Chapter 1: The Fall (continued)

Part 4: The First Patient

1.

The news spread through Lotus Creek like wildfire in dry grass.

By midday, everyone knew that the stranger staying with Auntie Chen had done what Old Man Feng could not. Little Bamboo was awake. He was drinking water. He was asking for food.

The mother had told anyone who would listen. The grandmother had told anyone who would not. The children who had been sent to fetch water, to gather eggs, to run errands for their elders — they carried the story on their swift young feet.

The woman with the healing hands.

The stranger who spoke with the healer and did not bow.

The one who used bitter vine and honey and something called “clean water.”

Lin Wei heard the whispers as she walked back to Auntie Chen’s house. She kept her head down, her hands tucked into her sleeves, her eyes on the dirt path ahead.

Do not make eye contact, she told herself. Do not invite conversation. Not yet.

But the villagers were not easily ignored.

A young woman — pregnant, heavily so — stepped into her path. Her belly was round and tight, her face flushed from the heat. She placed a hand on her stomach and looked at Lin Wei with pleading eyes.

“You helped Little Bamboo,” she said. “Can you help me? The baby — it moves too much. It hurts. I cannot sleep.”

Lin Wei stopped.

Obstetrics, she thought. Not my specialty. But I know the basics.

She looked at the woman’s face. No swelling in her hands or feet. No pallor. Her eyes were clear, her lips pink.

Not pre-eclampsia, probably. But I cannot rule it out without a blood pressure cuff.

“The baby moving is a good sign,” Lin Wei said carefully. “It means the baby is strong. But if the pain is severe, you should rest more. Drink more water. Avoid lifting heavy things.”

The woman’s face fell. “That is all?”

She wanted a cure, Lin Wei thought. A medicine. A magic word. Not advice.

“For now, yes. But if the pain gets worse — if you see blood, or if your hands or face swell — come find me immediately.”

The woman nodded, unconvinced but unwilling to argue. She stepped aside, and Lin Wei continued walking.

She had taken only a few steps when another villager approached.

And another.

And another.

2.

By the time Lin Wei reached Auntie Chen’s courtyard, she had been stopped seven times.

A man with a cough that had lasted three months. He wanted a medicine.

An elderly woman with joints so swollen she could barely grip her walking stick. She wanted relief.

A young man with a wound on his arm — a cut from a farming tool, now red and oozing. He wanted someone to look at it before it “turned bad.”

Lin Wei had given each of them the same answer: I will see you after I have rested. Come to Auntie Chen’s house this evening.

She collapsed onto the wooden stool in the courtyard and put her head in her hands.

Auntie Chen emerged from the house, a clay pot of tea in her hands. She poured a cup and set it in front of Lin Wei.

“You look like you have seen a ghost,” Auntie Chen said.

“Worse,” Lin Wei muttered. “I have seen patients.”

Auntie Chen sat down across from her. “That is what happens when you save a child. People notice. People hope.”

“I cannot save everyone.”

“No. But you can try.”

Lin Wei looked up at her. Auntie Chen’s face was kind, but her eyes were sharp. She was testing her, Lin Wei realized. Seeing how she would react to the pressure.

“I am one person,” Lin Wei said. “I have no medicine. No tools. No way to treat half of what they are asking me to treat.”

“You have your hands. Your mind. Your knowledge.”

My knowledge, Lin Wei thought. Which could get me killed if the wrong person finds out.

“The village healer,” she said. “Old Man Feng. He will not be happy about this.”

Auntie Chen shrugged. “Old Man Feng is old. His remedies are old. He has helped many people over the years, but he has also lost many. The village remembers the losses. They do not forget.”

“They will forget me too, when I fail.”

“Perhaps. But you have not failed yet.”

3.

Lin Wei spent the afternoon preparing.

She asked Auntie Chen to gather as many clean cloths as she could spare. She asked for more honey, more salt, more dried fruit. She asked for a fire to be kept burning, so she would always have access to boiled water.

She examined the herbs in Auntie Chen’s kitchen, sorting them into piles based on what she remembered from her limited training in traditional Chinese medicine. Some she recognized. Some she did not.

I need to learn more, she thought. I cannot rely on modern medicine here. I need to understand what grows in this region, what works, what is dangerous.

She made a mental list of plants she wanted to find: willow bark (for pain), garlic (for infection), ginger (for nausea). She knew they existed somewhere in this world. She just had to find them.

At sunset, the villagers began to arrive.

4.

The first was the man with the cough.

His name was Uncle Lin — no relation to Lin Wei, just a common surname. He was fifty-three years old, a rice farmer who had spent his life bent over flooded paddies. His cough was dry, hacking, worse at night.

Lin Wei listened to his lungs by pressing her ear to his back — not ideal, but better than nothing. She heard crackling in his lower left lobe.

Pneumonia? Maybe. Or chronic bronchitis from years of inhaling dust and mold.

“Do you smoke?” she asked.

Uncle Lin looked confused. “Smoke?”

Tobacco, she thought. Does it exist here? Not widely, probably.

“Never mind,” she said. “I need you to drink more water. Rest more. Avoid working in the fields when the air is cold.”

Uncle Lin nodded, but his expression was skeptical. “That is all?”

He wants a medicine, Lin Wei thought. Something tangible. Something he can hold in his hand.

She looked at Auntie Chen’s herb shelf. There was a jar of dried ginger. Ginger was good for the lungs — anti-inflammatory, soothing.

“Take this,” she said, pouring a small amount of dried ginger into a cloth pouch. “Steep it in hot water and drink it twice a day. It will not cure you, but it may help with the coughing.”

Uncle Lin took the pouch, sniffed it, and nodded. “Thank you, Healer Lin.”

Healer Lin.

The title made her uncomfortable. But she did not correct him.

5.

The elderly woman with the swollen joints was next.

Her name was Widow Liu. She was seventy-two years old, her hands knotted like old tree roots, her knees so swollen she could barely bend them. She moved slowly, painfully, leaning on a wooden stick.

“I cannot work anymore,” she said, her voice thin and reedy. “I cannot grind grain. I cannot carry water. My daughter-in-law does everything, and she resents me for it.”

Lin Wei examined her hands, her wrists, her knees. The swelling was symmetrical — both hands, both knees. The joints were warm to the touch.

Rheumatoid arthritis, she thought. Or osteoarthritis. Hard to tell without blood work and X-rays.

In the hospital, she would prescribe anti-inflammatory medication and refer the patient to a rheumatologist. Here, she had nothing.

But she had willow bark.

“Have you ever chewed willow bark?” she asked.

Widow Liu looked surprised. “Willow bark? That is for fevers.”

“It is also for pain. The same property that reduces fever also reduces swelling.”

Lin Wei sent Auntie Chen to gather fresh willow bark from a tree near the creek. She showed Widow Liu how to peel the inner bark, dry it, and steep it in hot water.

“Drink this twice a day,” she said. “It will not cure you. But it may help with the pain.”

Widow Liu looked at the bark, then at Lin Wei. “Old Man Feng said there is no cure for my hands.”

“Old Man Feng is not wrong. There is no cure. But there is relief.”

Widow Liu nodded slowly. She tucked the willow bark into her sleeve and stood, her joints creaking.

“You are strange,” she said. “You do not promise miracles. You promise only what you can give.”

“I am a doctor,” Lin Wei said, forgetting for a moment where she was. “Doctors do not promise miracles. They promise to try.”

Widow Liu tilted her head. “Doctor?”

Too much, Lin Wei thought. Too many words you do not understand.

“Healer,” she corrected. “I am a healer.”

Widow Liu studied her for a long moment. Then she smiled — a small, crooked smile that revealed missing teeth.

“Healer Lin,” she said. “I will remember you.”

She walked away, leaning on her stick, moving slower than Lin Wei would have liked.

But she was moving.

6.

The young man with the infected wound came last.

His name was Iron Hammer — a nickname, probably, given to him because of his work as a blacksmith. He was twenty-four years old, strong and broad-shouldered, with arms corded with muscle. But his left forearm was a mess.

The wound had happened five days ago, he explained. He had been hammering a hot piece of metal when his hand slipped. The sharp edge of the blade — he was making a plow blade, not a weapon — had sliced through his leather glove and into his flesh.

“Old Man Feng gave me a paste,” Iron Hammer said. “It stopped the bleeding. But now…”

He unwrapped the cloth bandage.

Lin Wei’s stomach turned.

The wound was infected. Badly. The edges were red and swollen, oozing yellow-green pus. The skin around the wound was hot to the touch — she could feel the heat from six inches away.

Cellulitis, she thought. Maybe osteomyelitis if the infection has reached the bone.

“Does your arm hurt?” she asked.

Iron Hammer nodded. “It throbs. All the time. I cannot sleep.”

Bone pain, she thought. Not a good sign.

“Can you move your fingers?”

He wiggled them. Slowly, stiffly, but they moved.

No nerve damage, at least.

Lin Wei took a deep breath.

This is serious. This man could lose his arm. He could die.

“I need to clean this wound,” she said. “It will hurt.”

Iron Hammer clenched his jaw. “Do it.”

7.

Lin Wei worked quickly.

She boiled water and let it cool until it was warm but not scalding. She added salt — as much as Auntie Chen could spare — to create a saline solution.

She soaked a clean cloth in the saline and began to clean the wound.

Iron Hammer did not flinch. He stared at the thatched roof, his jaw tight, his fists clenched.

“The paste Old Man Feng gave you,” Lin Wei said as she worked. “Do you know what was in it?”

“No. He gave it to me. I used it.”

Probably mud, Lin Wei thought. Or crushed leaves. Something that sealed the wound instead of cleaning it.

The infection had been trapped inside, festering.

She cleaned the wound until the cloth came away without pus. Then she made a new paste — honey and crushed garlic, both natural antibiotics.

“This will sting,” she said.

Iron Hammer grunted.

She applied the paste and wrapped the wound in a clean, dry cloth.

“You must come back tomorrow,” she said. “I need to clean it again. And the next day. And the day after that. If the redness spreads, or if you develop a fever, you must come immediately.”

Iron Hammer looked at his bandaged arm. “You think it will heal?”

“I think it might. But you must do exactly what I say. No working. No lifting. No getting the bandage wet.”

Iron Hammer nodded. He stood, flexed his fingers, and walked toward the door.

At the threshold, he paused.

“Healer Lin,” he said, not turning around. “Thank you.”

He left.

Lin Wei sat back on her stool, exhausted.

Auntie Chen appeared with more tea.

“Three patients,” Auntie Chen said. “Not bad for your first day.”

“They will tell others. Tomorrow there will be more.”

“Yes.”

“I cannot keep doing this alone.”

“No. But you are not alone. You have me. And soon, you will have others.”

Lin Wei looked at her. “What do you mean?”

Auntie Chen smiled — a secret, knowing smile.

“The village is watching you, Healer Lin. Some will fear you. Some will resent you. But some will want to learn from you.”

She set the tea down and walked back into the house, leaving Lin Wei alone in the fading light.

8.

That night, Lin Wei dreamed of her grandmother.

The old woman was sitting in her armchair by the window, the same worn armchair she had sat in for as long as Lin Wei could remember. Sunlight streamed through the glass, illuminating the dust motes floating in the air.

“You are doing well, Wei Wei,” her grandmother said.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Lin Wei said. “I’m making it up as I go.”

“That is what doctors do. That is what healers do. You make it up. You learn. You adapt.”

“I’m scared.”

Her grandmother smiled. “Good. Fear keeps you alive. Fear keeps you careful.”

“What if I make a mistake? What if someone dies because of me?”

Her grandmother’s smile faded. “Someone will die because of you. That is the nature of healing. You cannot save everyone. But you can try.”

Lin Wei wanted to ask more questions. She wanted to ask about the pendant, about the time travel, about how to get home.

But her grandmother was already fading, her image dissolving like smoke in the wind.

“The dragon remembers, Wei Wei,” her voice echoed. “Do not forget. The dragon remembers.”

Lin Wei woke with a start.

The jade pendant was hot against her chest.

She sat up, breathing hard, and looked around. She was in Auntie Chen’s house, on the woven mat, in the darkness before dawn.

Outside, a rooster crowed.

A new day had begun.

And there were patients waiting.

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End of Part 4

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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