Li Wei carved by the window.

The half-finished roof beam lay across twin trestles, a rough-cut pine log he’d planed twelve times already; and still each stroke of the drawknife felt wrong. The grain hummed under his fingers like a cough caught in the wood.

Hhk—kh-kh.

Pain speared his ribs. He lurched forward, bracing on the beam as violet-stained phlegm spattered the shavings below. Breath. Swallow. Again.

Keep working.

He wiped the blood on his trousers and set the blade again. The log didn’t protest. It simply accepted the edge, as though it pitied him.

“Son."

He straightened. His father stood in the doorway, lamp in one hand, worry gouged into every line of his face.

“It’s getting worse,” the old carpenter said. “We should go to Kai.”

“He’s got the whole village on his shoulders,” Li Wei replied, forcing a smile. “One more plank will help him more than another patient.”

Another cough tried to rise; he swallowed it with a wince.

His father’s voice hardened. “This is no splinter you can sand away.”

“I’m fine.” The lie tasted of iron. “Let's finish the east scaffold before noon. Lan-Yin's counting on that roof.”

Li Wei's father didn’t argue, but the set of his jaw said enough. He stepped aside as Li Wei gathered his tools and slung the beam across his shoulder.

The morning air outside was cold in a way that felt personal; like the village itself had begun to forget warmth.

They walked in silence toward the Soaring Swallow, boots crunching over grass and mud. The inn loomed at the center of the square, its once-welcoming façade now dulled by weather and wear.

But Li Wei’s gaze, unbidden, slid elsewhere.

To Kai’s shop.

The shutters were drawn tight, but the faintest golden sliver leaked from the base of the door. Still lit.

Still working.

Same as last night. And the night before.

Li Wei doubted Kai had truly slept in days. He didn't know how the boy kept going. The plague struck cultivators harder than anyone; it was clear as day. Yet Kai endured, pouring his life into every tincture, every brew, every whispered instruction.

Li Wei clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to imagine what that endurance was costing him.

He forced the thought down as he entered the Soaring Swallow.

It was crowded. Not loud.

A dozen faces filled the room, some hunched over bowls of cooling porridge, others wrapped in blankets, limbs slack with fatigue. The air smelled of herbal broth and fever-sweat. A fugue of quiet suffering.

Xu Ziqing sat in the corner, back straight despite the faint tremor in his hands. He nodded once to Li Wei as they passed; alert as always, but dulled at the edges, as if he’d trimmed away parts of himself just to conserve strength.

The stairs creaked under Li Wei’s feet as he and his father climbed. At the top, the hallway’s floorboards bowed slightly from moisture and age.

They stepped onto the roof through the access hatch, the boards groaning beneath their feet.

Ren Zhi sat on a bench beside a covered bucket of tools, hands folded, his face turned toward the sunless sky. His robe hung loosely on his shoulders, more thread than cloth in some places.

He didn’t speak.

Just gave a shallow nod and turned his blind eyes in their direction, as if marking their shapes by sound alone.

Li Wei wanted to ask if there would be a story today.

He didn’t.

There hadn’t been one in a week.

He missed them more than he expected; Ren Zhi’s tales of mountains that roared like beasts and cultivators who fought storms with bare hands. Back when nails rang bright on fresh wood and laughter echoed across scaffolds.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Now, only the wind spoke.

Li Wei got to work. The warped section of the roof bowed slightly over the common room. He could see the slight ripple of it in the planks, where rainwater had pooled the last time.

He didn’t know if the violet rain would return.

But if it did, the village would need a roof that held.

So he fitted the beam. Measured twice. Drove the first nail.

It took twice the effort as usual.

His hands shook when he tried to lift the mallet. He masked it by adjusting his grip. He was hungry. He was tired. He was afraid.

But he didn’t show it.

He couldn’t.

So Li Wei raised the mallet again, drove it home, and kept building.

When the last nail sank home with a muffled thunk, Li Wei allowed himself a breath.

It didn’t help much.

His lungs rasped when he exhaled, the effort leaving him dizzy. He wiped a sleeve across his brow, tasting metal at the back of his throat, then slung the toolbelt back over his shoulder and made his way down the scaffold.

The next task waited at Elder Ming’s home; a foundational pillar beneath the southern wall that had begun to sag, warped by weeks of cold rain and frost. Just one more repair. One more thing to hold together.

He moved like a ghost between houses.

When he reached Elder Ming’s door, he knocked once, twice, before pushing it open.

“Elder Ming?” he called softly.

No answer.

He stepped inside, ducking beneath a low beam, careful not to disturb the vases set neatly on the table. Then he saw it; across the room, past the dim glow of a lantern half-fueled—

The old man was on the floor.

“Elder—!”

Li Wei dropped the mallet, rushing forward and kneeling at his side. Elder Ming stirred, but only barely, one hand pressing to the wall as if the wood might steady him.

“I’m alright,” the elder wheezed, his voice dry as leaves. “Just stood too fast.”

Li Wei moved to lift him, but when his hand brushed the elder’s forearm, he froze.

The skin beneath the robe was splotched with purple. Ugly, spreading patches that shimmered faintly with the telltale iridescence of the Amethyst Plague. Far deeper than anybody else's.

“Elder Ming,” Li Wei whispered, horror twisting through his chest. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

The old man smiled, tired and wan. “Because it wouldn't change anything.”

“But—your cultivation—how is it worse for you than for the others?”

“It’s because it’s gone.” The words came slowly, labored. “No defense. No resistance. Like a house with the doors torn off.”

Li Wei clenched his fists. “Then we have to go to Kai. He can—he will

—”

A hand shot up, not feeble, but fast. Fingers curled around Li Wei’s wrist with strength that shouldn’t have still been there.

“No.”

Elder Ming’s eyes, clouded but still steady, locked onto his.

“You go to him now, and you break the last line he’s holding. Let him finish what he’s started. We all made our choice.”

“But you’ll—!”

“I know what’ll happen,” Elder Ming said. “I’ve lived longer than most. Longer than I should’ve. The last thing he needs is a dying man begging him for a miracle. What he's doing is for the future. Not for those already fading. Let him focus.”

The boy's breath hitched. His voice caught. “He wouldn’t forgive me. You know how much you mean to him.”

“He wouldn’t forgive himself,” Elder Ming said, voice gentler now. “And that’s worse.”

Li Wei stared down at the floorboards. At the shaking in his hands. His own arms itched faintly; he didn’t dare look to see if the violet stains had reached his skin too.

“Promise me,” Elder Ming murmured.

Li Wei closed his eyes.

“…I promise.”

He helped the old man into a chair, padded it with cushions, placed a kettle of water near the hearth just in case. Small things. Useless things. But it made him feel a little less helpless.

Then he went outside.

The pillar needed fixing.

So he fixed it.

With splinters biting into calloused palms and breath scraping like glass through his lungs, he propped up the frame with temporary struts and began shaving down the support. It didn’t matter that his vision blurred. That his chest tightened. That every minute passed like a blade dragging across his ribs.

Because he wasn’t doing this for himself.

'Please', Li Wei thought, his fingers white-knuckling around the handle of his chisel.

'Please come up with something.'

Anything.

Li Wei didn’t know how long he stood there, numb fingers carving and shaping, his mind detached from the raw sting of his lungs and the weight dragging at his bones. His thoughts were adrift, splintered between memories of Elder Ming’s gentle wisdom and the harsh reality of his father's pallid face as he lay bedridden.

Eventually, the work blurred, and he found himself standing in his own doorway, unsure when he'd even left Elder Ming’s home.

His father lay quiet in bed, chest barely rising with shallow breaths. Li Wei approached slowly, his heart tightening. He knelt beside the bed, gently touching his father’s hand; it was cold, clammy, the veins standing starkly beneath skin.

Something in Li Wei broke.

He had borne it all with forced maturity, convinced he could suffer quietly in place of others. But this was too much. Elder Ming, his father, the entire village... they couldn't endure this silently forever. Not when there was still hope. Kai wouldn't want them to hide their pain; he knew that as surely as he knew the grain of each plank he'd shaped.

Li Wei's resolve shattered, replaced by raw desperation.

He was moving before he could even think. Out the door, boots pounding across the mud. Faces blurred past as he stumbled toward Kai’s shop, lungs searing from more than just the plague. When he reached the door, his hand lifted to knock—

It swung open sharply.

Kai stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the warm glow inside. His face, hollow-eyed and exhausted, softened instantly upon seeing Li Wei.

“What’s wrong?” Kai asked urgently, his voice strained but steady.

Li Wei opened his mouth, but words wouldn’t come; only ragged breaths, tears blurring his vision. He barely managed to choke out, “Elder Ming—and my dad…”

Kai’s expression hardened, not in anger but determination. He reached out, gripping Li Wei's shoulder firmly. “Gather everyone,” he said, calm and commanding. “Bring them to the village square. Every single person. Can you do that for me?”

Li Wei nodded fiercely, turning on trembling legs and running back through the village. His voice cracked with urgency as he shouted into open doorways and through windows. Slowly, painfully, doors opened. Villagers emerged, pale and hesitant, blinking against daylight they’d hidden from for days.

Li Wei ran to Elder Ming’s courtyard, carefully lifting the elder, supporting him gently toward the square. Elder Ming murmured weak protests, but allowed himself to be guided, leaning heavily on Li Wei’s young shoulders.

Then he returned for his father, half-conscious and shivering. As Li Wei brought him to the square, others helped neighbors, children supported elders, and soon the entire village gathered in solemn, uneasy silence.

At the center, Kai waited, Tianyi and Windy behind him, visibly weakened. Their eyes, usually bright with life, were dimmed with exhaustion. Yet Kai stood tall, a beacon of quiet resolve.

“Is everyone here?” Kai called.

A weak chorus affirmed. Li Wei’s heart pounded painfully in his chest as Kai reached into his robes and withdrew a small vial. Li Wei’s stomach lurched. One vial.

Just one.

His heart sank further, thoughts racing. Of course, it was too much to expect a miracle for everyone. There would have to be a choice.

Li Wei swallowed hard, readying himself to speak.

But before he could even raise his hand, Kai held the vial high.

And dashed it onto the ground.

The villagers gasped collectively, a wave of confusion rippling through them.

“What—?” Li Wei began, voice hoarse with shock.

A hiss escaped the broken glass as the vial shattered, and an iridescent plume of smoke burst outward from the stone.

It wasn’t loud.

It didn’t glow, didn’t crackle with power like a divine spell from the old stories. Just a soft pink plume, rising slow and steady, carried on the breeze like morning mist after rain.

Li Wei coughed once. Reflexive, startled.

Then paused.

With each breath he drew, something shifted.

The chill lodged in his chest began to lift, not with the force of fire but with the slow persistence of warmth returning to cold hands. The ache behind his eyes dulled. His throat no longer burned with rawness.

His body, so used to fatigue it had become a second skin, remembered what it meant to breathe deep.

Not just him.

All around the square, the villagers froze.

An old man sagging against his daughter blinked and stood a little straighter. A child curled beside her mother stirred, eyes wide. Even Elder Ming, resting against a stool, looked up slowly, lips parting in quiet awe.

The air changed.

Li Wei stared at the dissipating smoke, the last curl vanishing into the sky, and the realization struck.

It hadn’t been a cure for one.

It had been a cure for all.

His legs nearly gave out, and he sank to his knees, head bowed.

Tears hit the earth. Not bitter ones.

He laughed, just once. Harsh and breathless.

“I thought you were going to make us choose,” he muttered.

Kai stepped forward, slow but steady, gaze sweeping across the crowd. His voice, when it came, was soft but firm. “I said I’d find something. I meant it.”

No one cheered.

But the silence that followed was louder than any celebration.

A silence made not of fear, but of breath finally drawn without pain.