× Master of My Soul × [ Dynasty Warriors ] [ Slowly Updating ]

× 17 - Omen of Retribution ×

In the late morning, I listened to the gentle tapping of raindrops against the stone tiles outside of the pharmacy. The storm of the previous night had been reduced to but a drizzle, but the clouds had yet to disperse, and the cold lingered. I shivered, and pulled my overcoat tighter around me. 

"Worry not; your husband will be alright." The old shopkeeper's voice pulled my attention away from the open doorway and to him. I felt my eyes narrow at the sight of the old man hunched over a small coal pit near the center of the room.

It had been tempting to stay in bed all day, where it was warm and cozy, but upon noticing Guo Jia's absence in our room I had to force myself to get up. It had been impossible to tell how long he'd been gone, but I had soon convinced myself that he would be returning soon; our weapons were still here, untouched. Even so, how could I have allowed myself to sit idle while he was out in the city, unarmed? The shopkeeper would hear none of it, however, and kept me confined to the pharmacy, supposedly under Guo Jia's request.

The mere thought made me clench my jaws. Only to unleash a fit of coughs.

If only I didn't catch this damned cold.

"Brucea." The shopkeeper spoke up again. I raised a brow in silence, watching as he took a seat across from me over the short table. He brought a tray with two cups of tea, and gestured for me to take one. When I made no move to follow his offer, he only smiled and sipped from his own cup, taking his time to finish what he started. "An interesting choice for the patient. Could it be your husband?"

Feeling my face grow warm, I bit back the urge to correct him about Guo Jia, and instead focused on the medicinal ingredient mentioned. A dried fruit to reduce his coughing, I had hoped. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with my selection for the formula. "What are you trying to say?"

The shopkeeper shook his head slightly, and turned to glance outside. "Ah, I was simply reminded of an event from the past," he paused to drink, and I watched him intently. He was being rather odd, and I knew better than to interrupt someone during their story-telling. "Yes, it was many years ago...

This establishment is property of my master, you see. He no longer lives here, but when he did, I used to work with him. All of my knowledge in medicine came from him, and I am very grateful.

One night--much similar to last night--a young woman came into our store as we were closing. She had brought with her a pouch, and inside it was a pile of cooked medicine remains. She pleaded my master to look into the ingredients and tell her what may be dangerous to consume.

As I watched my master examine the contents, it became obvious to us both that it was a formula to support pregnancy.

'Brucea,' my master had said then, picking out the dark, dried fruit from the even darker mush, and smelled it. It was bitter. The entire concoction was. 'I am concerned about prescribing this to a pregnant lady.'

I could never forget the horrified look on her face when she rushed out of the clinic."

A strange sense of apprehension was creeping in the pit of my stomach as I listened to the story. It was like knowing that all my life's truths hung on a line that was growing thinner and thinner. "What does this mean for me?" I asked softly. I was growing afraid to hear what this unexpected tale might have for me, but I needed to hear the conclusion. It was slowly occurring to me that none of this was a simple coincidence.

"Your features. They remind me of her, is all."

My grip around the teacup tightened. I had only just realized that I was clinging to it. I grew conscious of the thousands of questions racing past my mind in this moment, but all of them fluttered from my fingertips just as I was about to grasp them. It was somehow so difficult to interpret the few words that he spoke. I was trying to solve a charade with absolutely no lead--or perhaps too many. "What was her name?" I managed to whisper, anticipating the answer.