The mayor's house in Brookwood was a two-story log home, a bit larger than most places in town. A wooden sign over the doorframe read "Brookwood Town Hall." Two pots of sunflowers stood on the steps, in full bloom, golden petals turned to the sun and giving off a warm feeling.
Tom stepped up and knocked. Soon the door opened and a woman in a dark-blue dress came out. She looked around forty, her hair loosely tied in a bun with a wooden hairpin. She smiled, yet her bright eyes showed a brisk, capable nature—this was the mayor, Irene.
"Tom, Lily, it's you?"
Irene's gaze went first to Tom's leg, her brows lifting in surprise. "Your leg is better? Yesterday I heard you were clawed by a magic-corrupted hare—I was worried."
"Thanks to Ling Yue!"
Tom quickly pushed Ling Yue forward. "Mayor, this is Ling Yue, he came from outside. He healed my leg with herbs and just saved little Jack from the Ben family! He can't remember anything right now, so we thought to ask for your help to find some clues."
Irene looked at Ling Yue without the surprise or doubt other villagers had shown. She studied him gently—the blue-green short tunic he wore, the bronze medicine box in his arms, and finally the hint of confusion in his eyes. She smiled and moved aside. "Come in, all of you. It's chilly out. Mr. Ling Yue, no matter where you're from, if you saved Tom and little Jack, you are a guest of Brookwood."
Inside, Irene poured them hot barley tea. The smell was rich, and warmth spread through them as they drank. Holding the warm clay cup, Ling Yue felt his tight nerves loosen a little. Irene sat opposite and asked softly, "Mr. Ling Yue, besides knowing herbs, do you have any other impressions? Maybe a certain sound or image? Or are you carrying anything special?"
Ling Yue touched the false layer in his medicine box by habit—the half piece of black jade lay there. He had felt it before sleep last night. A single character, "shaman," was carved on it, the lines special, like a mark. He hesitated, then took it out and set it on the table. "Only this, and the box. I feel the pattern on the jade means something, but I can't remember."
Irene lifted the pendant and held it to the light from the window. The jade was a deep green, smooth and warm. The carved "shaman" was clean and flowing, unlike patterns common in the West. She thought for a moment. "I haven't seen this before. It isn't the Magic Council's crest, and not any nearby noble house either. But… I think I saw something similar in an old travel book my grandfather left. It said that in the East there is a mysterious people who heal with herbs and silver needles, and their tools often carry such unique patterns."
"The East?"
The two words tugged at Ling Yue like a hook. A hazy scene flashed in his mind: a valley full of herbs, a small wooden hut, an old man in a short tunic like his sitting outside to sun-dry plants, humming a tune he couldn't place. Before he could see the old man's face, the image faded, leaving a hollow ache in his chest.
"Yes, the East"
Irene said, handing the jade back, her tone firm. "I haven't opened that travelogue in a while. It should still be on a shelf in the attic. I'll find it for you later—maybe it will help you remember something." She paused, then added, "About where you'll stay… I've heard about Grey's attitude. He won't let you stay in the medical quarter. There's an old kitchen garden outside town. It used to grow vegetables, but after the magic-plant spores spread, it went to waste. If you don't mind, there's a small hut beside it. It's simple, but it keeps out wind and rain. The soil is rich too—perfect for the herbs you need."
Ling Yue was a little surprised. He hadn't expected Irene to trust him so much—not only helping him search for clues, but also giving him a place to live and a plot to plant. He tightened his hold on the jade and said in a low voice, "Thank you, Mayor. I'll put the garden in order and do my best to treat everyone."
"Good"
Irene said with a smile, standing up. "I'll take you to see it now. Tom, Lily, come along if you're free and help Mr. Ling Yue tidy the hut."
Tom and Lily nodded at once, excited. The four left together and headed out of town. The garden was not far away, ringed with a low wooden fence covered in dead vines. Weeds crowded the beds, but the soil was dark and fertile, and traces of old rows could still be seen. A small hut stood beside it; the thatch on the roof was worn, but the walls were solid. Inside, there was only an old wooden bed and a little table—after a clean-up it would be livable.
"This is great!"
Lily ran into the garden, pushing aside weeds. "Look how sunny it is! There's a brook right there too—watering will be easy! Ling Yue, if you want to plant herbs, we can help you weed and turn the soil!"
Tom nodded again and again. "Right! I'll come help first thing tomorrow. A lot of folks in town owe you favors—they'll pitch in, too!"
Ling Yue stood in the garden while the wind brushed his clothes and brought the smell of earth and grass. He looked at the barren yet lively plot, then at Tom and Lily's warm faces. A hollow place in his heart seemed quietly filled. He crouched and pressed his fingers into the soil—the damp earth wrapped them and breathed with life.
"Thank you."
He lifted the corners of his mouth—the first smile since he came to this world. It was light, like a thin ray, yet it brightened the confusion in his eyes. Tom and Lily blinked, a little stunned—so the quiet stranger could smile this gently.
Irene watched and showed a pleased smile of her own. She turned to Ling Yue. "I'll go back and find that travelogue now. If you need tools, go to Old George at the blacksmith by the gate. Say I sent you—he'll give you a better price." After a few more reminders, she left.
They started to work.
Tom fixed the roof, Lily cleaned the hut, and Ling Yue took a hoe to clear the weeds in the garden. The sun climbed higher and stretched their three shadows long. Sometimes a villager passed by, saw them busy, and came to help—some brought seeds, some tools, some bread and water.
As he weeded, Ling Yue listened to their talk—news of the town, troubles with the magic-plant spores, complaints about Grey. He didn't join in, but kept it all in mind. He looked down at the hoe in his hands, then at the small patch they had just cleared, and thought quietly: Maybe here I can not only find my past, but also plant a future of my own.
Near dusk, Irene came back with a yellowed travelogue. She handed it to Ling Yue. "This is the one. See if anything looks familiar. It's late and you've had a long day. Rest early—we'll talk more tomorrow."
Ling Yue took the book. The cover was worn, and the Western title read Travels in the East. He opened the first page; a dried petal was pressed inside. The ink was faded but readable. He sat at the table and, by the last light from the window, turned the pages one by one. Tom and Lily leaned in close; the three heads together in the warm, dim light made a tender picture.
When he reached one page, his finger stopped. There was a simple drawing—a person in a blue-green short tunic placing a silver needle into another person's arm. Beside them was a bronze medicine box; the cloud pattern on it was exactly the same as his. A line of small text read: "Eastern shaman-physicians use needles as tools and herbs as medicine, curing a hundred ailments."
"Hey— isn't that your medicine box?!"
Lily pointed at the picture in surprise. "And look at the clothes—just like yours!"
Ling Yue's heart thudded. He stared at the drawing as the scene in his mind grew clear—the old man drying herbs held a silver needle just like the one in the picture; the tune he hummed seemed close to the "Eastern healer's chant" noted in the book.
He took a deep breath and gripped the travelogue.