The cold days of early winter settled over the village like a heavy quilt, muffling the sound of footsteps and slowing the world. A thin frost glazed over the edges of the fields each morning, turning the landscape into a wash of silver and white. Smoke curled from everyone homes chimney and the scent of pine, charcoal and boiled ginger root lingered in the air.
Yi Rong wrapped her hands around a warm clay cup of millet porridge, watching steam drift upward like wisps of thought. Across the small room, Ruolan hummed as she mended a winter cloak, her needle flashing in and out of dark fabric. Feng Zeyu was outside chopping wood, the thump of his axe echoing against the still air.
Their home, though still modest, felt sturdier now. Yi Rong's quiet efforts patching leaks, reinforcing the walls with clay and hay had made a difference. So had her ointments and teas, which fetched a few copper coins at the market small things but small things added up. Every time she tucked another coin into the cloth pouch hidden under her bed, she imagined what it might become: roof tiles, nails, planks, perhaps even a second room.
She didn't tell her parents yet. They had enough to worry about with the coming cold. Instead, Yi Rong spent her free time wandering the woods at the edge of the village, collecting dried herbs and bark. She always brought a basket and her small knife, wrapped in cloth to keep it from rusting.
Old Wen's notes had become her guide scribbled lists of symptoms, dosages, plant illustrations even rough diagrams of the body. Yi Rong studied them by firelight, memorize them to her memory. Her modern knowledge gave her an edge but Old Wen's experience gave her a map of this world's rhythms.
One afternoon, as she sat beside a creekbed harvesting willow bark, she heard footsteps approaching her. It was Lianhua, cheeks pink from the cold, her thick braid swinging behind her.
"Yi Rong! There you are. I've been looking all over for you."
Yi Rong smiled and motioned her to sit, "You walk all this way just to find me?"
Lianhua flopped down beside her breath puffing clouds,"No. I came to escape my little brother's shrieking but you were a good excuse. What are you cutting?"
"Willow bark. It helps with pain and fever."
"Oh, like that tea you made for Granny Zhou's knees."
Yi Rong nodded. "Exactly."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while. Lianhua reached for a small strip of bark and sniffed it, wrinkling her nose,"Smells like wet shoes."
Yi Rong laughed, the sound warm in the cold air.
Later, as they walked back toward the village, Lianhua spoke again,"You know... people say you're strange, Yi Rong."
Yi Rong arched a brow, "Do they?"
"Not in a bad way. Just... different. Like you see things others don't. Like you're older than you look."
The words struck a little too close to the truth. Yi Rong kept her voice light. "Maybe I just listen better than most."
"Maybe." Lianhua gave her a crooked smile,"But strange or not, I think you're going to change things."
Yi Rong didn't know what to say to that. She simply reached into her basket and offered Lianhua a small bundle of dried plum slices,"here you go have some snacks."
That evening, as the sun dipped low and the cold crept in through the window seams, Yi Rong returned home with her basket full and her thoughts fuller still. She handed the willow bark to Ruolan, who had been battling headaches lately.
"Boil this for half an hour, then let it cool ,drink only a small cup," Yi Rong instructed.
Ruolan nodded, though her expression remained pensive,"You've become so capable, my little Rong. I often wonder where you learned so much."
Yi Rong paused. She hated lying but the truth still felt too heavy to speak aloud"I just pay attention and I read Old Wen's books."
That night, she lay in bed listening to the quiet breathing of her parents in the next room. Wind whistled softly outside, rustling the thatch. She clutched the edge of her quilt and stared at the ceiling.
The dreams had faded for several nights now, leaving behind an unfamiliar quiet in Yi Rong's sleep. There were no haunting images of palace corridors shrouded in smoke, no echo of hurried footsteps or flickering candlelight. The phoenix-shaped pendant, once pulsing in her dreams with a soft glow like fire caught in gold, remained hidden and still both in her chest and in her mind. In its place came silence, not comforting, but heavy, as if the part of her that remembered was simply waiting.
But her mind was still full. Of plans, of questions, of a life she was shaping with her own hands.
She thought of the extra room she wanted to build. Not just for space but for comfort for possibility. A place to store herbs properly to allow Ruolan to rest to welcome whatever came next.
She would need more wood better nails. Maybe she could ask the blacksmith for scraps in exchange for treating his persistent cough.
There were always ways forward hidden between the quiet moments, tucked beneath ordinary tasks. Yi Rong was learning to spot them not through grand revelations but through the small choices she made each day. Whether it was choosing the right herb to dry by the fire or deciding which cracked bowl to repair instead of discard, she had come to understand that progress wasn't always loud. It was quiet and patient. Often invisible until one day, it blossomed into something lasting.
She curled beneath the quilt that Ruolan had sewn by hand, its stitches uneven but filled with warmth. The house creaked gently with the cold, the fire dying down into glowing embers. As her eyes fluttered shut, Yi Rong whispered into the night, "One step at a time."
It wasn't a promise to change the world, nor a declaration of ambition. It was simply her truth the way she would live.
And outside, the frost deepened, blanketing the fields and rooftops in silver. Trees stood like sleeping guardians. The village, still and breathless, waited beneath winter's hush. Life was slow now, steady and in that stillness something was taking root. Quietly. Firmly. A beginning.