二
Dawn crept quietly across the orphanage rooftops, golden sunlight tangled with mist that clung stubbornly to the narrow lanes of Willow Village.
The world here seemed softer, edges blurred by dew, voices muffled by distance from the bustling Immortal cities.
In the garden behind the orphanage, Yue Lian moved among the rows of herbs, her sleeves rolled neatly, fingers stained with green and soil.
She hummed softly as she worked, the melody half-remembered from a dream.
The scent of crushed mint and damp earth lingered on her hands.
She paused to look up, studying the pale sliver of moon still visible in the sky, then returned to her work.
The morning was peaceful, though she knew it would not last.
A sharp cry broke the quiet. Yue Lian straightened, wiping her hands on her robe, and hurried toward the source.
Behind the old mulberry tree, a group of children had gathered in a rough circle, laughter edged with cruelty.
In the center, a small spirit fox, its fur snowy white, ears too large for its narrow face, whimpered, pinned beneath the boot of a tall boy.
"Let it go, Lin Bo," Yue Lian said, voice steady. Her heart hammered, but she kept her eyes on the fox, not the boy.
He turned, sneering. "Why? Your herbs can't fix it. Or are you hoping to show off again, moon-faced orphan?"
The other children snickered. Some looked away, shame flickering in their eyes. Yue Lian stepped forward, careful not to startle the fox. "You're hurting it. Please."
Lin Bo shrugged, pressing his boot harder. "It's only a beast. If it can't run, it should die. Just like useless orphans who can't even light a candle with their spirit power."
The words stung, but Yue Lian refused to flinch. She knelt beside the fox, hands open and empty. "Let me take care of it. I'll owe you a favor."
He hesitated, greed flickering in his eyes. "A favor? You're not worth much, Yue Lian. Fine. You can have it. But tomorrow, you clean the kitchen alone."
She nodded, relief loosening the knot in her chest. As Lin Bo released the fox, it scrambled into her lap, trembling. She cradled it gently, feeling the rapid flutter of its frightened heart. The children drifted away, their laughter already fading, leaving Yue Lian in blessed silence.
The fox's leg was twisted, blood seeping from a shallow gash. Yue Lian whispered soothing words, stroking its fur. She rummaged in her satchel for dried yarrow and a scrap of linen, grinding the herb between her fingers until its scent filled the air.
"Hold still, little one," she murmured, dabbing the wound. The fox whimpered but did not bite.
A faint glow shimmered at her fingertips, not the golden light of true cultivation, but something softer, silver and cool, almost invisible in daylight.
Yue Lian pressed her palm to the wound, closing her eyes.
The pain in the fox's body shivered through her, sharp and fleeting.
She breathed it in, then let it go, like water slipping through her fingers.
When she pulled her hand away, the bleeding had stopped. The wound was smaller, and the swelling eased. The fox licked her wrist, its eyes bright with gratitude.
"There you are," she said, smiling. "You'll be running again by nightfall."
She set the fox down, watching it limp into the shade of the mulberry tree. Only then did she notice Madam Qiu watching from the porch, her gaze sharp and searching.
"Yue Lian," the matron called, her voice brisk but not unkind. "Come inside. Breakfast is ready."
Yue Lian stood, brushing dust from her robe. The garden was quiet again, dew sparkling on the leaves, the scent of herbs heavy in the air. She glanced at the moon, barely visible now, and felt a tug of longing she could not name.
Inside, the orphanage was alive with noise, spoons clattering, children and teenagers squabbling over rice porridge, someone singing off-key in the corner. Yue Lian slipped to her usual seat by the window, ignoring the snickers and pointed whispers.
She ate in silence, eyes drifting to the world outside.
She wondered, as she often did, about the family she'd never known, the parents who had left her wrapped in moon-patterned silk at the orphanage gate.
She wondered if there was more to her than a knack for herbs and a strange affinity for wounded creatures.
She did not see the hooded figure watching from the alley, hidden in morning shadow, nor the silver coin he pressed into the palm of a passing merchant.
Outside, the fox darted from the garden, its fur catching the sunlight. High above, the moon faded from sight, but Yue Lian felt its presence, soft, constant, a promise she could almost remember.
Tomorrow would come soon enough, with new chores, new cruelties, and perhaps another wounded creature in need of care. For now, she gathered her strength, her heart quiet but unbroken, and waited for whatever fate would bring.