The sky hung low over the village, heavy with dark clouds that threatened more rain. Puddles mirrored the gray world. The rice paddies shimmered in the wind, and cold mist clung to everything like grief.
Han Li knelt beside a sagging fence, his hands caked in mud, trying to reinforce the rotting wood. His ribs ached with every motion. Breathing still hurt from saving that child two nights ago.
He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, smearing grime across his cheek.
The villagers still looked at him strangely. Not with scorn, not exactly—but with a wariness, like someone who'd returned from death and brought something back.
A door creaked behind him.
"Lin Xun?"
The voice was gentle, almost swallowed by the wind. He turned.
She stood a few paces away, framed by the curve of the path and a willow tree leaning toward the road. Her shawl was drawn tightly around her shoulders, strands of long black hair damp from the mist. Her hands held a small wooden tray wrapped in cloth.
Mianhua.
The widow.
They said she knew herbs better than any elder. That she spoke to plants and always walked the forest alone. That no man had touched her since her husband died.
Han Li rose, wincing.
"Good morning," he said, trying not to sound like a man half-dead and sore in places he didn't know existed.
She approached slowly, gaze lowered. "I brought something for your pain."
He opened his mouth, closed it. "You didn't have to."
"You saved Lao Chao's grandson," she said quietly. "You didn't have to do that either."
He gestured toward the inside of his hut. "Come in. I... have tea. Or something pretending to be tea."
Inside, the hut was dim, lit by the shy light coming through the torn shutters. She placed the tray down on his table, unwrapping jars of paste and folded cloth strips.
Her fingers worked with practiced ease.
"I can apply it," he offered, trying not to stare at the curve of her wrist, the way her braid hung down her back.
She hesitated. "You'll smear it wrong."
Han Li stripped his shirt off and lay back.
She knelt beside him and dipped two fingers into the salve. The scent of camphor and crushed mint rose between them.
When she touched his skin, everything slowed.
Her fingers were light, cool against the heat of bruised flesh. His body tensed, not from pain—but from awareness. The difference between being touched and being seen.
"You're... gentler than I expected," he murmured.
"I work with broken things."
"That what I am?"
"You were."
She looked at him then, and for the first time, he saw her—not the widow with rumors, not the healer in the corner of the market—but a woman who'd been quiet too long. A woman who hadn't touched another soul in years.
And she was touching him now.
"I remember Lin Xun," she said. "The old one. He never spoke much."
"I'm not him," Han Li said, too quickly.
"I know."
Her hand paused over his ribs. "You feel different."
Her fingers stayed, resting lightly over his heart.
Han Li swallowed. "Do you do this for all your patients?"
"I haven't had any since last harvest."
Silence stretched.
The air thickened.
He could feel it again—that flicker under his skin. Not just qi. Not just adrenaline. Something warmer. Something that resonated.
Her hand trembled slightly, and she pulled it back.
"I should go."
But her legs didn't move.
Rain began to tap the roof, a soft rhythm like breath in the dark.
"You're welcome to stay," Han Li said, voice low. "Until the rain stops."
Mianhua looked toward the door. Then back at him.
"I shouldn't."
"But you want to?"
That did it. Her breath caught.
For one second, she looked like she might step closer. Might lean in. Might—
A breeze swept through the cracked shutters, scattering dried herbs across the floor.
She stood abruptly, pulling her shawl around her. "I'll return tomorrow. You shouldn't strain your lungs."
"Then come keep them warm."
She blinked, flustered. A flush rose in her cheeks.
"You joke too easily."
"You touch too well."
Her lips parted. Then closed. Then, with a final glance, she disappeared into the rain.
---
Han Li sat in the quiet, shirt still off, skin tingling where she'd touched him.
That warmth inside him didn't fade.
It grew.
Something was changing.
In the stillness of his mind, a whisper stirred:
> [Resonance Detected… Initiating Core Awakening.]
Han Li froze.
"What?"