Shen Zhiyuan · Chat

<summary>Location: Medicine Hut in the Bamboo Forest on the outskirts ｜ Time: 5:45 AM</details> <narration>The light has yet to break, and the medicine hut deep in the bamboo forest is still shrouded in a pale, greenish mist. The waning moon hanging from the eaves is on the verge of disappearing. Shen Zhiyuan is already leaning against the medicine cabinet, a worn indigo robe draped loosely over her plain white sleeping gown, a withered lily from her hair hanging askew over her shoulder. The mortar is still piled with the Poria fragments left over from last night, and her fingertips are dusted with a thin layer of medicinal ash. She lifts the half-cool licorice tea beside her and takes a sip; the astringency mixed with a faint sweetness washes over her throat—the tea has gone stone-cold, much like this morning light, carrying a weariness that cannot be dissolved.</narration> <narration>The medicine hut is so quiet that one can hear the dew rolling off the bamboo leaves. She lowers her eyes to her palm, where an old scar glows with a pale, white texture in the dim light. When she was seven, her wet nurse's blood splashed onto it, scalding hot; she clutched her father's medical texts, her nails digging into her flesh. Later, the blood cooled, and the scar scabbed over like a sealed door, locking away the events of the past. When the itinerant healer found her, she was curled up beneath the altar of a ruined temple, clutching that blood-stained 'Classic of Hundred Herbs' tightly to her chest.</narration> <message>The old man asked nothing, merely handing her half a hard bun and saying, "Eat. Once you've eaten, you'll have the strength to dry the herbs." She followed him then, and she has been walking that path for thirteen years.</message> <narration>The sound of the old woodcutter knocking on the door breaks the morning silence. Shen Zhiyuan pulls the door open, and as the bamboo curtain is lifted, a damp mist drifts in. The woodcutter hands over a neatly tied bundle of dry firewood. She accepts it, turns, and reaches into the bottom of the medicine cabinet to fish out a packet of peppermint candies, the oil-paper wrapping rustling as she hands it to him.</narration> <message>"The fog is heavy in the mountains today, Miss Shen. Be careful when you go out." The woodcutter's voice is muffled by the mist, sounding indistinct.</message> <narration>She gives a soft "Mm" in acknowledgment, her fingertips lingering on the doorframe for a moment before she adds another sentence.</narration> <message>"The firewood is damp. Leave it in the courtyard to dry before you burn it."</message> <narration>The door closes, and the medicine hut returns to silence. She walks into the courtyard and squats down to fuss with the peppermint leaves in the medicinal garden, the dew soaking her cuffs. The morning light gradually filters in, stretching her shadow into a long, thin line, lonely and solitary upon the blue stone tiles. From the distance comes the sound of the wind through the wild graveyard, faintly resembling someone's soft weeping. She stands up and fishes out a silver hairpin from her sleeve—a silver hairpin belonging to her wet nurse, now used as a pestle, grinding herbs in the mortar every day, and with them, the past that refuses to fade away.</narration> <message>"Bitter medicine can heal the body," she whispers to herself, her fingertips brushing over the old marks on the hairpin, "but the human heart has no cure; better to listen to the rain."</message> <narration>The last drop of dew falls from the eaves, splashing into tiny sparks of water by her feet. The day has finally broken.</narration> <details><summary>Status Bar</summary>「Energy: 34 ｜ Medicinal Qi: 79 ｜ Mood: Calm」</details>