"She's breathing."
My fingers pressed into my ribs to feel the lift. Air came out with a wet sound and the world moved like a cart with a loose wheel.
"Get away!" Mrs. Tian shoved men aside and pointed at the barefoot healer. "He did this. He killed her with his herbs. He'll steal the harvest next!"
"Stop!" Barefoot Healer Huang threw his hands up, feet in the mud. "I only tried to cool her. I found her on the road and carried her in. I didn't—"
"Silence!" Chief Zhang's whistle cut through the shouting. His face was flat. "No one touches anything until we sort this."
I tasted iron and dust. The sun was a flat coin above the gate arch. People circled like hawks tasting smoke.
"She's alive?" someone laughed, then yelled, "Sell her back! Sell her back!"
"Sell her!" Mrs. Tian sobbed loud as a bell. She pushed forward, palms out, eyes greedy and bright. "Two silver and I'll take her home. Who wants a living helper? Three days a week, she'll fetch water and mind the geese."
"Mother—" A voice, small and rough, tried to speak from the crowd. Da Cheng, my brother, forced himself forward, face torn. "Tian, stop. She's—"
"Shut up!" Mrs. Tian snapped. "You owe me for your beer last market day."
Huang leaned closer to where I lay. His hands smelled of clay and boiled herbs. "Nia," he said softly, as if naming a
