Chapter 1: The Fall (continued)
Part 2: The Awakening
1.
The woman’s name was Auntie Chen.
Lin Wei learned this as she was led through the muddy alley, past wooden buildings with curved tile roofs, past a well where two young girls were drawing water in wooden buckets, past an old man mending a fishing net with fingers as gnarled as tree roots.
“The village is called Lotus Creek,” Auntie Chen said, glancing back at Lin Wei with a mixture of curiosity and sympathy. “We are about two days’ travel from the prefectural city. Three days if the roads are bad.”
Lin Wei nodded, though her mind was still reeling.
Lotus Creek. Two days from a prefectural city.
She had studied Chinese history. She knew that “prefectural cities” were a feature of imperial administration, not modern China. The word Auntie Chen used — zhou — was an ancient term, one that had fallen out of common use centuries ago.
How far back have I gone?
She looked at the buildings again. The wood was weathered but sturdy. The paper lanterns were handmade, their red paint faded. There were no power lines. No satellite dishes. No plastic.
The air smelled of woodsmoke and cooking oil and something else — something earthy, something ancient.
This was not a historical reenactment. This was not a movie set.
This was real.
2.
Auntie Chen led her to a small house at the edge of the village.
It was larger than the others — two rooms instead of one, with a small courtyard enclosed by a low bamboo fence. A chicken scratched in the dirt. A clay pot sat near the door, filled with rainwater.
“My husband built this house forty years ago,” Auntie Chen said, pushing open the wooden door. “He died last winter. My son was taken by the soldiers three days ago.”
Lin Wei hesitated at the threshold. “I’m sorry.”
Auntie Chen shrugged — a small, tired movement of her shoulders. “The soldiers take young men. That is how it has always been. My husband was taken when he was young. He came back. My son will come back too.”
She did not sound like she believed it.
Inside, the house was simple but clean. A wooden table. Two stools. A bed platform covered with woven mats. A small altar in the corner, with incense sticks and a faded photograph of a man with kind eyes.
“The soldiers took most of our young men,” Auntie Chen continued, gesturing for Lin Wei to sit. “Many families fled. Some went to the mountains. Some went to the prefectural city, hoping to find work. Those of us who stayed — we are the old, the sick, the stubborn.”
She looked at Lin Wei, her eyes sharp despite her tired face.
“You do not look like you are from here.”
Lin Wei’s heart quickened. “I’m not.”
“Where are you from?”
Shanghai, Lin Wei thought. The year 2026. A hospital with fluorescent lights and MRI machines and a coffee machine that never worked.
“Far away,” she said.
Auntie Chen studied her for a long moment. Then she nodded, as if that explanation were perfectly acceptable.
“Far away,” she repeated. “Yes. I can see that.”
She gestured to Lin Wei’s clothes — the rough homespun tunic, the straw sandals.
“Where did you get those?”
Lin Wei touched the fabric. She had been so disoriented after waking in the alley that she had not stopped to question how her modern clothes had been replaced by ancient garments.
The pendant, she thought. It changed me. It prepared me.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly.
Auntie Chen’s expression flickered — something between concern and wonder. She did not press further.
“You can stay here tonight,” she said. “Tomorrow, we will figure out what to do with you.”
3.
That night, Lin Wei lay on the woven mat and stared at the wooden ceiling.
She could not sleep.
Her body was exhausted — more exhausted than she had ever been, even after her longest hospital shifts. But her mind would not stop racing.
I am in ancient China.
The thought was absurd. Impossible. A violation of every law of physics she had ever learned.
And yet.
She had felt the pendant grow hot. She had watched the walls of her grandmother’s apartment ripple like heat mirages. She had fallen — or been pulled — through something that was not air, not water, not anything she could name.
The dragon remembers.
Her grandmother’s words echoed in her mind.
When the time comes, you will understand.
Had her grandmother known? Had the old woman somehow known that the pendant would send her granddaughter hurtling backward through time?
Lin Wei reached up and touched the jade dragon. It was cool now, still, quiet. It felt like an ordinary stone.
But she knew it was not ordinary.
Nothing about this was ordinary.
She closed her eyes and tried to remember everything she had ever learned about imperial Chinese history. The dynasties. The emperors. The wars. The famines. The plagues.
Which dynasty?
She had not seen enough yet to know. The clothing — simple, practical, undecorated — told her little. The architecture — wooden, functional — was common to many periods. The language — older Mandarin, but still comprehensible — could place her anywhere from the Song dynasty onward.
I need more information.
She made a mental list:
- Find out the name of the current emperor.
- Find out the year — or at least the dynasty.
- Find out the local customs, especially regarding women.
- Find out what people here know about medicine.
And find a way home.
That last thought made her stomach clench. Her grandmother was dying. The old woman had called her to come home — and instead, Lin Wei had vanished.
Is she looking for me? Does she even know I’m gone?
Or had her grandmother somehow orchestrated this?
Lin Wei pushed the thought away. It was too painful. Too confusing.
She would figure it out tomorrow.
4.
She must have fallen asleep at some point, because she woke to sunlight streaming through the cracks in the wooden shutters.
Auntie Chen was already awake. Lin Wei heard her moving around in the other room — the clink of a clay pot, the rustle of fabric, the soft murmur of what sounded like a prayer.
Lin Wei sat up slowly. Her body ached — not from her fall, but from the unfamiliar sleeping surface. Her back was stiff. Her neck was sore.
I am too old for this, she thought, then laughed at herself. She was twenty-eight.
She stood, stretched, and walked to the door.
Outside, the village was already awake. Smoke rose from cooking fires. A rooster crowed somewhere in the distance. Two women were walking toward the well, carrying wooden buckets on yokes across their shoulders.
They looked at Lin Wei as they passed — curious, wary, but not hostile.
They know I am a stranger, she thought. But they do not know what to make of me yet.
That was good. Strangers could be dangerous — but strangers could also be useful.
She walked to the well and watched the women draw water. They worked efficiently, with the practiced ease of people who had done this task thousands of times.
One of them — younger, maybe twenty, with a round face and bright eyes — glanced at Lin Wei and smiled.
“You are Auntie Chen’s guest?”
Lin Wei nodded. “Yes. I’m Lin Yue.”
The woman introduced herself as Mei. Her companion — older, quieter — was her mother-in-law, Widow Gao.
“Where are you from, Lin Yue?” Mei asked. “Your accent is strange.”
Careful, Lin Wei thought. Do not say too much.
“Far away,” she said, echoing Auntie Chen’s words from the night before.
Mei’s eyes widened. “From the prefectural city?”
“Farther.”
“From the capital?”
The capital, Lin Wei thought. So there is a capital. That means there is an emperor.
“Farther than that,” she said.
Mei looked impressed. Widow Gao looked skeptical.
“You must be tired,” Widow Gao said. Her voice was flat, neutral. “Traveling such a long way.”
“I am,” Lin Wei admitted.
“Then you should rest. Not stand at the well asking questions.”
Mei flushed. Her mother-in-law took the full bucket from her hands and walked back toward their house, leaving Mei standing awkwardly by the well.
“Don’t mind her,” Mei whispered. “She is suspicious of everyone.”
“Understandable,” Lin Wei said. “Strangers can bring trouble.”
Mei nodded. Then she leaned closer, her voice dropping even lower.
“There is something you should know,” she said. “The village healer — Old Man Feng — he is… difficult.”
“Difficult how?”
Mei glanced around to make sure no one was listening. “He does not like competition. He has been the healer here for thirty years. No one questions him. No one challenges him.”
“Why would I challenge him?”
Mei shrugged. “Auntie Chen says you helped her with her herbs yesterday. That you know things.”
Herbs? Lin Wei thought. Then she remembered — she had not helped with herbs. But Auntie Chen must have told the villagers something to explain Lin Wei’s presence.
A cover story, she realized. Auntie Chen is protecting me.
“I know a little,” Lin Wei said carefully. “Not enough to challenge anyone.”
Mei smiled — a knowing smile, one that said she did not quite believe Lin Wei’s modesty.
“Well,” she said, picking up her empty bucket, “if you ever need help — or just want to talk — my house is the one with the red door. The one near the big banyan tree.”
She walked away, leaving Lin Wei alone by the well.
5.
The morning passed slowly.
Lin Wei helped Auntie Chen with small tasks — sweeping the courtyard, gathering firewood, sorting dried herbs into clay jars. The work was simple, physical, meditative. It kept her hands busy while her mind wandered.
I need a plan.
She could not stay hidden forever. Eventually, someone would ask questions she could not answer. Eventually, someone would notice that she knew things a woman should not know.
But what can I actually do here?
She was a doctor. Not a herbalist. Not a traditional healer. A modern, Western-trained physician with knowledge of antibiotics, surgical techniques, and diagnostic imaging — none of which existed in this time.
But she also knew things that might be useful.
- Hygiene. She could teach them about washing hands, boiling water, cleaning wounds.
- Nutrition. She could identify vitamin deficiencies and recommend foods to prevent them.
- Basic pharmacology. She knew which plants had medicinal properties — though she would need to find them first.
- Emergency medicine. She could set bones, stop bleeding, recognize the signs of infection and stroke and heart attack.
It is not nothing, she thought. But it is not enough to save everyone.
She would have to start small. One patient at a time. One problem at a time.
If I am careful, she thought, I can help without attracting attention.
But she had never been good at being careful.
6.
At midday, a commotion erupted near the center of the village.
Lin Wei looked up from her herb-sorting. Auntie Chen was already walking toward the noise, her face creased with concern.
“What is it?” Lin Wei asked, following her.
“I don’t know. But when the village gathers like that, it is never good.”
They reached the central square — a flat patch of dirt near the well, shaded by an ancient banyan tree. A crowd had gathered: women, children, a few old men. At the center of the crowd, a woman was weeping.
Her child — a boy, maybe four years old — lay limp in her arms.
“Little Bamboo,” Auntie Chen whispered. “What happened?”
The boy’s grandmother was there, her face pale with fear. Old Man Feng — the village healer — was kneeling beside the child, pressing his fingers to the boy’s neck.
Lin Wei’s medical training kicked in automatically.
Fever? Infection? Injury?
She could not see clearly from the edge of the crowd. She took a step closer.
Old Man Feng stood up. His face was grim.
“The fever is too high,” he said. “I have done all I can. If he survives the night, it will be a miracle.”
The mother wailed.
Lin Wei’s hands clenched into fists.
You have not done all you can, she thought. Because you do not know what you do not know.
But she said nothing. She was a stranger. A woman. And in this time, a woman challenging the village healer would be seen as not just rude — but dangerous.
Not yet, she told herself. Wait. Observe. Learn.
But the boy’s face was flushed. His breathing was shallow. His skin was dry and hot to the touch — she could see it from where she stood.
Dehydration, she thought. If he does not get fluids soon, his organs will start to fail.
Old Man Feng was gathering his herbs, his tools. He was giving up.
Lin Wei looked at Auntie Chen.
“Can you introduce me?” she asked quietly.
Auntie Chen’s eyes widened. “To the healer?”
“To the family. I want to help.”
“Old Man Feng will not like it.”
“I don’t care.”
Auntie Chen studied Lin Wei’s face for a long moment. Then she sighed.
“Come,” she said. “But be careful.”
They walked toward the weeping mother.
And Lin Wei — Dr. Lin Wei, resident physician, wearer of a mysterious jade pendant — took her first step into a world that was not ready for her.
End of Part 2
Chapter 1 Table of Contents:
| Part | Title |
|---|---|
| Part 1 | The Pendant |
| Part 2 | The Awakening |
| Part 3 | The Village |
| Part 4 | The First Patient |
| Part 5 | The Treatment |
| Part 6 | The News Spreads |
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