Misfortune Favors the Poor

The sun hung low over the bustling market, casting long shadows that danced between the stalls and the haggling customers. Chengyu meandered through the throng, a list of supplies etched in his memory. He was a healer by trade and disposition, attuned to the subtleties of the human condition. The tang of medicinal herbs mingled with the aroma of street food, but the scent was undercut by something else — something acrid and unsettling.

"Excuse me," he murmured, sidestepping a peddler displaying vibrant silks. His eyes were drawn to a figure slumped against a crate, their face ashen, breaths coming in shallow gasps. Without hesitation, Chengyu knelt beside them, his hands moving with practiced assurance to feel for fever, for swollen glands.

"Water," he called out, and a passerby placed a flask into his outstretched hand. He pressed it gently to the sick person's lips. "Can you tell me what ails you?" he asked, his voice a calming balm.

"Nobody knows," rasped the figure weakly. "It's everywhere."

Chengyu's brow furrowed as he glanced around, noting others who exhibited similar symptoms: a persistent cough here, a wince of pain there. A sense of duty swelled within him, a need to stem this tide of malaise that seemed to be sweeping through the marketplace like an invisible flood.

"Out of my way," came a soft voice, urgent but not unkind. Chengyu looked up to see a young woman pushing through the crowd, her eyes rimmed with fatigue. She carried a basket filled with modest remedies and reached out to help another stricken soul.

"Thank you," Chengyu said as he stood, dusting off his robe. "Do you know what has befallen these people?"

She shook her head, strands of hair sticking to her damp forehead. "It's bad this time. Xiuqin, the one who looks after us when sickness strikes, she's fallen ill herself. With her bedridden, it's chaos."

"Xiuqin?" His heart skipped; he knew of her, a colleague in healing, though they seldom crossed paths due to their differing districts. "Is there no one else to help?"

"Who would dare? The richer quarters have their own to worry about, and we—" She gestured to the sea of ailing bodies. "We're left to fend for ourselves."

Chengyu felt a familiar tug, the pull towards action that had guided much of his life. He nodded, resolute. "Then we shall do what we can, together. Show me those most in need."

The young woman led on, and Chengyu followed, dispensing aid where he could, his thoughts whirring like the wings of a dragonfly. 'In the absence of those we rely upon, who steps forward?' he pondered. 'And am I ready to be the one they now depend on?'

As they moved from patient to patient, the young woman watched him, her gaze carrying a mix of gratitude and desperation. Their shared mission formed an unspoken bond, a thread of common purpose weaving through the clatter and clamor of the market.

"Is there no end to this?" Chengyu muttered under his breath, though not without a hint of determination. He could not allow despair to cloud his focus; there were lives at stake, and he was here, his hands ready to work, his mind set on finding a cure.

"Today, we do what we can," he told the woman with a firm nod. "Tomorrow, we face anew. For now, let us bring solace to those who suffer."

In the muted light of a dying day, the market's exuberance had dimmed to a somber twilight. Chengyu moved through the throng like a ghost, dispensing what relief he could from his modest bag of herbs and remedies. His fingers worked deftly, guided by years of study under the tutelage of the enigmatic Xiuqin, whose absence now cast a long shadow over the cobbled streets.

"Xiuqin... she would come here?" Chengyu asked the young woman as he crushed leaves into a poultice with practiced ease. "And Xiangcui too?"

"Like clockwork," she replied, her voice tinted with reverence. "Bringing salves, potions—hope. They were our hidden guardians."

Chengyu paused, his hands stilling for a moment as he absorbed this new revelation. 'To move in silence, to heal without seeking acclaim,' he mused, the knowledge settling in his chest like a stone in still waters. 'There is a quiet honor in that—a path walked in humble shoes.'

"Then we have much to do," Chengyu said aloud, reigniting the flame of resolve within him. He moved on, his actions becoming more deliberate, each step a testament to the legacy left by those before him.

As the hours waned, Chengyu's once steady hands began to tremor with fatigue, yet he persisted, moving from stall to stoop, from weary merchant to exhausted courtesan. Every face told a story, every grateful nod fueled his determination. The night gathered around him, wrapping the scene in its inky embrace, yet still he worked.

"Hey there," called a raspy voice, breaking Chengyu's reverie. It was the man from the food stall, his apron stained with the day's labor. In his hands, he carried a bowl brimming with steaming noodles. "You've been at it all day. Eat."

Chengyu looked up, realizing only then the ache in his belly, the hollow emptiness that mirrored the desolation he fought against. He nodded, accepting the offering with a weary smile. "Thank you, friend."

"None of that," the man chided gently as Chengyu sank onto an abandoned crate. "You're doing her work," he gestured vaguely in the direction Xiuqin would have come from, "and that's enough for gratitude."

Slurping the noodles, Chengyu allowed their warmth to seep into him, the flavors a balm to his spirit. He peered out at the market, now shrouded in darkness, its usual vibrancy dulled to a murmur. 'This is but one night,' he thought, placing the empty bowl beside him. 'Tomorrow, I will continue. For Xiuqin, for Xiangcui, for all who find themselves adrift in these troubled waters.'

His eyes, heavy with exhaustion, took in the constellation of lanterns bobbing gently in the breeze. 'A healer's work is never done,' he reflected, letting out a slow breath. 'But in the tapestry of life, each thread has its place, and I am content to be one such strand.'

The world around him faded to a hush, and for a brief moment, Chengyu rested, cradled in the arms of a world that, despite its suffering, still held moments of unexpected kindness.