The barn settled into a fragile routine.
Wang Lin learned the pattern of Mei Niu's pain quickly. Mornings were the worst. Her shoulder stiffened overnight, the wound aching as if it resented being disturbed. He helped her sit up slowly, supporting her back while she bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out.
Midday was easier. The warmth eased her muscles. Her breathing steadied. She could speak without losing focus.
Evenings were unpredictable. Sometimes she slept. Sometimes the fever threatened to return, her skin growing hot and slick beneath his fingers until he soaked cloth after cloth with water and prayed it would be enough.
They spoke little at first.
Not out of hostility, but caution.
Trust, Wang Lin was learning, was not a switch. It was a slow accumulation of moments that did not end in pain.
He foraged during the day, never straying too far. Wild roots. Bitter leaves. Anything that might help reduce infection. He found a shallow stream not far from the barn and marked the path carefully, breaking branches and stacking stones so he could return quickly.
Each time he left, Mei Niu watched him go.
Each time he returned, she exhaled softly when she saw him.
That alone told him how deep her fear ran.
On the third day, she asked him to sit closer.
"Not because I am afraid," she said stiffly. "Because I am cold."
It was a lie.
He sat anyway.
She leaned against the barn wall, her uninjured arm wrapped loosely around her middle. Her breathing was steadier now. The color had returned to her cheeks. Her eyes were clearer.
"You should have left," she said again.
Wang Lin rinsed blood from a cloth in a wooden bucket. "You already said that."
"I will keep saying it until you understand," Mei Niu replied. "They will come back."
"I know."
"You cannot fight them."
"I know."
"You cannot run from them forever."
"I know."
She frowned. "Then why are you still here."
He wrung out the cloth and returned to her side. "Because you are not strong enough to move yet."
"That will change."
"Yes," he agreed. "But not today."
She studied his face as if trying to find the line where courage became stupidity.
She did not find it.
"Humans like you do not survive long," she said quietly.
Wang Lin smiled faintly. "Then I suppose I am already overdue."
That earned him a huff of reluctant amusement.
Her appetite returned slowly. At first she could only manage a few bites. Later, she ate more, though she still tired quickly. Her body demanded energy, and she did not have the reserves to give.
On the fourth night, she grew restless.
She shifted in the straw, breath uneven, fingers flexing at her sides. Wang Lin noticed immediately.
"What is it," he asked.
She hesitated.
"My body is out of balance," she said finally. "I am producing, but there is nowhere for it to go."
He frowned. "Producing what."
She looked away. "Milk."
The word felt heavier than it should have.
"In the gardens," she continued, voice tight, "they controlled it. Timed it. Forced it out when it built too much. If it stagnates…"
Her hand drifted to her abdomen unconsciously.
"…it causes pain. Fever. Sometimes worse."
Wang Lin's stomach clenched.
"I did not know," he said.
"You are not supposed to," Mei Niu replied. "Humans do not care to learn."
Silence settled.
Wang Lin looked at her wound. Healing, but slow. Her body was fighting on too many fronts.
"Is there anything I can do," he asked.
She shook her head immediately. "No."
The refusal was sharp. Absolute.
He nodded. "All right."
She watched him closely.
"You did not argue," she said.
"I asked," Wang Lin replied. "You answered."
Her shoulders loosened slightly.
That night, she slept better.
On the fifth day, Wang Lin noticed something strange.
The pendant was warmer than usual.
Not pulsing. Not glowing. Just… aware.
He ignored it at first.
By evening, he could not.
Mei Niu was sitting up on her own, back against the wall, breathing slowly. Her shoulder was bandaged cleanly. She looked stronger. Still weak, but no longer fading.
She noticed his distraction.
"You keep touching it," she said.
He looked down at his chest. His fingers were indeed resting against the wooden pendant.
"It has been warmer lately," he admitted.
Her eyes narrowed.
"May I look at it," she asked.
He hesitated, then nodded. "Yes."
She leaned forward carefully and reached out, stopping just short of touching it.
The air between them felt… tense.
Charged.
Her breath caught.
"Do you feel that?" she asked.
"I feel something," Wang Lin said. "I do not know what."
"It is responding," Mei Niu whispered. "To me. To my presence."
She swallowed.
"This is old," she said. "Very old. I have felt relics before, but nothing like this."
"What does that mean," Wang Lin asked.
She shook her head slowly. "I do not know. Only that it is watching."
The word sent a chill down his spine.
That night, she dreamed.
Wang Lin knew because she spoke.
Her voice was soft at first, broken and indistinct.
"No. Please. I will do better."
He froze.
Her breathing quickened. Her body tensed.
"They said I was defective," she whispered. "Not enough output. Not worth the feed."
Wang Lin moved closer, careful not to touch her.
"They said they would fix me."
Her hands clenched into fists.
"They locked me down. They did not ask."
Her voice cracked.
Wang Lin's jaw tightened until it hurt.
"Mei Niu," he said softly. "You are safe."
She gasped, eyes snapping open.
For a heartbeat, terror filled them.
Then she saw him.
The barn. The straw. The dim lantern light.
She sagged back against the wall, shaking.
"I am sorry," she said hoarsely.
"You have nothing to apologize for," Wang Lin replied.
She wiped her face with trembling fingers. "If my body reacts unexpectedly," she said quietly, "it is not consent."
"I understand," Wang Lin said.
That surprised her.
She studied him again, then nodded once.
On the sixth day, she was able to stand.
Barely.
Wang Lin supported her weight, one arm around her waist, the other bracing her good shoulder. She leaned heavily against him, breath coming in short bursts as her legs trembled beneath her.
"Slowly," he said.
She nodded, jaw clenched.
They took three steps.
She nearly collapsed.
Wang Lin caught her, heart pounding, and guided her back down gently.
She laughed weakly. "Pathetic."
"You were nearly dead," he replied. "This is progress."
Her laughter faded.
"I should be producing more," she said. "It would help me recover faster."
Wang Lin said nothing.
She looked at him sharply. "Do not offer."
"I was not going to," he replied.
Silence stretched.
She looked away.
"That is not why I said it," she murmured. "I only wanted you to understand the problem."
"I do," Wang Lin said.
That night, the forest grew restless.
Branches cracked in the distance. Once, voices carried faintly through the trees. Human voices.
Wang Lin extinguished the lantern immediately.
They sat in the dark, barely breathing.
The sounds passed.
But the message was clear.
Time was running out.
As dawn approached, Mei Niu spoke again.
"If I do not balance my body soon," she said quietly, "I will slow my own healing."
Wang Lin closed his eyes briefly.
"What would normally be done," he asked.
She hesitated.
"In captivity," she said, "they would force it. Pills. Formations. Hands that do not care."
"And in the wild," he asked.
She was silent for a long time.
"Choice," she said at last. "Or patience. Sometimes both."
Wang Lin opened his eyes.
"We will not force anything," he said. "And we do not have the luxury of patience."
Her gaze met his.
Understanding flickered there. Fear. And something else.
Curiosity.
The pendant against his chest warmed again.
Neither of them spoke of it.
But both of them felt the world shifting, slowly and inexorably, toward a moment neither could yet name.