The sun was already high when they left the inn. Yù Méi walked in front, her eyes wide at every shop window, every stall, every person passing in clothes finer than what she wore on festival days in the village. Yesterday she had glimpsed the city in a daze. Today she devoured it.
"Look at that!" she pointed at a jeweler's display where jade necklaces rested on black velvet. "How much do you think one of those costs?"
"More than we have," Yù Qíng answered without looking.
"I didn't want to buy it. I just wanted to know. For when I get rich."
"You're going to get rich?"
"I am. When I start feeling Qi, I'll find a treasure, sell it, and buy a necklace for every day of the week."
Yù Qíng didn't answer, but Yù Méi saw the corner of her sister's mouth lift—a near smile, the kind that only appeared when she was in a good mood. Or when Zhì Yuǎn was around. Always when he's around, Yù Méi thought, and kept walking.
The jewelers' street was different from the rest of the city. The buildings were taller, the doors wider, and the ground was washed stone, not packed earth. The shopkeepers didn't shout their wares; they waited in silence behind counters of dark wood, like hunters lying in wait.
"This is it," Zhì Yuǎn said, stopping in front of a jewelry shop.
"Here?" Yù Méi looked at the window. Necklaces, earrings, bracelets. No herbs. "It's a jewelry store."
"It isn't."
He pointed to the side. Between two jewelers, there was a narrow gap, an iron door so dark it seemed to swallow the light. There was no sign, no placard. Only a symbol carved into the metal—something that looked like a root coiling into itself, as if trying to disappear into the earth.
Pavilion of the Hidden Root. Yù Méi read the symbol without knowing how, and a shiver ran down her spine.
At the door stood a middle‑aged man, broad‑shouldered, square‑faced, dressed in coarse cotton. He watched them approach with the look of someone who had turned away many people from that door.
"This place is private," he said. His voice was dry, direct. "Only those with an invitation may enter."
Zhì Yuǎn stopped a step away.
"We don't have an invitation. We came to trade."
The man looked him over. His eyes went from feet to head, paused on the coin pouch at his waist, then returned to his face.
"We don't trade in coin here. If you don't have an invitation, you have nothing to offer."
"And how does one get an invitation?"
"One doesn't get it. One earns it. Or one deserves it."
Yù Méi's stomach tightened. They're going to send us away. She glanced at her sister, who stood motionless beside her brother‑in‑law, eyes fixed on the guard, expression calculating—as if weighing whether it was worth breaking something.
Zhì Yuǎn, however, did not move. He only looked at the guard with that calm Yù Méi knew well—the calm of someone who has already seen the answer before the question is asked.
"Your armor," he said. "The chest piece. Over the heart."
The man frowned.
"What about it?"
"There is a crack. Internal. You can't see it with the naked eye. But when you breathe, the Qi that protects your heart disperses before it reaches the meridian."
The guard's face changed. It was no longer disdain. It was surprise. And fear.
"Who are you?"
"Someone who sees what others don't."
The guard studied him for a long moment. Then, without a word, he stepped aside from the door.
"Enter."
---
The inside of the pavilion was another world.
Silence. Thick rugs muffled their footsteps. The air smelled of sandalwood and something more—something Yù Méi could not name, but that made her meridians (the broken ones, the useless ones) pulse as if waking from a very long sleep.
Shelves of dark jade lined the walls, each with a single object on it: a stone that glowed with its own light, a dried root that seemed alive, a rolled scroll bound with silk ribbons. In the center stood a counter of polished wood, and behind it, a man.
Master Wei was the kind of person Yù Méi imagined when she heard talk of "city folk." Black silk robes, rings on his fingers, hair combed back with scented oil. His eyes swept over the three of them like someone appraising a lot.
"Visitors," he said, his voice smooth, velvety. "And with a recommendation. Rare."
"We have no recommendation," Zhì Yuǎn said.
"Oh, but you do. My guard rarely makes mistakes about who should enter. If he let you pass, you deserve it."
Master Wei tilted his head, and his eyes settled on Yù Méi.
"And what is the purpose of your visit?"
"Herbs," Zhì Yuǎn replied. "To restore damaged meridians."
Master Wei raised an eyebrow.
"Restoring meridians is expensive work. And difficult. Few know how to do it. Even fewer have the resources."
"We have the resources."
"Coins?" Master Wei smiled, and the smile did not reach his eyes. "We don't take coins here."
Yù Méi felt the ground fall away beneath her feet. They don't take coins. Father gave everything he had. And they don't take coins.
"Then what do you take?" Yù Qíng's voice cut through the air, cold, direct.
Master Wei looked at her, and for the first time, something in his eyes changed. It was not fear. Not desire. It was… interest.
"We take what cannot be bought. Services. Information. Rare items. What do you have to offer?"
Zhì Yuǎn didn't answer. Yù Méi saw his jaw tighten—the only sign that he too was calculating, measuring, deciding.
Before he could speak, the door opened.
---
The group that entered was the opposite of everything Yù Méi had seen so far.
Clothes of light silk embroidered with silver thread. Hair pinned with jade, rings on fingers, swords at their waists. Young, all of them, between twenty and thirty, with the confidence of those who had never heard the word "no" in their lives.
In front, a young man with broad shoulders, a face too handsome to be honest, and a smile that said the world was a toy made for his amusement.
"Master Wei!" he exclaimed, his voice echoing in the silence of the hall. "I brought the disciples to see what's new. They say there's a thousand‑year root…"
He stopped.
His eyes found Yù Qíng.
Yù Méi saw it. Saw the gleam that lit them up, the hunger that kindled in them, the way the smile changed from "master of the world" to "what is this I've just found."
"Master Wei," he said, without looking away from her sister, "you've been hiding the best pieces."
The other disciples laughed. One of them, thinner, wearing glasses, whispered something Yù Méi didn't catch, but it made the others laugh louder.
Zhì Yuǎn's hand found Yù Qíng's. It was not a gesture of possession. It was a warning.
Yù Méi saw her sister's fingers tighten on his. A warning in return.
Stay calm. Not yet.
The young man stepped closer. His eyes traveled over Yù Qíng from head to toe, and his smile widened.
"What a beauty," he said, as if appraising a painting. "Lost in a place like this. Master Wei, why hide such jewels from your regular customers?"
"Regular customers," said Master Wei, his voice carefully neutral, "are not the only ones who frequent my establishment."
"Is that so?" The young man finally looked at Zhì Yuǎn. His eyes took in the dark tunic, the black silk cloak, the coin pouch at his waist. The smile turned into a sneer. "So peasants trade here now?"
The disciples laughed. Louder this time.
Yù Méi felt her face burn. She wanted to disappear. She wanted them to disappear. She wanted her brother‑in‑law to do something.
Zhì Yuǎn did not move. He only looked at Master Wei.
"We are in the middle of a negotiation," he said, his voice calm, as if the young man weren't there. "I can wait, if you prefer to attend to other customers first."
Master Wei hesitated. His eyes went from Zhì Yuǎn to the young man, from the young man back to Zhì Yuǎn.
"Is the peasant in a hurry?" The young man took a step forward. "Aren't you going to introduce your beautiful wife? Or are you ashamed to show you're not worthy of her?"
"Liáng Fēng," Master Wei said, his voice firmer, "perhaps it would be better—"
"Better what?" Liáng Fēng did not take his eyes off Yù Qíng. "This lady is the rarest piece to come through here in months. The peasant doesn't know what he has. Perhaps it's time someone taught him."
He reached out his hand.
It was fast. Faster than Yù Méi could follow. Liáng Fēng's hand shot toward her sister's face—not to hurt, not yet. Only to touch. To feel. To take possession.
The hand never made it.
The sound that followed was not a scream. It was a dry crack, like a bamboo stalk snapping in two. Yù Méi saw her brother‑in‑law's hand close around Liáng Fēng's wrist, saw his fingers squeeze, saw the young man's face twist first in surprise, then in pain.
"You…" Liáng Fēng tried to pull his arm back. He couldn't. Zhì Yuǎn's fingers were like iron. "Let go, peasant! You don't know who my father is!"
Zhì Yuǎn did not let go.
"Your father is not here," he said, his voice as calm as if discussing the weather. "Your sect is not here. And the next time you reach for what is mine…"
He squeezed.
The sound was wet, sickening. Something inside Liáng Fēng's wrist gave way. The scream that tore from the young man's throat made Yù Méi step back, her heart pounding so hard it seemed ready to leap from her chest.
The disciples moved. Hands went to swords, feet stepped forward. But before any of them could advance, something changed in the air.
It was pressure. As if the sky had collapsed on them. Yù Méi felt her knees weaken, saw the disciples freeze, saw Master Wei go pale.
It was not wind. Not strength. It was… presence.
Her brother‑in‑law stood at its center. His eyes, once calm, were now nothing but darkness. The dark tunic, the black hair, the hand still gripping the broken wrist—everything about him seemed larger, denser, more than a man should be.
"Leave," he said.
It was not a shout. It was a whisper. But the disciples heard it like thunder.
Liáng Fēng, his face white with pain and fear, tried to say something. His throat only released a whimper. Zhì Yuǎn opened his fingers, and the young man dropped to his knees, his arm hanging at an angle that did not belong to human anatomy.
"Take him," Zhì Yuǎn said, without looking at the disciples. "And tell his master that if he wants to come talk, he knows where to find me."
The disciples didn't need to be told twice. Two of them grabbed Liáng Fēng by the shoulders and dragged him out. The others followed, stumbling over their own feet, their eyes still fixed on the dark figure that had not moved an inch.
The iron door groaned shut. The silence that remained was so thick Yù Méi could hear her own blood rushing in her veins.
Master Wei was still pale. His hands, which had rested on the counter, were now still, as if afraid any movement might draw attention.
Zhì Yuǎn turned to him.
"The herbs," he said.
Master Wei swallowed.
"Which… which herbs?"
"For restoring damaged meridians. You said you have them."
"I do. But…"
Zhì Yuǎn didn't wait. He pulled the coin pouch from his waist and tossed it onto the counter. The sound of leather striking wood was the only noise in the hall.
"This is what we have. If it's not enough, tell me what else I can do."
Master Wei looked at the pouch. Looked at Zhì Yuǎn. Looked at Yù Qíng, who had not moved, her eyes fixed on her husband as if he were the only thing in the universe.
He remembered the pressure in the air. The wrist breaking. The disciples running.
"It's enough," he said, his voice a thread. "More than enough."
He opened a drawer behind the counter, took out a case of dark jade, and pushed it across the polished wood.
"White Snake Root. Silent Moon Flower. Ancient Bone Powder. Mix with warm water, take once a day, at dawn. In one month, the meridians will begin to respond. In three, they will be restored."
Yù Méi heard the words as if from far away. Restored. Her meridians. Restored.
Her brother‑in‑law's hand took the case.
"One month," he repeated.
"If her body has responded once, it will respond again. These are the best herbs I have. If they don't work, nothing will."
Zhì Yuǎn tucked the case into his pouch. He turned to Yù Méi.
"Let's go."
She couldn't answer. She only nodded.
When they stepped out of the pavilion, the sun was already slanting toward the west. The jewelers' street was emptier, shops beginning to close. Yù Méi walked behind the two, her eyes fixed on the pouch where the jade case rested.
Restored. In a month. She was going to feel Qi. She was going to stop being the only one who couldn't.
"Brother‑in‑law," she called, her voice coming out quieter than she wanted.
He stopped. Turned.
"Thank you."
She didn't know how to say more. Didn't know how to say she had seen the fear in the disciples' eyes, seen the pressure in the air, seen what he had done to protect her. Didn't know how to say that in that moment, when his hand closed around the arrogant man's wrist, she had felt something she couldn't name—gratitude, relief, or something more.
He only nodded.
"Let's go home. Your mother is waiting."
Yù Méi smiled. It was a small, almost shy smile, not the grin of the chatty girl everyone knew.
"Let's go."
They walked back through the jewelers' street, the three together, the empty coin pouch swinging at her brother‑in‑law's waist, the jade case hidden against his chest.
Behind them, the iron door of the pavilion closed with a soft click. And inside, Master Wei was still trembling.
---