Early morning light filtered through the cracks in the wall. Lin Yue was tying her hair back when Zhao Chen appeared in the doorway.
"We're going to the market today," he said, his tone careful, almost cautious. "My mother will join us."
He paused, then added, "I wasn't excluding you before. I thought you'd get too tired. But... things have changed now."
Lin Yue nodded. She understood what he meant: *You're useful now.*
She began preparing herself for the day.
---
At the market, the heat pressed down like a heavy blanket. Lin Yue stood near their vegetable stall, lost in thought about how different this world was from her modern life.
Then a commotion erupted nearby.
"Out of the way! Move!" A man's voice, urgent and panicked.
Lin Yue's attention snapped back to reality.
A servant in grey clothing pushed through the crowd, her face stricken with panic.
"Is there a physician here?" she cried. "Please! The young master is getting worse!"
*The young master?* Lin Yue's eyes followed the servant to a small sedan chair, where a boy of about ten lay gasping for breath.
The magistrate's son.
A middle-aged man pushed forward, puffing out his chest. "I am a physician! Let me through!"
He knelt beside the boy, examined him briefly, then nodded with confidence. "Heat exhaustion. I'll prepare hot tea to soothe his throat and restore his qi."
He reached for his bag.
"Wait!" Lin Yue's voice cut through the murmuring crowd.
The physician's face flushed with rage. "You! A mere village woman! How dare you interfere? I am a learned man, well-known in this village and beyond!"
Lin Yue didn't look at him. She stepped forward, ignoring the gasps from the crowd, and knelt beside the boy.
Her fingers found his wrist, checking his pulse the way she'd seen herbalists do in this world—though her mind processed it with modern understanding. Rapid. Thready. Dehydrated.
She gently tilted the boy's chin and looked at his tongue. Dry. Coated white. Cracked at the edges.
"You want to treat fire with more fire, Physician?" she said quietly.
She looked up at the crowd, her voice steady and clear. "Look at his tongue. It's dry and coated. His body is a desert. If you give him hot tea, you'll dry up his very spirit."
She turned to the magistrate, who stood watching with desperate, red-rimmed eyes.
"Lord Magistrate, I am only a cook. But I know this: when a pot is boiling dry, you do not add more spice. You add cool water and lower the flame. Let me try."
Madam Zhao stood in the background, her face pale with shock. "She's possessed! Lord Magistrate, she just had a head injury! Ignore her!"
But the boy let out a weak moan, his small hand clutching at his throat.
The magistrate's jaw tightened. "Do it," he whispered. "Save him."
Lin Yue turned to a nearby vendor. "Do you have honey? And salt?"
The merchant, caught up in the drama, nodded quickly and handed them over.
She mixed them carefully in a bowl of cool water the servant brought. Not too much salt—just enough to help his body retain moisture. A spoonful of honey for energy and to soothe the throat.
"Small sips," she murmured, cradling the boy's head gently. "Slowly now."
The boy's cracked lips touched the rim. He swallowed once. Twice.
The crowd held its breath.
The boy's eyelids fluttered. Then opened.
He looked around, dazed, and whispered, "Mother... I'm thirsty."
The woman beside him—his mother, the magistrate's wife—let out a choked sob of relief.
The entire market went silent.
The magistrate, the boy's father, watched Lin Yue with sharp, calculating eyes. "Who taught you the way of food and medicine?"
Lin Yue stood tall, meeting his gaze without flinching.
"Life taught me, My Lord. When one has nothing, one learns how to make a single drop of water count."
The magistrate stared at her for a long moment.
Then he nodded slowly.
"What is your name?"
"Lin Yue, My Lord. Wife of Zhao Chen."
The magistrate's eyes shifted briefly to Zhao Chen, who stood frozen in shock near the vegetable stall, then back to Lin Yue.
"Lin Yue," he repeated, as if committing it to memory. "I will not forget this."