As the day began to wane, patients were brought in one after another, as if hastened by the fading sunlight.
All of them were emaciated, their faces partially covered with a milky white crystalline layer. Occasionally, they groaned, calling out for help like small children seeking their parents. Among them was Sugi-chan’s son, and even Azusa’s husband and son. Since Azusa couldn’t carry them herself, she enlisted the help of other farmers to bring them.
In the end, nearly all the villagers of Wangqing gathered.
“Miss, I’ve brought them as you asked… but even after carrying them all this way, there’s no sign of them waking up. There’s no way they can take any medicine,” one villager said.
“It’s all right. Just let them smell this, and they’ll regain consciousness,” Fei Ling said confidently, opening the lid of a pot.
A warm steam billowed out, carrying a strong aroma.
“What is this smell?”
“Never smelled anything like it before… but it’s making me hungry,” Sugi and Azusa exchanged glances.
The aroma, stimulating their appetite, seemed to work as a restorative. One by one, the patients began to moan faintly and regain consciousness. Sitting up with the help of their family members, the patients seemed to still be caught in a dream, unresponsive to their families’ calls.
And yet, from somewhere among them came a murmur:
“…I’m hungry.”
It was a statement born of pure instinct. The desire to eat was, in other words, a desire to live.
(That’s good. As long as that desire remains, the medicine will surely take effect.)
Fei Ling began ladling portions of the stew into wooden bowls and handed them to the patients.
“Please, have some. This is curry.”
It wasn’t just a stew over rice. No, it was stir-fried rice topped with a thick herbal curry. The ingredients included carrots, garlic, mushrooms, tender chicken, and softened chicken gizzards that fell apart at the touch of a spoon. The stew, cooked over a long period, looked utterly delicious.
“Is this… medicine?”
Everyone gulped audibly, anticipation filling the room.
“You promised to taste it first, didn’t you, Lan Xin?”
“Uh, y-yes…”
Lan Xin, handed a spoon, was trembling slightly. Perhaps it was because of what had happened earlier. Even so, she forced a smile and lifted the spoon to her mouth.
“…”
A long, tense silence hung in the air.
“What’s wrong?”
“Could it really be poison? I mean, it was made from such suspicious ingredients…”
Seeing Lan Xin remain silent, neither swallowing nor spitting out the food, unease began to ripple through the group. If she showed any signs of distress, it would be impossible to get the patients to eat the medicine.
(Lan Xin… whether these patients survive or not depends on you. You can hate me all you want, but please…)
Fei Ling bit her lip, watching Lan Xin intently. At last, Lan Xin’s eyelashes fluttered, and a single shadow fell across the teardrop mole on her cheek.
“…It’s delicious.”
After a moment of internal conflict, Lan Xin’s expression crumbled into a smile. She couldn’t lie about how good it tasted, no matter how much she wanted to. It was as if she were admitting defeat.
“All right, now, let’s serve it to the patients,” Fei Ling announced brightly.
The families scooped curry with spoons and offered it to the patients. Even as they drifted between sleep and wakefulness, the aroma drew the patients to open their mouths and accept the food.
“…Ah…”
A faint sound of astonishment escaped from the patients. It wasn’t an expression of “delicious” or “awful.” Rather, their inarticulate sounds conveyed a deep, primal joy—a sense of being filled. Tears seeped from the crystalline layer covering their faces.
“Is it good? That’s great… eat as much as you want, eat it all,” Sugi said, patting his son’s head affectionately. Though his son was well past thirty, he would always be a child in his father’s eyes.
The patients ate voraciously, as if to fill the hunger that had consumed them.
The crystallized toxin was the root of the illness, accompanied by water poisoning. However, the toxin itself was a “metal poison,” intertwined with the corrupting influence of death, known as “yin poison.” Since blood contains iron, it contributed to this metal-based toxicity.
Minerals dissolve under fire.
To counteract metal poison, a fire-based medicine was necessary. But it had to be strong enough to combat water poisoning without overwhelming the frail patients.
(That’s why I turned the poisonous element of red fly agaric mushrooms into a medicinal one. Earth absorbs water, and if water is neutralized, the fire-based medicine doesn’t need to be too strong.)
The fire-based medicine consisted of the gizzards of fire sparrows and spider lily bulbs. Properly processed, spider lily bulbs lose their poison and become starchy—a survival food in times of famine. Fei Ling used this starch to thicken the curry, as she lacked other thickeners like potatoes.
(Finally, to counteract the yin poison and the patients’ malnutrition, I added wild carrots, garlic, chili peppers, and other appetite-stimulating and restorative herbs. Curry is considered the ultimate health food in distant lands.)
The curry’s gentle heat caused the patients’ icy skin to begin sweating. Their sweat and tears fell to the table, making an oddly hard sound. On closer inspection, it wasn’t liquid but tiny quartz-like fragments. The crystalline layer covering their eyelids had melted, shrunk, and crumbled.
By the time they finished eating, the last of the crystalline fragments shattered into dust.
The freed patients slowly opened their eyes, as though waking from a nightmare.
“Father?”
“I’m sorry… it must have been so hard for you… I’m so sorry…”
Sugi embraced his son tightly, tears streaming down his face. Azusa, too, hugged her husband and son, breaking down into sobs. Families embraced, some laughing through their tears, relieved to see their loved ones return to them.
The poison had been vanquished.
“Miss… you’re a savior. Thank you so much,” Sugi said, bowing deeply.
Azusa started to express her gratitude but was interrupted by the loud growl of her stomach.
“Oh…”
Blushing with embarrassment, she looked down.
“Watching them eat made me hungry too,” she admitted.
“Yeah, it’s hard to believe this is medicine. It looks so good,” someone else chimed in.
Evening had long since passed. It was a perfect opportunity—those not yet sick had likely been exposed to the toxin. Medicinal food could treat illnesses before they fully manifested.
“I’m out of fried rice, but roasted cakes made from spider lily starch go wonderfully with curry. I’ll start baking them now,” Fei Ling said.
The thin cakes were something the distant land called “naan.” Fei Ling served them alongside curry, ensuring everyone had enough. The villagers dipped the cakes into the curry and eagerly bit into them.
“What is this? It’s like my tongue’s on fire!”
“The aroma bursts in my nose—it’s like nothing I’ve ever smelled before!”
Sugi and Azusa exclaimed in amazement.
“And yet, I can’t stop eating.”
“No matter how much I eat, I could keep going!”
They devoured the curry enthusiastically.
“It’s got such a strong flavor, but it’s also mellow and deep… Is that the umami from the mushrooms?”
“Exactly. Sautéing the mushrooms before simmering them enhances the flavor, even when combined with medicinal herbs. It’s the secret to making exceptional curry,” Fei Ling explained.
Though she had chosen red fly agaric mushrooms for their medicinal properties, other types, like shiitake, could achieve an equally rich taste.
“Miss, your food is unique,” Sugi remarked.
“It’s herbal cuisine from a foreign land,” Fei Ling replied.
“No, I mean, it’s not just that it’s medicinal or made with unusual ingredients… It’s strange. I’ve never tasted anything like it, yet it feels nostalgic. It’s probably because you made it with us in mind.”
Sugi sniffed, whether from the curry’s spice or sentimentality, and resumed eating.
Together, the villagers finished every last bit of the curry from the large pot.
