The Apothecary’s Vengeance

Year Thirty-Two of Everprosper. Everfort County. At dawn, the first light of day broke faintly over the long street, veiling it in a sheen of pale jade. Snowflakes fluttered down in a quiet flurry, dampening the red spring couplets pasted on the gate of a small courtyard. The New Year was near, yet not a trace of festivity lingered in the county. Every household had shut its doors tight. From within a darkened house came a few stifled coughs, followed by a child’s voice:“Mother, I’ll go fetch some water.” After a moment, a woman replied weakly, “Don’t go far.” “I know.” The wooden door creaked open, and out stepped a girl of eight or nine. She wore a sunflower-yellow silk jacket, her feet clad in tattered red cotton shoes. Adjusting the felt hat on her head, she lifted a wooden bucket and set off down the snow-laden street. Three months earlier, a plague had swept through Everfort County with a vengeance. One household after another fell ill. The sickness began with fever and fatigue; soon, bodies weakened, rashes bloomed across the skin, and within days, flesh rotted away and death followed. The corpses were rolled up in mats and hauled east of town to be burned. Of the five members of the Lu family, only little Alice Lu could still stand and walk. At nine years old, she bore alone the burden of caring for her stricken parents, brother, and sister. The public well stood by the old temple at the East Gate, but Alice carried her bucket westward instead. The snow had soaked through the torn seam of her shoes, and her face was pale with cold. She walked five or six li through the empty streets, past ever-grander mansions, until she turned a corner and stopped before a vermilion-gated estate flanked by twin stone lions. This was the residence of County Magistrate Clifford Li. Since the plague began, the county’s population had dwindled. The streets were desolate; now and then, a constable’s cart rumbled past, bearing corpses beneath tattered mats. The spring couplets at the Li residence were from the previous year, their black ink blurred by rain and snow. Not far away stood a gleaming new carriage, its red stallion pawing at the snow, bending to lick the meltwater pooled in the stones. Alice shrank beside a stone lion, hugging her knees, eyes fixed on the red gate. Overhead, dark clouds pressed low, heavy with snow. Then came a faint creak — the mansion gate opened. A figure stepped out. From beneath a white silk skirt peeped embroidered shoes of pale blue, the cloud-like patterns glimmering, a single pearl gleaming at the toe. The hem fluttered lightly like mist — the robes of a woman veiled by a gauze hat. The woman moved forward, but before she could take another step, a small hand clutched at her skirt. Turning, she saw the little girl looking up timidly. “Excuse me… are you the physician who cured Young Master Li?” The woman paused. Her voice, when she spoke, was as cool and clear as carved jade. “Why do you ask that?” Alice pressed her lips together. “I’ve been waiting here for a month. I never saw them carry out the young master’s body, and you are the only stranger who’s come and gone from the Li residence since then.” She looked up earnestly. “You must be the one who cured him, aren’t you?” For a full month, Alice had kept watch by the magistrate’s gate. She had seen the Li family carriage arrive at the medical hall, attendants helping the coughing young master inside. He, too, had fallen ill. Each day, countless others in Everfort County succumbed to the disease. The apothecaries were overwhelmed, their remedies useless. Ordinary folk could only await death in their homes. But the magistrate, whose only son lay sick, would surely exhaust every means to save him. So Alice had stayed. She had seen this veiled woman enter the mansion, and soon after, a faint medicinal fragrance began drifting over the courtyard wall. Days passed — one, two, three… twenty in all. Yet the gate never hung the white mourning banners that marked death. The plague claimed lives within half a month at most. Yet a full month had gone by, and the young master still lived. The woman looked down at Alice. Her veil concealed her face, her expression unreadable. Only her voice could be heard — distant, almost careless. “Yes,” she said at last. “I cured him.” Joy lit the child’s pale face. For three months, Everfort had waited helplessly for death. Physicians had perished by the dozen; no healer dared come near. If this woman could cure the magistrate’s son, then perhaps the county was not beyond salvation. “You can cure the plague?” Alice asked softly. The woman smiled. “I do not cure sickness. I dispel poison. The plague is merely another form of it — it can be undone the same way.” Alice did not quite understand, but her voice trembled with hope. “Then… could you save my family?” The woman regarded her in silence for a while, and Alice could feel that cool gaze sweep over her like the edge of a blade. Just as unease began to tighten in her chest, the woman said lightly, “Very well.” Alice’s heart leapt — but the woman continued, “My fee, however, is costly.” Alice froze. “How much?” “Magistrate Li paid eight hundred taels of silver for his son’s life. Tell me, little one — how many in your family?” Alice stood speechless. Her father was but a modest tutor at the local academy, now bedridden since the illness. Her mother took embroidery work from the general store to keep the household fed. Even in healthy days, they lived frugally; now, what little silver they had was gone, spent on medicine that did nothing. Her elder sister and brother lay fevered, their breathing shallow. Eight hundred taels — even eight would be impossible. The woman gave a soft laugh and walked past her toward the carriage. Alice watched her go, the image of her dim house flashing before her eyes — the acrid scent of medicine, her mother’s tears, her father’s sighs, her sister’s gentle voice, her brother’s forced smile. She stumbled forward a few steps. “Miss!” The woman halted but did not turn. With a dull thud, Alice dropped to her knees in the snow. “I—I have no silver,” she said, her words tumbling over one another, “but I can sell myself to you! I can work, truly I can — I’m not afraid of hardship!” She held out her small hands, the palms still tender and pink. “I do all the chores at home. I can do anything! Please, save my family — I’ll serve you all my life if you do!” Her felt hat slipped off, her forehead striking the frozen ground. The wind moaned beneath the eaves, setting the red lanterns swaying. After a long moment, a voice came from above her. “Sell yourself to me?” “I know I’m not worth that much silver,” Alice whispered, her throat tight, “but I can do everything… anything…” A pair of hands lifted her gently from the snow. “To serve me is not easy,” the woman said quietly. “You will suffer much. Do you regret it?” Alice shook her head faintly. “No.” “Good.” The woman seemed to smile. She bent to pick up the fallen hat, brushed off the snow, and settled it once more upon Alice’s head. Her voice was soft, almost strange. “I will save your family. You will come with me. Agreed?” Alice looked up at her and nodded. “Such a good child,” the woman murmured, taking the girl’s hand. “Then it’s a deal.”