Collecting the Herbs

The mountain's breath was a cold whisper against their skin as they stood on the peak, gazing upwards. Boughs of ancient trees cradled the sky, and nestled among them, like a secret whispered from leaf to leaf, was the herb they sought. Its leaves glimmered with the promise of healing, but it clung to life high above, where the trunk split into a cradle of branches.

"Up there," Chengyu pointed, his voice barely more than a murmur, betraying an undercurrent of urgency. He attempted to scale the tree first, his fingers fumbling for holds on the rough bark, but his weight betrayed him, sending a shower of brittle twigs to the ground.

"Let me," Xiangcui insisted, her own hands gripping the trunk with determination etched into the lines of her face. However, gravity proved a cruel mistress, and the tree seemed to reject their desperate advances with every creak and groan of its aged limbs.

"Perhaps..." Maque's voice tiptoed into the conversation, tentative as a fawn testing new legs. Her eyes, large and dark, flickered to the prize above and then back to her companions. "Perhaps I could try?"

There was an eloquence in her shyness, a quiet strength that had carried her through the whispers of the forest and the watchful eyes of predatory birds. Maque had learned to be small, to be unseen, but now the very essence of her being—the delicate lightness that had once been her shield—could be the very thing to lift them all.

"Are you certain, Maque?" Chengyu's eyes narrowed, not with doubt but with the protective instinct that had become as much a part of him as breathing. He saw in her the fragility of the most precious herbs he had ever ground into potions and tinctures.

Maque nodded, her heart fluttering against her rib cage, a captive bird yearning for the freedom of the skies. She approached the tree, each step measured, deliberate. Her hands reached out, finding solace in the bark's texture, reading it like braille, understanding the silent language of the wood.

She began her ascent, muscles tensing and relaxing in a rhythm as old as time. Below, Chengyu's hands clenched and unclenched, mirroring Maque's movements as if he could lend her his strength from afar. Xiangcui watched with the intensity of a hawk, ready to leap forward at the slightest sign of danger.

Maque climbed higher, her body swaying with the tree, becoming one with its ebb and flow. The wind sang its approval, rustling the leaves in soft applause, coaxing her further up towards the heavens.

"Careful," Chengyu called, the word heavy with unspoken fears. His voice was the thread tethering her to the earth, a reminder that she was not alone in this dance with the sky.

The herb was within reach now, a cluster of green amidst a sea of brown and grey. Maque stretched out her hand, her fingertips brushing against the leaves. A smile bloomed on her lips, a rare flower nourished by triumph and hope.

"Got it!" she exclaimed, her voice cascading down to her companions like a clear mountain stream. Clutching the herb to her chest, she began her descent, each step a careful retracing of her earlier path.

Chengyu exhaled a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, relief washing over him in waves. Xiangcui's shoulders relaxed, and the tension that had seized the trio dissipated into the crisp mountain air.

"Thank you, Maque," Chengyu said, his voice thick with gratitude as their young companion touched solid ground once more, the herb safe in her grasp. In that moment, they were bound by more than their shared quest—they were kin forged by trust and the wild heartbeat of the mountain.

3 - 4

Chengyu's heart was a drum, its rhythm erratic as he watched Maque's ascent. The ancient tree seemed to cradle her small form, leaves whispering secrets of the wind as she moved higher. "Keep your grip sure," he instructed, his voice betraying the knot of worry in his stomach.

"Trust me," Maque replied, her tone light but with an undercurrent of steel. She had the grace of a leaf on the breeze, yet each placement of her hand and foot was deliberate, born of a determination that belied her delicate frame.

Xiangcui stood beside Chengyu, eyes fixed upwards. "She's like a little squirrel," he murmured, a smile tugging at his lips despite the tension that clung to them like dew on grass.

"More like a bird," Chengyu corrected softly, watching Maque navigate the branches with an innate understanding of balance and movement.

As Maque made her way back down, the herb secure in her possession, their cheers shattered the silent reverence of the peak. They had climbed through the veil of clouds together, and now they stood triumphant, a shared joy knitting their spirits together.

"What now?" Xiangcui asked, his gaze lingering on Maque. The question hung between them, ripe with possibility.

Maque brushed a loose strand of hair from her face, the sunlight casting a warm glow on her features. "I don't know," she confessed, her voice a melodic lilt against the backdrop of the mountain's stoic presence.

"Your father," Chengyu ventured gently, the words carving a path through the uncertainty. "The men who took you—they were after silver for his funeral?"

A shadow flitted across Maque's face, like a cloud passing over the sun. "Yes," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "He's gone to the stars, and they thought to sell me to pay for his passage."

Chengyu's hands clenched involuntarily, anger and sorrow warring within him. He saw in Maque's resolve a kindred spirit, one sculpted by loss and necessity. It was not so different from Xiangcui's past, from the wounds that time could not heal.

"Then we will figure it out together," Xiangcui said, placing a reassuring hand on Maque's shoulder. His eyes held a promise, one born of shared hardships and the unspoken bond that tethered them.

"Indeed," Chengyu echoed, allowing himself a moment to envision a future where Maque's talents would bloom like the rarest of herbs they had sought. "Together."

The wind, having whispered through the high branches all morning, now held its breath. Chengyu's gaze traced the horizon, where the sky met the jagged teeth of distant peaks. In this suspended moment, the world seemed to wait for his decision, a silent audience to the unfolding drama.

"Xiangcui," he said softly, his voice barely carrying over the hush, "do you remember the first day you crushed herbs in the mortar? How your hands were unsure, untested?"

Xiangcui nodded, the corners of his lips tilting upwards at the memory. "I do. Xiuqin was there, guiding me. Without her, I would've been lost."

"Life writes in strange strokes," Chengyu mused aloud, half to himself. The recollection brought forth a surge of empathy. He could see Xiangcui's past self in Maque: both young, uprooted, and on the precipice of a new beginning.

"Chengyu?" Maque's voice was tentative, a bird readying for flight but unsure of its wings.

Chengyu turned to her, his decision crystallizing like the frost that sometimes clung to the mountain pines at dawn. His heart quickened; he recognized this as a pivotal juncture in their shared journey—a chance to mold the future from the clay of present circumstances.

"Your father," he began, choosing his words with care, "would be proud of the courage you've shown today."

Maque's eyes shimmered, reflecting the vast sky above them. She blinked rapidly, as if to hold back the tide of emotions threatening to spill over.

"Then let us honor him." With a swift motion born out of a sudden joyous impulse, Chengyu reached for Maque, his hands finding her slender shoulders. He lifted her from the ground in one smooth, exhilarating spin. "We will keep you with us, Maque," he declared, his voice rising like the crescendo of a hopeful melody. "And you shall become an apothecary, a keeper of healing wisdom."

As he set her down, her feet touching the earth once more, a burst of laughter escaped Maque, mingling with tears that now ran unhindered down her cheeks. The rawness of her happiness was palpable, a thing alive that danced upon the wind.

"Really?" Maque's question was a mix of incredulity and wonder, her tear-streaked face alight with the prospect of a future she had not dared to imagine.

"Truly," Chengyu affirmed, his own heart swelling with a sense of purpose renewed. He watched as Xiangcui stepped forward and wrapped Maque in an embrace, the three of them forming an island of solidarity against the backdrop of the world's vastness.

"Welcome to our family," Xiangcui murmured, his voice steady and strong.

In this embrace, high atop the mountain, surrounded by the whispers of ancient trees and the infinite expanse of sky, they forged a new bond—one not of blood, but of choice and destiny intertwined. And within this chosen family, Maque found something she thought forever lost: hope.