The caravan came to a full stop just as the first, pale light of dawn broke over the horizon, painting the sky in soft hues of grey and pink.

  "We're here," Bob said, his voice a low rumble. He stepped down from the carriage into the quiet, sleeping village of Moulang. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, his voice reverberating through the small, wooden houses. "Elder Chen! Are you here? We need a healer!"

  One by one, lanterns began to light up in the windows of the small houses. Doors creaked open, and sleepy-eyed villagers poured out, wondering what could be the source of such a booming voice at this early hour.

  A path parted through the middle of the growing crowd, and a small, elderly woman with a stern face and a long, white braid walked through. "Bob, you old rogue," she said, her voice sharp but not unkind. "You'll give me a heart attack. Why are you shouting so early in the morning? The sun isn't even up yet."

  "I'm sorry for my rude gesture, Elder Chen," Bob said, his usual cheerfulness replaced by a desperate urgency. "But we have two injured people with us, and one of them is in a critical condition. I was hoping your village had a healer."

  Inside the carriage, Lin sat quietly, cradling Kun's head in her lap, refusing to let him go.

  "I'm afraid you're out of luck, Bob," Elder Chen said, her expression softening with pity. "The nearest healer is a two-day ride from here. I'm sorry."

  Bob clenched his fists, a wave of despair washing over him. Suddenly, a hand was raised from the back of the crowd.

  "I may not be a healer," a gentle voice called out, "but I do have some knowledge of medicine. May I help?"

  The crowd parted once more, revealing a mature, older woman with kind eyes and a pair of large, grey wolf-like ears peeking out from her dark hair. Bob rushed to her, grasping her hands in his own massive ones.

  "I don't care," he pleaded. "Just take care of these two kids. Please. I have medicinal herbs in my caravan. Anything you need, I will provide."

  The woman nodded. "Then bring the injured to my house," she said, her voice calm and steady.

  Bob gestured to his men, who quickly brought out a stretcher for Kun and a crutch for Lin, helping them out of the carriage. As they brought Kun into the light, the woman's eyes went wide. She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

  "Kun?" she shouted, and ran towards the stretcher, her earlier composure gone.

  "Do you know him?" Lin asked, her voice a shocked whisper.

  "This is not the time," the woman replied, her eyes fixed on Kun's pale, bruised face. "We need to stabilize him. Now."

  Inside a small, clean cottage, a tense silence filled the air. The woman moved with a swift, practiced urgency, her hands a blur of motion. She juggled replacing Kun's bloody bandages, cleaning his wounds with a pungent medicinal herb, and preparing a dark, steaming potion for him to drink, using the high-quality supplies Bob had provided.

  Lin stood with a crutch in the corner of the room, her eyes glued to Kun's still form, but occasionally darting to the woman who was now so focused on saving him. Why does she know Kun? she thought, a wave of uselessness, a feeling she had never experienced in her life, washing over her.

  Outside, Mila leaned against a wall, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. Bob and Elder Chen stood near the cottage door, their voices low.

  "Who is she, Elder Chen?" Bob asked. "I've been through Moulang a dozen times, but I've never seen her before."

  "Her name is Yinzi," Elder Chen explained, her gaze fixed on the cottage. "She grew up here, but left at a young age for her work somewhere south of Jinlun. She only arrived back a few months ago." A small, knowing smile touched the elder's lips. "It seems you still attract luck, Bob. Even I didn't know she was so skilled in medicine."

  Yinzi, Lin thought, overhearing the conversation from inside. Why does that name sound so familiar?

  A few hours later, Kun's complexion was looking a lot better than it had when they first brought him in. The woman, Yinzi, finally let out a long, slow exhale.

  "He's stable," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "But his fever is still high. I've done all I could. Now, it's all up to him."

  Bob and Lin let out a collective sigh of relief. But when Lin looked back at the woman, she noticed her gaze was now fixed on her, her kind eyes now filled with a hint of rage.

  "Now," Yinzi said, her voice losing all of its earlier warmth, "it's about time we talk, isn't it, young woman? Or should I say... Snow Flower of Jinlun?"

  "You know me, ma'am?" Lin asked politely, taken aback by the sudden hostility.

  "Blue hair, silver eyes... it's not hard to know when your face is plastered on posters all over Ruhong," Yinzi said, her voice sharp. "What I want to know is how the boy I raised, who I lost contact with for years, came back to me in a half-dead state, with a noble like you and that merchant over there alongside him." She pointed a finger at Bob, who was still standing in the doorway, but her glare was fixed solely on Lin.

  Raised him... The pieces finally clicked into place in Lin's mind. "You're... you're Miss Yinzi," she said, her voice a shocked whisper. "The orphanage director that raised him."

  The last year flashed through Lin’s mind—the secret meetings, the missed duties, the growing camaraderie, the arrest, the escape. How could she possibly explain it all? Where would she even begin?

  "It's..." Lin stammered, her gaze falling to the floor. "It's my fault. All of it. I’m sorry." She bowed.

  Yinzi took a step forward, her fists clenched. "Your fault? What did you do to him—"

  Before Yinzi could step forward, Bob immediately moved between the two women, placing a large, gentle hand on her shoulder. "Ma'am," he said, his voice a low, calming rumble. "The girl is clearly exhausted, and just as worried as you are. Let's all sit down, have some tea. Then we can hear her side of the story."

  Yinzi glared at Bob for a moment, then nodded, her anger giving way to a weary resignation.

  Moments later, the three of them were sitting around a small wooden table. A tense silence filled the air, the warm tea in their cups slowly chilling.

  "And... that's what happened," Lin said, her voice a quiet murmur after she had finished explaining everything. Her cage, her outburst, her selfishness.

  "You're right," Miss Yinzi stated, her voice cold and hard. "It is your fault."

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  Lin's heart felt as if an arrow had pierced it.

  "You brought a storm into his life," Yinzi continued, her voice shaking with a quiet rage. "His life may not have been perfect in Jinlun, but at least it was quiet. But your selfishness painted a target on his back. You should have known the weight of your political stature. You were foolish, young miss."

  "I'm sorry," Lin whispered, all of Yinzi's words piercing her heart, each one a truth she couldn't deny.

  "Sorry won't fix this, miss. It's too late now." Yinzi stood up. "So, let's go."

  Lin looked up, confused. "Where?"

  "Your ankle is still injured, is it not?" Yinzi's tone was still cold, but her actions were gentle as she gestured to Lin's bandaged foot. "Let me treat it. Then you can stay here. Be with him. You realize it's your fault, so the least you can do is help nurse him back to health. I'll teach you."

  Lin looked at her, then at the still-unconscious Kun, and then back at Yinzi. "I'm not asking for you to forgive me," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "But I will try."

  "I never said I forgive you, young miss," Yinzi replied, her gaze softening almost imperceptibly. "But you clearly care enough about Kun that you chose him over your duty. And he... he never rejected you. So you must be worth it." She looked Lin directly in the eyes. "Prove it to me. Actions are worth more than words."

  The sunlight started to settle down, quickly replaced by the calm darkness of night. In the village plaza, a large campfire was set up, its warm light flickering across the multiple tents Bob's men had erected. Bob himself was sitting on a large, sturdy chair he'd set up next to Tama, his yak, who was contentedly chewing on some hay.

  "Master, we need to talk," Mila said, her voice calm as she approached him.

  "Mila, it's not 'Master,' just call me Bob," he sighed. "What is it?"

  "The men are starting to get worried," she said, her arms crossed. "Why are we still here? We already delivered those kids, and that woman, Yinzi, clearly knows them. Or at least one of them. Why are we still here?"

  Bob looked into the crackling flames, a sad, distant pain in his eyes. "I need to see this through, Mila. I have to."

  "Master," Mila's voice was firm but not unkind. "They are not them. And we are behind schedule. You need to get it together."

  "Schedules can always be reworked, Mila," Bob replied, his voice a low rumble. "And as for them... I know they're not them. What happened in the cottage today convinced me of that. But... I feel like they would be disappointed in me if I just left those two." He looked at her, his eyes pleading. "Please."

  Mila let out a long, slow exhale. "Fine," she said, turning away. "I'll convince the men. But remember, you have to pay me extra for the overtime." She waved a hand over her shoulder as she walked off.

  "That's why I hire you, Mila!" Bob shouted after her, a genuine, grateful smile finally returning to his face.

  For the first time in what felt like centuries, Lin Meihua woke up without the crushing weight of duty on her chest. Sunlight, soft and golden, streamed through the small window of the guest room, carrying with it the unfamiliar sounds of a village morning—the distant crow of a rooster, the gentle lowing of cattle, and the murmur of quiet conversation. However, a singular phrase, prove it to me, rang through her head.

  She sat up, stretching her sore muscles. Her shoulder still ached, but the deep, soul-crushing exhaustion that had plagued her for years felt... lighter. She felt rested.

  A sweet, warm scent drifted into the room, accompanied by the sound of soft, contented humming. Curiosity piqued, Lin slipped out of bed and quietly padded to the door, peeking out into the main cottage.

  There, in the kitchen, was Miss Yinzi. Her back was to the door, her large frame silhouetted by the morning sun as she worked at a flour-dusted table, her humming filling the small space with a comforting warmth.

  Before Lin could retreat, Miss Yinzi spoke, her voice full of amusement, without even turning around.

  "If you have enough energy to peek, you have enough energy to help, young miss. Come here."

  A small, startled blush rose on Lin's cheeks, but she found herself smiling. She walked into the kitchen, a place she had never felt she belonged, and for the first time, felt a flicker of something like coming home.

  "I’m not sure being in the kitchen is something I’m allowed to do," Lin said, her voice quiet.

  "Nonsense," Miss Yinzi replied, gesturing to a bowl of sliced apples. "Anyone can cook, young miss. We are making honey-apple pie, his favorite, and you're going to learn how to make it."

  Lin began kneading the dough per Miss Yinzi's instruction, but her movements were clumsy. She used far too much force, as if she were trying to fight the dough into submission.

  "I have never seen someone as bad as you in the kitchen, young miss," Miss Yinzi said, a look of genuine surprise on her face. "Even I am surprised."

  "I will do better," Lin said, putting even more force into her kneading.

  "Wait, that's not how you—"

  Before Miss Yinzi could finish her sentence, Lin's grip slipped. She accidentally knocked over a large bag of flour, sending a massive white cloud billowing through the kitchen, covering everything in a fine, white dust.

  "I'm so sorry, Miss Yinzi! I didn't mean to!" Lin apologized profusely, waving her hands in a futile attempt to clear the air.

  Instead of getting angry, Miss Yinzi just giggled, the sound warm and genuine. "It's alright, young miss. It appears you need more time to learn than most." She gestured to a corner. "Grab the broom over there. We'll clean this up."

  As Lin limply moved to grab the broom, a soft, nostalgic smile touched Miss Yinzi's lips. "This reminds me of the days when Kun was still just a boy in the orphanage."

  Lin paused, the broom held loosely in her hand. The mention of his past made her forget all about the flour. Her expression turned serious, her silver eyes full of a quiet, intense curiosity.

  "What was he like?" she asked, her voice softer now. "Back then?"

  Miss Yinzi's smile became a little sadder, a little more distant. She took the broom from Lin's hand and began to sweep with a slow, practiced rhythm, as if the motion itself brought back the memories.

  "Quiet," she began, her voice a low, gentle rumble. "He was always so terribly quiet. It wasn't that the other children were cruel to him, not intentionally. But from the very beginning, there was a distance."

  “Distance?” Lin asked, confused.

  Yinzi paused, her gaze far away. "He never wanted to be a part of the group. He would always hide himself in his room during recess. Whenever I asked him, he would always say the same thing: 'I don't belong here.' I never understood what it meant."

  She sighed, a sound heavy with old memories. "But eventually, I managed to reach out to him. It was a day just like today. The other children were all playing outside, and he had hidden himself in his room, reading a book. But he wasn't just reading. I once saw him through the window, secretly sharing the bread from his own lunch with a stray dog that had wandered into the yard. He was always kindest to the things he felt were as lonely as he was. I told him, 'If you don't want to play with the others, then you will help me.' We were making honey-apple pie, and just like you, he was clumsy. He dropped the dough right on the floor."

  Lin giggled.

  A soft chuckle escaped Yinzi’s lips. "He cried, you know. He thought he had failed. But I told him, 'It's fine to fail, because we can always learn.' I passed him the broom and started teaching him how to clean up the mess. And that... that was the first time I ever saw a genuine smile from the young Kun."

  She paused, her gaze lost in the memory. "After that day, it was like a switch had flipped. Every morning, he would find me and ask, 'Miss Yinzi, is there anything to clean today?' He would stick by my side while I did the laundry, scrubbing the floors until they shone. He was never happier than when he had a rag in his hand."

  She looked at Lin, her eyes full of a deep, sad understanding. "I think... for a boy who felt he had no place in the world, creating a clean, orderly place was the only way he felt he belonged. It was our special thing. It was how we grew close.”

  A shadow of a painful memory crossed her face. "He was so afraid of disappointing me, though. So terrified of failing. I remember one time, while we were doing the laundry, he was scrubbing a shirt a little too hard and ripped the sleeve. It was an accident, just a worn-out shirt."

  Yinzi shook her head slowly. "He ran and hid in his room and cried all day. He wouldn't come out, no matter what I said. He was convinced he had failed me, that I would be angry. It took the promise of two honey-apple pies just to get him to open the door."

  She sighed, the old memory still heavy. "I guess now it makes sense why he would choose a janitor's job. And why he never sent me any letters. He's still that same little boy, so afraid of disappointing the people he cares about."

  “You two must be very close,” Lin said.

  “We are. He was always a survivor, that one. It's why I named him Kun. After the small river fish that survives even in the harshest shallows. I wanted him to have a name that was as resilient as his spirit." Miss Yinzi’s face was full of pride.

  “Alright, enough reminiscing. We need to clean this up and start from zero, young miss. My guidance will be very strict, seeing how hopeless you are in the kitchen.” Miss Yinzi clapped her hands together.

  “Yes, ma'am.” Lin saluted, and the two women chuckled. Lin looked at the kind, firm woman in front of her, the kitchen filled with the scent of apples and the promise of a new start. For the first time since she had fled Jinlun, the crushing feeling of being utterly alone began to fade.