Night fell like a confession.The infirmary emptied slowly, one candle at a time, until only the smell of mint and wet linen remained.I washed my hands in the basin by the door and watched the water cloud with dust and bloodless grime—evidence of labor, not battle. The Codex whispered from somewhere just beneath the pulse of my wrist:
Task metrics complete.Residual resonance detected: compassion threads forming.
I looked up—and for a heartbeat, the room changed.
Threads, faint as breath, glimmered between the beds.One anchored in Sister Mei's heart, trembling with exhaustion but shining with purpose.Another stretched from Lian, the fevered boy, to his mother, their strands braided tight in a helix of trust.And from each of them, delicate filaments drifted outward—into walls, floors, the sky beyond the shuttered windows—until the whole infirmary looked like a vast web spun of quiet grace.
When I blinked, they vanished, leaving only the scent of herbs and sleep.
"Seeing ghosts already?" a voice murmured.Xue Lan leaned against the doorframe, her basket empty now, hands clasped before her. The lamplight made her look carved from candlewax and dusk.
"Something like that," I said. "Only these ghosts are alive."
She stepped closer, eyes searching my face. "You look different."
"Different?"
"Calmer," she said, then added with a half-smile, "or older."
I smiled back. "Perhaps both. The Codex keeps strange company. It teaches through riddles."
"I'd call that karma," she said, setting her basket aside. "The idea that every act sends a thread through time, touching what it must."
"You make it sound simple."
"It isn't," she admitted. "But it keeps the hands steady."
We shared the silence that follows when words have reached their limit.The Codex pulsed again, faint but insistent.
New objective available: Observe karmic repercussions.Hint: Compassion invites witness.
As if on cue, the infirmary door banged open. A young messenger, breathless and mud-splattered, stumbled in. "Master Qi requests your presence," he wheezed. "Immediately."
The words folded the room in half. Sister Mei stiffened. Xue Lan's brow furrowed.I set the towel aside and straightened, heart already racing in protest of its own imagination.
Master Qi waited in the lower hall—the same chamber of maps and incense where justice and arithmetic were often mistaken for one another.He did not look angry. That was the first danger.When a man like Master Qi smiled, it meant he'd found a new way to make mercy hurt.
"You served well," he said, gesturing for me to kneel. "Reports from the infirmary are… glowing. You are a man of hidden talents."
"I only followed instructions."
"Indeed." His fingers traced invisible symbols on the arm of his chair. "The sect values those who follow. It values even more those who inspire others to do so. You have drawn attention."
He let the words hang.The Codex hummed, unreadable:
External observation logged. Power structure interest increasing.
Master Qi continued, voice silk-wrapped steel. "Ling Yue spoke in your favor, did you know? He believes you might yet be molded into something useful. Not all agree."
"I didn't ask for a favor."
"No one ever does," he said, smiling. "But it's given all the same. You'll find it has weight."
I waited. The man enjoyed pauses as tools; he used them the way a craftsman uses chisels.
"The patron arrives soon," he went on. "A donor of great influence. We will host a demonstration—a proof of our harmony. You will assist the healers during the presentation. You have become our… example."
An example. A symbol of obedience repainted as redemption.I bowed. "As the elders wish."
He waved me off, already finished with me as a person, cataloguing me instead as an entry in a ledger. When I turned, I caught Ling Yue watching from the doorway.His expression was unreadable: approval and warning braided into one.
The night after, I walked the quiet paths between the wards, the Codex whispering like rain in my skull.I had done nothing heroic, yet ripples moved through the sect like whispers in a library—soft, contagious.Outer disciples nodded to me now, cautious but not unfriendly. Some said "Scholar Shen" instead of "mad quill."Even the infirmary's youngest novices left a cup of tea by my cot.
It felt good, and that frightened me.Reputation was another thread, easy to tangle.
I asked the Codex, half to test its humor: "Do threads ever bind the hand that weaves them?"
Inevitable.
"Then what is the lesson of compassion?"
That every kindness changes leverage.
I thought about that while watching mist rise from the river.Maybe compassion wasn't about gentleness—it was about balance, the unseen arithmetic between mercy and responsibility. Every act of help shifted weight; every gesture rewrote the subtle contracts between souls.
Far away, a bell tolled three times.In that sound, I felt the faint tug of the web I had glimpsed earlier—each toll a vibration, each vibration touching a life I hadn't yet met.
I returned to my cot and lay staring at the ceiling until dawn washed it gray.The Codex dimmed to silence, perhaps satisfied.Somewhere within that silence, I understood that my trial wasn't over. The infirmary had been the question, not the answer.
At sunrise, Sister Mei found me standing outside with my sleeves rolled, ready for another day."You came early," she said, amused.
"I wanted to see if compassion works twice."
"Then start with yourself," she said, handing me a cup of tea. "The fever patient you tend most is still named Wei Shen."
I smiled, warmed more by her words than the tea.The Codex stayed quiet, but I could almost feel its agreement humming beneath my ribs like a heartbeat learning a new rhythm.