Red. It was the color that greeted Xiao Hua as she stepped cautiously along the path from the small gate to the entrance. Crimson stains speckled across packed dirt, leading her gaze upward to where the wooden stairs awaited. Each step seemed to echo with an unsettling foreboding. In her hands, she held a basket brimming with the fruits of her day's labor—various roots gathered for food and medicinal salves. Yet, as the gravity of the scene before her took hold, the basket slipped from her grip, scattering its precious contents across the floor with a clatter that seemed to shatter the silence of the shrine.

The blood she saw was not the result of an animal’s misfortune. Though she had never wished harm upon creatures, she had hoped for such a simple explanation. The truth was far more alarming.

On the straw mat lay the young man, Xie Lian, not resting but seemingly having collapsed, his body crumpled with his back facing her. His once-pristine white robes were now marred by dark, spreading splotches of red, suggesting severe wounds concealed beneath. The quiet of the shrine was pierced by the soft, hurried tap of her footsteps on the wooden floor, her previous evening’s plans entirely forgotten in the wake of growing anxiety.

Her hands trembled as she reached out to turn him over, but her fingers curling instinctively into fists. Was it too forward to worry so deeply? She had known Xie Lian only a short while—was it too soon to feel this much concern? Should she seek other's help? Was there time?

With deliberate care, she grasped his shoulder and upper arm, gently maneuvering him onto his back. His face was pale, his cheeks flushed with fever. Her fingertips brushed his forehead, pushing aside the damp, sweat-slicked strands of hair that clung stubbornly to his skin. A fever.