and, with long use, cause harm.
His heart went cold. Grey not only wanted a cut; he meant to slip harmful powder into the herbs so the villagers would blame the herbs and crawl back to his potions.
"I don't need it."
Ling Yue pushed the packet back, voice calm but firm. "My herbs cure without any powder. As for payment, I never ask. People give what they can—bread, vegetables—and none of that will be shared with you."
Grey's face darkened at once, a hard glint flashing in his eyes. "Don't mistake kindness for weakness, Ling Yue. I'm helping you. If you refuse, don't blame me for what comes next."
"And what if you do?"
Ling Yue rose. "If you think I'm practicing illegally, report me to the Magic Council. But if you tamper with my herbs or spread slander, I'll see the whole town knows this: where your purification potions fail, my herbs cure; your powder harms, my herbs are clean."
With that, Ling Yue turned and left without another glance. Grey sat behind the counter, watching his back, fingers clenching the stir rod until the knuckles blanched. His gaze sank to the packet of paralysis powder and grew darker. If the soft approach failed, he'd use the hard. He would not let a stranger ruin his trade.
When Ling Yue returned to the garden the villagers were still at work. They clustered around as he came in. Tom hurried to ask, "What did Grey want? He didn't give you trouble, did he?"
Ling Yue shook his head. He didn't mention the plot, only smiled. "Nothing much. We talked about the rules for practicing. Don't worry—it's handled." He didn't want them anxious, nor to drag trouble onto them.
But he knew Grey wouldn't yield. He looked at the fresh-sown seeds, touched the black jade pendant at his chest, and his eyes steadied. He would not only reclaim his memory; on this land he would prove with herbs that power has no hierarchy, and a healer's first intent matters most.
By dusk the herb garden was mostly in order. Seeds covered nearly half the plots, and a simple lean-to stood by for herbs and tools. As people left, Martha brought a basket of fresh bread; Hank handed over a newly sharpened sickle.
Ling Yue stood in the garden, watching the sky darken, Martha's bread in hand and warmth in his chest. He took a bite, and the grain's sweetness mingled with the clean scent of herbs in his mouth. He knew trouble might be coming, but with the villagers' support and this hopeful garden, he would not be afraid.
Meanwhile, in Grey's clinic, Grey was speaking to a black crystal ball. A cold voice issued from within. "The foreigner you mentioned—he can really heal with non-magical herbs?"
"Beyond doubt, my lord,"
Grey said, oily with deference. "He's already hurting my business and refuses to cooperate. I suspect he's using dark power. You, as an Inquisitor of the Magic Council, ought to investigate him!"
The voice in the crystal paused for several seconds, then said, "Very well. I'll bring an investigation squad to Brookwood tomorrow. Keep an eye on him. Don't let him slip away."
Grey ended the communication, a pleased smile spreading across his face. Staring toward the direction of Ling Yue's garden, he murmured, "Ling Yue, let's see how you fight me this time."