Chapter Nine: Dislocation


Yui continued with her work because she had to. The flu had passed, so she lifted the quarantine. Life returned to its routine. She made the rounds, bandaging wounds, delivering babies, and treating sickness. Yui even worked on the penicillin, though the cold weather was another complication. (She avoided the microscope, though, only using it when necessary. She kept it covered every other time.) Yui hadn't cried because she didn't need to. She was fine.

Still, people were kind to her. They gave her discounts, apologies, and pitying looks. She didn't have to cook for a month, and every other person offered to carry her supplies or help with errands. Her frequent customers all went through the same process—asking after her apprentices, dropping their smile at the answer. Emigiku left flowers, procured from somewhere in the dead of winter. Tsubaki gave her a hug.

People were kind to her.

(She didn't want them to be.)


The clinic was quiet. Snow fell, the fire burned, and Yui didn't speak. She read Madara's scroll, but none of the words made sense. She read the same sentence five times, words slipping like sand through fingers. Hashirama's book, Chakra and Medicine, also sat on the table. So did Makoto's textbooks.

(She didn't want to read them. She didn't want to learn, she didn't want to move, she didn't want to do anything. But she had to, so she did.)

Yui read the sentence for the sixth time, and some of the words begin to stick. After gathering chakra in the hands, make the seal of… She rubbed her eyes. There was just so much about chakra she didn't know. Hashirama's book was helping, filling in the basic knowledge she'd need to use Madara's technique. One of Makoto's textbooks briefly talked about chakra illnesses, but it didn't go into detail.

(There was so much she didn't know. There was so much she didn't remember, if only, if only—)

The door opened, and the blast of night air made her shiver. Eiji walked in. He joined her in silence, but his was angry. She could see it in the way he avoided looking at her, in the way he pressed his nails against his palm, his lack of polite greeting. Yui should probably have been concerned. She should probably feel offended at his rudeness or ask what was wrong, but she didn't. She didn't feel anything at all.

"Did you treat Kaori?" she said instead.

"I did." Eiji rubbed his pale fingers, blowing on them and passing them in front of the fireplace. He removed his scarf and continued to avoid her gaze.

"What about—"

"I did everything I needed to." He turned away from the fire and walked to the interior door, the one that led to the bedrooms, where Eiji and Sen slept. (Had slept.) Eiji slammed the rice-door behind him, hard enough to cause the frame to shudder.

The anger was troubling, a distant part of her mused. Eiji tended to stew in his anger until it came out at once, destructive and sudden. Unlike Sen, who told (who had told) his feelings without prompting, Eiji required someone to prod and needle before he said anything at all. Sen had always done that, always ready to keep his friend from getting stuck in his head. She should probably do that in her brother's stead.

Yui looked back to her scrolls and continued to read.


Eiji poured himself a cup of tea. He didn't offer, nor did she ask.

"You're still reading that scroll?"

"Yes," she replied. Yui didn't bother justifying herself. "Kyo broke his arm, and he had a gash from his elbow to his shoulder. I splinted his arm and cleaned the wound, but we should check on him in—"

"Don't you even care?"

Yui didn't answer. She stared at the words on the paper. She'd gotten halfway through it, but there was still a lot she didn't understand. Yui read the sentence again. Dulling sensation requires a delicate balance...

"You're acting like nothing happened. How can you just sit there? You didn't even cry. You're his sister! Didn't you love him?"

She should feel angry at his accusations. She should feel something. She should feel something besides this bone-deep weariness, this fog that clouded and dulled her thoughts. Yui continued reading.

else, the chakra damages the skin.

"I knew Sen. He was my best friend. I loved him." His hands were shaking, still holding the half-full cup of tea. "I loved him like a brother, I mean, like you… like how you loved him. How you should've loved him."

A dim corner of her brain put the pieces together. Oh. Eiji had loved her brother in a different way. That was why he'd made those comments, why he'd never courted a girl. It made sense. (It was almost enough. For a brief moment, something stirred in the nothingness of her emotion, but then stilled.)

Too much chakra can lead to burns on the surface on the skin. Too little results in no relief from the pain.

"He thought you were brilliant. We both did. But all I see is a cold-hearted woman who never even cared!" He threw the teacup to the ground, and it splintered into a thousand pieces. "You're a horrible sister."

Eiji stormed out, leaving her alone with her scrolls. Once he left, she finally looked up. The teacup he'd thrown was delicate porcelain from a set of four. The flower-etched pieces were strewn across the floor, as if it had suddenly bloomed. Tea splashed onto the floor, seeping between the edges of the tatami mats.

He wasn't wrong. She was a horrible sister. It was her fault that he'd died. The travelers that the clinic brought in had made the village successful, but it'd also brought the flu. It was easy to tell herself the platitude that she wasn't responsible, that sometimes, people died and there wasn't anything she could do about it. It didn't change what she felt. It didn't change what she didn't feel.

Yui glanced back to the mess. She should probably clean that up. Yui looked back down to her scroll and started from the top.


Six samurai strode into the village square, swords hanging by their sides. They flanked a man in rich purple robes and a strange hat. His imperious sneer turned into a quizzical frown as he glanced around the bustling square. Newly purchased apple in hand, Yui paused along with everyone else, the din fading for a moment as the people took stock of strangers that looked out of place even for village used to travelers.

The man took it as his cue. "I seek the assistance of a healer by the name of Yui, one said to reside in this village," he said, voice surprisingly resonant and deep despite his thin frame and face.

She debated answering. She didn't want to talk to anyone new, any strangers who needed her to do more favors. Yui just wanted to go back to her clinic and continue reading. But what she wanted didn't matter. She'd been quiet long enough that people were glancing at her, wondering why she hadn't said anything.

"That's me. What do you need?" she said finally.

He gave her a dismissive once-over. "Lord Fukuyama's service requests your presence."


Yui didn't have enough chairs to seat everyone. The six samurai and her only apprentice stayed standing while she and the messenger—Nakahara was his family name, and he emphasized that she should address him by such—sat by the table.

"We must leave as soon as possible," Nakahara said, tapping his finger on the table with each word. "Please procure the supplies you need so we may be on our way."

The messenger filled the silence with all the information she didn't need to know, but the shock of a noble's summon was enough to pierce through her haze. Eiji was no different, standing dumbstruck in the corner. Yui had treated the wealthiest merchants and the lowliest peasants, travelling musicians, monks… but they had all been commoners. True, samurai and ninja weren't exactly common. The former could range from paupers with swords to the retainers of daimyos, but Yui had only met those who traveled within her social sphere. The latter were outside societal constraints, an aberration that did not discriminate with their blade. Noble or peasant, it never mattered to ninja.

And it didn't matter to her. Then again, nothing had really mattered to her since then.

"Am I going to treat someone?" she said finally.

There was no other possible reason why a member of nobility would want to speak to her. Yui knew that her reputation had grown, but she hadn't expected this. ("You're famous," Sen had laughed, hearing the newest rumor about her supernatural origins. "What's next, a noble begging for your hand?")

Nakahara frowned. "If the lord summons you, then you must answer. It is not your place to ask why."

Yui let out a short breath. "I'll need to know what medicine to bring if I'm going to—"

"Bring all manners of medicine you have." He nodded at the samurai. "They shall assist you."

The warriors stared at her, impassive. With polished, faintly gleaming armor and swords in lacquered sheaths, the samurai were unlikely to be simple hired men.

"Well?"

Nakahara hadn't treated her acquiescence as a question but as a fact. By all cultural norms, it was. Not only was Lord Fukuyama her social superior, he was also her direct liege. Refusing him was unthinkable. Refusing him went against the very fabric of the class structure, of society. She was a serf. She was his serf. And yet, Yui didn't stand up.

She didn't want to go. Here, she was… here she was fine. Here she knew what to do. She could fall into her habits and not think, not feel, and be fine. (Already, she could feel the cracks in the routine, the gentle way her numbness was being shaken.)

"Healer, we must be going." He paused for a moment. "If you are concerned about your virtue, being a single unmarried woman, then rest assured. Accompanying us is my wife who shall act as your chaperone."

That hadn't even crossed her mind, having been so used to ignoring that particular rule as the village healer. Yui could bend some societal norms, but others she couldn't touch. She closed her eyes for a moment. Refusal put her village at the lord's mercy. Refusal could mean death, not just for her but for her family. (It already happened, whispered a corner of her mind, and you were too useless to stop it.) She could stay silent for only so long.

"I'll come."


Her entire family and most the village came to see her off, and Yui bore their farewells with distant politeness. She stared at Eiji as she adjusted her bag for the third time.

"Will you be okay without me?"

"I'll manage." His voice was cold.

She hesitated. "Remember, you gotta stock up on the chakra salves again. The surviving herbs need watering every other day, and don't forget to collect the seeds from the garden outside. I have the instructions about aspirin written by—"

"I'll be fine."

If Sen were here, she'd hug them both. If Sen were here, he'd be making a joke about the stuck-up advisor, making Eiji laugh and her smile. But Sen wasn't. She should do something.

"Alright," she said, reluctant. "Stay safe."

Slowly, Yui reached out and squeezed Eiji's shoulder. He didn't react. She knew that she should say something more, but she didn't know what. After a moment, Yui continued down the line for a second time, also hugging Ume and kissing her little niece on the forehead, rote motions with little feeling. Before Yui could say anything to her mother or other siblings, the messenger cleared his throat.

"Healer, we must be off!"

After another rushed goodbye, she hurried after Nakahara, glancing back to the village. She stopped upon seeing the three orange trees that marked the path she'd never walked past. Yui had never left this village, this little microcosm of the world that rested firmly in the familiar. Could she do this? (She had to.)

That wasn't a question worth asking. Whether she could had no relevance. She would have to regardless. She always did.

Yui drew in a slow breath and continued walking.


It took a week in total to reach Lord Fukuyama's estate, and Yui was struck dumb by the sight. The manor sprawled, decorated with intricate carvings and surrounded by cherry trees. An iron-wrought gate towered above her, the seal of the house centered between each gate. Guards were posted by either door.

The messenger and the samurai both seemed amused by her reaction, Nakahara chuckling once before he handed a scroll to the guard. After glancing at it, the guard nodded, handed it back, and began the laborious process of opening the door. The gates creaked as they swung outwards, and finally, the caravans passed through.

Lining the street were, of all things, unlit gas lamps. She craned her neck to stare as they passed each one. Even unlit, they towered above like an anachronism.

"Quickly, now," said Nakahara as they came to a stop. "We don't wish to keep Lord Fukuyama waiting."

He murmured something to his wife and disembarked. Yui carefully stepped down, and the samurai got off just after her, though the messenger's wife stayed in the caravan.

With some trepidation, she followed Nakahara into the estate. They passed through elaborate hallways covered in ink paintings and polished stone. Yui even saw a grandfather clock ticking in the corner, oddly displayed in a well-trafficked place.

Finally, they reached the gardens. More cherry trees lined the courtyard, and a stone path cut through shrubs, flowers, and vines that were placed in carefully cultivated disarray. Winter had stripped the plants of their leaves, but in spring, it would be beautiful.

Sitting in the middle on a stone bench was a middle-aged man in layers of silk. He turned to face them. The samurai and Nakahara immediately gave a deep bow. It took a second for Yui to copy them with a clumsy imitation.

"Speak," said the man. His face was lined, and his hair was more gray than black, but his posture was ramrod straight.

"Lord Fukayama," Nakahara said immediately, still bowing. "I humbly approach to inform you of the task's completion. My lord, I have traveled without rest for seven days and seven nights to bring you the woman whose presence you have requested."

"You have done well, Nakahara. You may leave us."

The lord nodded. With a faint look of disappointment that disappeared when he straightened and bowed again, the messenger departed.

Lord Fukuyama glanced at the samurai. For a second, it seemed like he was about to address the guard, but he looked back to her instead. Compared to his embroidered silk, her practical cotton looked like scraps. If she cared enough about that, Yui would be self-conscious.

"So you are the famed peasant healer. I believe your name is Yui, is it not?"

"Yes, my lord," she said, surprised that he knew it. Her back and neck were beginning to hurt from staying bowed, but she didn't want to risk offending him by straightening when she wasn't supposed to.

"No surname?"

"No. Uh, no, Lord Fukuyama."

"I thought not." He gave another nod. "Accompany me through the gardens, Healer Yui."

She straightened, easing her pain, and followed him. Yui wasn't sure of the etiquette when it came to walking by lords, so she simply kept pace with him. If she was doing some sort of grievous misstep, then someone would probably tell her. The samurai trailed behind them several paces back. They walked in silence for a few moments. The stark snow, the structured asymmetry, the sheer wealth of the garden—none of it really fazed her. (The fog was beginning to return, cloying and heavy in its familiar exhaustion.)

Then, Lord Fukuyama stopped, and he stood with his hands clasped behind his back. He faced not her but the skeleton of a tall cherry tree. "I shall not dally any longer," said the lord. "I summoned you to my estate to help my son. My personal doctor has prescribed all manners of medicine, but none have sufficiently worked and he grows weaker by the day. Despite your humble position, I have heard much of your prowess and discretion from particular others. I request your expertise in this matter." He turned and met her eyes. "If you help him, the reward will be great."

The consequences of failing weren't enumerated. Any other time, she might've been nervous, but her weariness from the journey and her thinly-stretched composure overpowered everything else. She took comfort in the familiar despite being so far away from home: someone was sick, and the patient needed her help.

"My lord, what are his symptoms?"

Lord Fukuyama didn't hesitate. "He was born too soon. He is having difficulty nursing and trouble breathing. The doctor says his chance for survival is low. Nothing appears to be working." His voice was low. "If it were possible, I may have hired even the Senju to examine him."

Yui gave a slow nod. She'd dealt with many premature births in her village. This was something she might be able to help with. "Can I see the baby?"

He nodded back, short and sharp. "Once you procure the necessary supplies, we shall move to my wife's quarters, and you may examine him. I hope you are able to shed some light and reassure her."


A guard closed the door behind them as they stepped into the room. Silk draped the windows, casting red shadows over the smoky room, and a table by the door was covered in incense sticks, the source of the haze. In the center of the room was a Western-style bed covered in blankets, and beside that was a cradle.

Three people were clustered around the cradle: a man with a shock of white hair and the customary pale-green robes that doctors wore, a slender young woman with dark eyes and sleeves that trailed to the floor, and an older, tanned woman in cream-colored yukata. They all bowed with varying levels of deepness.

"My Lord," said the doctor. His jowls shook when he spoke. "I did not know you would return so soon."

"I had not intended to return so quickly either, but one of the healers we have sent for has arrived." After a moment, the lord added, "You may rise."

The three straightened, and the doctor looked at her with interest that faded into disappointment once he took stock of her appearance.

"I see," he said finally. "The peasant woman has arrived."

"As expected. But perhaps we should not discount this healer's experience," said the lord, quiet but firm. "The lotus does not choose where it blooms." He spoke the last line with the lilt used when quoting something clever—though what it was from, Yui hadn't the faintest idea.

With visible effort, the doctor restrained his frown. "You are the healer from that town with the chakra-infused medicine, yes?"

Yui nodded. "I am—"

"Do you infuse those salves yourself?" interrupted the older man.

"Mostly, yes." She kept her expression polite, though it hadn't escaped he didn't bother to introduce himself.

He clucked his tongue. "Unwise. Using chakra makes women infertile and unbalanced. Your future husband will not thank you. It is best to stop now before the damage becomes irreparable."

Well, that was new. Even if it were true (which she doubted), it was completely irrelevant. Marriage and children were far from her priorities, especially when she had a patient to treat.

She gave a noncommittal tilt of her head and turned to Lord Fukuyama. "Could I take a look at your baby?" The lord didn't respond, and the doctor's eyebrows nearly touched as he furrowed them. After a moment, Yui added, "My lord." A glimmer of irritation surfaced; keeping up with this song-and-dance of titles was already tiring.

"You may."

"You want to let her see our son?" said the lady, voice shrill. Her eyes had heavy bags under them, and she was thin, almost buried under her layers of silk. She couldn't be more than eighteen, barely Sen's age. "Some rural healer?"

"That's me," she answered, noting the way that Lord Fukuyama turned and frowned at her. The question hadn't been for her, then, but Yui continued on. "My name is Yui. I'm here to examine your baby, if that's alright."

She blinked, looking her up and down. "Really? You are here to treat him?"

"Yes," she said, her voice level. People far more intimidating than this exhausted teenager had casted suspicion on her abilities, and Yui hadn't backed down then. She would've been more surprised if the lady hadn't questioned her skills. (Of all the emotions that might break through the fog, fear was the last one.)

Lord Fukuyama's lips thinned. "This healer was highly recommended to me, Lady Hisayo. Do not think I brought her without thought or that I would endanger my son in anyway." He sounded more like a scolding father than a husband. Softening his tone, he added in a halting manner, "My dear, please."

A mix of emotions flitted over Lady Hisayo's face: surprise, fear, hope, and finally, resignation. After a moment, the lady sighed. "Very well. He can't get much worse." Her hands were trembling, and she quickly hid them in her sleeves, and her placid expression looked like it'd shatter any second.

"Are you certain that no more supplies are required?" Lord Fukuyama said. "I will send a man to fetch them if you need."

Yui unslung her bag and opened it. "Thank you, my lord, but I got the important things with me. For now, I don't need anything."

The doctor snorted, and the lady gave her small bag a dubious look. The lord simply nodded, either unconcerned or better at hiding his feelings.

Taking care not to jostle the expensive-looking vase with the incense sticks, Yui pulled out the sealing scroll and pressed it flat onto a table. After a press of her thumb and a light application of chakra, the scroll let out a puff of smoke, revealing her supplies. In this scroll were her essentials: a stethoscope, bandages, needle and thread, clean water, and a few small containers of medicine.

"A sealing scroll?"

"Where in the world…"

Everyone in the room was looking at her with changed expressions. The lady looked stunned, though her surprise was nothing compared to the doctor's. On the other hand, the gleam in Lord Fukuyama's eyes was calculating and not nearly as taken aback as the others. The messenger and the samurai guards had reacted in the same way to the scroll when she'd started packing, but Yui hadn't taken note. But if even nobility was surprised that she had one… just how rare were these? Just how significant was Tobirama's gift?

But those were concerns for later. She'd already cleaned her hands in their washroom (this estate had indoor plumbing, which was a pleasant surprise), but she dipped a cloth in water and scrubbed her hands again.

Lady Fukuyama murmured something to the other woman—she'd disappeared so thoroughly into the background that Yui had forgotten about her—and the servant reached into the crib and picked up the swaddled child.

Yui examined the baby, feeling his rapid pulse, listening to his breathing (weak and irregular), testing his responsiveness, and running through all the other standard diagnostic measures. He was so small. She had held smaller, but none had survived. As it was, this child's chances were low.

The under-5 death rate of the pre-antibiotic era single-handedly brought down the average life expectancy to the 40s. Yui had seen this in person. She'd held so many children in her arms, doing what she could with her meager supplies, only to see them slip away. Infectious diseases had killed so many children.

(Infectious diseases had killed Sen.)

Not only did this baby have that burden to face, he also had to deal with the risks of a preterm birth. Respiratory distress, decreased reflexes, malformed organs... and she had no incubator.

Yui had no incubator, but she did have the next best thing.


The doctor was not convinced.

"I trained in the capital's finest college," he said to her, "and I have spent five years in Lightning Country. What I learned is still unknown to my colleagues here in the Land of Fire. They have created powders to be mixed in water that, when fed to a child, improve his vitality immensely."

Yui crossed her arms. So infant formula had been invented. Wonderful. Of all the advancements, it was this one, a sign of 'progress' that made most worse off. She knew all the arguments against it, and she could articulate the necessary terminology better thanks to Dr. Makoto and his books, but she could think of only one that would convince this old man—and more importantly, the lady.

"Did you try those powders on the baby?"

"Yes—"

"Did they work?"

"Well, they are not immediate—"

"Enough," said Lady Hisayo. Her voice was sharp and aristocratic, but its wavering pitch only highlighted how exhausted and young she was. "My lord husband has decreed that the healer's counsel should be listened to. My son grows weaker. This is not the time to squabble."

The doctor ducked his head. "As you say, my lady." He said it evenly, with no hint of the disdain he'd addressed Yui with.

"Now," said Hisayo, tilting her head to Yui, "what is it you wanted to do to my son?"

Yui repeated her instructions, this time without the doctor interrupting her. "Don't keep him in the cradle. Instead, keep him on your bare skin, as warm as possible, and nurse him whenever he needs it. He was born too early, and we need to imitate the womb for him to grow."

It was a technique called kangaroo care. Yui remembered reading about it long ago, back then, and it'd been used in developing countries that didn't have enough incubators for every premature child. For larger preemies, it could work as effectively as an incubator.

The method was low tech enough that Yui could implement it in her village—and she had, though it wasn't too big of a jump. No one in her village was rich enough to hire a formal wet nurse, and mothers already kept their children in blanket slings when they worked in the kitchen or fields. Her recommendation to keep premature babies even closer was just seen as common sense.

"You want to strap the child to me? To my bare skin, with no sense of decency?" said Lady Hisayo, frowning. "Nurse him like some, some—" She struggled to finish the sentence and instead adjusted her trailing sleeves.

"Exactly, my lady." The doctor jumped in with a shallow bow. "While Healer Yui certainly must have skills enough to catch Lord Fukuyama's eye, she clearly is used to a certain... stature of patients."

Unlike her village, though, there was a whole another set of norms and values here. The reason that peasants and commoners kept their child close to them was the same reason that nobility didn't: they could afford it. The rich hired childcare so they could enjoy leisure time, and Yui's suggestion ran anathema to the whole concept. Still, Yui couldn't help the sudden, intense surge of irritation. Here she was, offering them a solution, and they were hesitating because it wasn't proper enough. She shouldn't be surprised, she really shouldn't, but it rankled nonetheless.

"My lady, I could do that." The servant, who had waited quietly by the crib, spoke up. "You would not have to burden yourself."

Lady Hisayo's uncertainty turned thoughtful. "You are his wet nurse... it would only make sense."

"Would it not be more convenient to simply use my powders?" said the Doctor, his jowls twitching as he rearranged his expression into a smile. "Then there would be no inconveniencing of any—"

Lady Hisayo raised a hand. "No. We shall try Healer Yui's method. If it does not work, then we shall return to yours, Dr. Tanaka." She raised a small hand to her mouth, stifling a yawn. "See to it, Kono. In the meantime, I shall retire. Wake me if any changes arise." The dark circles under her eyes were even starker against her pale, translucent skin. Yui privately wondered when she'd last slept.

The doctor and servant bowed sharply, and Yui followed with a sloppy imitation. Lady Hisayo swept out in a trail of silk, leaving the three in the room with the baby. Yui glanced at Kono, whose shoulders slumped the second that Hisayo left. The wet nurse had probably been awake for just as long.

"Well," said Yui softly, picking up the child from the cradle. He was so quiet, his breathing barely moving his tiny chest. Yui hadn't even heard him cry yet. "Let's get started."


The doctor had left in a huff after Kono began to swaddle the child, which was for the best. In order to keep the child against her bare skin, the wet nurse had to partially disrobe her layers. Yui helped the baby get settled in silence, wrapping the sling around Kono's neck and and back. After she was sure the child was secured, Yui stepped back.

"Nurse him as much as you can," she murmured. "He has to gain weight."

Kono nodded, giving Yui a scrutinizing look. After a moment, she asked, "You're really that Healer Yui? From Chiyuku?"

Yui blinked. "Yes?"

"It's just..." she pressed a hand against the baby's head, stroking him gently, "I've heard much about you and your clinic. My sister's husband is a merchant, and she's told me stories." Kono gave a furtive glance and lowered her voice. "Is it true that your powers are from the gods?"

Normally, Yui would've given an awkward laugh or flushed with embarrassment. Now, though, all she felt was a dull ache in her heart. ("Sis, should I build you a shrine?") She took a deep, slow breath and pushed that feeling far away.

"No," said Yui. "I'm just as human as you."


After just a few hours of sleep, Lady Hisayo was back in the room, hovering over Kono and her son. This time, she brought a servant with her; another quiet woman dressed carefully in neutral colors.

"Is he better?" Hisayo asked, hands twitching inside her sleeves. "Has he shown any signs of improvement?"

"My lady, it is too soon to tell," said Kono. She was back to the placid, straight-backed servant who stayed silent unless spoken to. Even her voice had changed from one with hints of loose, rustic vernacular to the carefully enunciated, monotone speech. "However, the young lord has been more active," she added.

That was more for the lady's benefit than the truth; the baby had mostly slept.

"Good, good." Hisayo began to pace, her footsteps silent but harried.

"My lady, let me make you some tea," said Yui after a moment of watching her wear a pattern into the floorboards.

She snapped her fingers. "Yes, let there be food brought to us. Tomoko, arrange to have it done." The other servant bowed and stepped out the door without a moment of delay.

"I can make you some calming tea as well," Yui said, firm. "It's got special herbs."

Without waiting for an answer, she walked to the table she'd commandeered to hold her supplies. Just as she reached her scroll, Yui remembered that this wasn't her clinic—there was no kettle in the room. She stopped. Yui was just so used to putting on a cup for her patients that the offer was second nature.

For the first time, there was a hint of a smile on the lady's face. "I think we shall manage."

Though Yui didn't have tea, the offer still seemed to calm down the lady somewhat. She took a seat on the bed and simply waited in silence. She didn't have to wait long. In twenty minutes, three different servants entered the room, each carrying a tray. The tray piled with delicate sweets and sculpted rice was given to Lady Hisayo, a broth-and-rice dish was placed in front of Kono, and the last tray, with a bowl with rice and fish, was handed to Yui.

As Yui took the tray, she noticed an angry burn on the servant's arm. It started by her wrist and stretched under her sleeve.

"You're burnt."

The servant jerked back, startled. She glanced at Hisayo, who seemed as puzzled as she was. "Y-Yes."

Yui stood and placed the tray aside. "Come here. I have a salve for that." She had plenty of experience with burns, having treated both domestic accidents and the more severe kind that came from ninja warfare. Yui walked back to her scroll, this time pulling out a chakra-infused poultice with lavender and comfrey.

"My lady, I cannot pay—"

Yui shook her head. "Don't worry about paying. Can you give me your arm?"

Slowly, the woman rolled back her sleeve, revealing a second degree burn. Yui frowned. Carrying that tray must've been painful. After cleaning her hands, Yui applied the chakra ointment and loose dressings. She told the servant to keep it clean, avoid popping any blisters, and to come to her tomorrow for fresh ointment and bandages. Once the servant stammered her thanks, the girl practically fled the room.

Yui washed her hands again and sealed away the jar. When she turned around, both Lady Hisayo and Kono were looking at her oddly.

"Something wrong?"

"No," said Lady Hisayo slowly. "I don't believe there is."


The next week continued in a similar routine. A week was a long time for any baby, let alone a preemie, and the little lordling gained weight. The constant warmth did him good; he moved more, yawning and blinking at the people who handled him. His breathing grew steadier, his heartbeat grew stronger, and Yui was satisfied by the indicators. Even the doctor admitted to the improvement, and it was much less grudging than it could've been.

The ripples were immediate. The lady began to hover less, Kono had time to actually sleep, and the dour atmosphere among the household lessened. Yui hadn't seen Lord Fukuyuma since the first day, though the servants were quick to assure her that he too was pleased.

There were other, smaller changes as the days went by. When the lady wasn't in the room, sometimes a servant would come by with an injury or ailment. At the same time, a sweet or extra dish would be slipped onto her tray. Her blankets were replaced with finer, softer down, and the fire was always stoked.

(She should have been touched. Their appreciation should have meant something. Yui wished it did, but everything just felt routine.)

On the morning of her ninth day in the estate, Yui walked through the corridors. She'd left to freshen up, and she shivered lightly as she tried to navigate her way through the endless hallways.

"So you are that miracle healer that the servants have been chittering about," called an unfamiliar voice.

Yui turned, catching glimpse of another aristocratic woman. Like Hisayo, she was dressed in layers of silk and ornaments. Unlike Hisayo, the lady was tall and stately, with a tilt of her chin that conveyed supreme confidence. She strode towards Yui with deliberate, sure steps. Once she caught up with Yui, the lady stopped, flicking her gaze and fan towards the simple cotton garb. Then, she looked directly into Yui's eyes.

"You are in the presence of Lady Fukuyama." With a twist of her mouth, she added, "The daughter, not the wife."

Considering that she looked older than Hisayo, this new lady was probably daughter from an earlier wife. It wasn't uncommon for nobility to remarry or have multiple wives, though the latter was reserved for the outrageously wealthy. Either way, that was none of Yui's concern. She waited for a second longer, wondering if this other Lady Fukuyama would get to the point.

"It has come to my attention that you have been remedying the small injuries that my—that my new mother's household has been experiencing."

Yui continued to look at her.

"It appears that you are to be held responsible for my dearest young brother's improvement. If I engaged in such vulgar activities such as betting, I certainly would not have set money on the peasant healer." Her smile curdled. "A pity. Had he not pulled through, I would have become heir again." Her eyes were challenging, and she flipped her fan open again, bringing it to cover her mouth. With a light little laugh, full of crafted, sardonic amusement, she added, "Oh my. Where are my manners? You must think I'm a monster for talking about his possible death so callously."

"Yes," said Yui simply.

Startled, the Lady Fukuyuma stared, carefully lined eyes widening.

"Is that all, my lady?"

Yui was tired. Despite the silk and down bed, despite the crafted meals and the lack of strenuous work, Yui felt like a lead weight was strapped to her arms and legs. This gilded, strange estate made her head hurt, with its odd priorities and double meanings and unfamiliar rituals. She didn't have the energy for any games.

The lady finally found her voice. "I meant…"

Yui turned away and continued down the hall. She probably should have been respectful. The woman was a noble. Lady Fukuyuma could bring ruin without blinking, and making an enemy of her was an all-around bad idea. Yet, Yui couldn't find it in herself to care. She'd deal with the consequences as they came.

She always did.


AN: So it goes. This was another chapter that required several rewrites, and I'm so glad that I finally got through it. Of course, a large part of that is thanks to your support. I appreciate all the favorites, follows, and reviews. They keep me going, especially when real life becomes hectic.

Special thanks to masqvia, GwendolynStacy, Iaso, Duesal Bladesinger, and Pyroth Tenka for looking over the chapter. As always, thank you all for reading.