Jealousy

As the rain finally began to let up, the isolation zone within the wooden barricades started to take shape.

Margaret moved through the rows of shacks, her white dress soaked through with blood and grime. Her skirts clung to the ankle-deep mud, but she paid no attention. She didn’t even bother wiping the herbal residue from the corner of her lips.

With practiced precision, she drove a silver needle into a child's darkened fingertip, squeezed out half a bowl of foul, blackened blood, and quickly poured warm medicinal broth into the child’s cracked lips.

"We still need twenty more stretchers for the third row of shacks!"

Her hoarse voice, rasping like sandpaper from constant shouting, echoed across the makeshift camp.

Not far away, Dustin was searing the infected wounds of patients with golden flame. Threads of golden light danced through torn flesh, burning away squirming maggots with ruthless precision. The elderly man beneath his hands trembled in agony, biting down hard on a wooden stick—but his eyes remained open, staring in awe at the sweat beading down the brow of the white-robed healer. To him, it was hotter than the blood pouring from his own wounds.

The medical personnel worked faster and more efficiently. Some lit bundles of wormwood and channeled the smoke through ceramic tubes into underground cellars to purge the lingering miasma. Others pried open unconscious mouths with bamboo strips and slowly spooned in honey-laced medicine. There were those who knelt in the freezing mud, performing chest compressions on near-frozen children, not stopping until the faint rhythm of breath returned.

Meanwhile, a hundred meters away on a nearby rise, Li Wenxing stood beneath a makeshift canopy.

Dressed in full protective gear, he watched Margaret tirelessly moving through the isolation zone. His face showed no expression.

“Your Highness, why don’t we head back? This place reeks of death,” said Qian Jin, standing behind him.

Li Wenxing gave no reply. Instead, his eyes drifted toward the soldiers hurrying back and forth.

Their supply boxes were nearly empty. Some of them had collapsed directly into the mud, panting heavily, too exhausted to stand.

“Useless fools,” Li Wenxing spat under his breath, clearly displeased.

Since the plague mutated, both its infection and fatality rates had skyrocketed. That was why he had chosen a harsh and unforgiving approach --- better to lock up everyone who might be infected than risk a wider outbreak.

What he hadn't expected was for Margaret to personally come all the way from Pucheng with a rescue team.

If they managed to cure the sick, fine. But if they failed, he could be dragged down with them.

Behind him, thirty personal guards stood in perfect formation. Not a speck of mud tainted their boots.

They were under strict orders: stay at least ten meters from the isolation zone --- don’t even let the wind touch them.

The sun rose and set. A full day and night passed like this.

Margaret finally finished treating the critically ill in the western shelters. As she straightened up, a wave of dizziness hit her hard. She had to clutch a wooden post to keep from collapsing.

Dustin stepped forward with a piece of dry bread, gently touched her brow with golden light, easing some of the weariness.

“There are still over two hundred mild cases in the eastern zone,” he said, his voice rough from exhaustion. The golden embroidery on his white robes had turned a dark brown, soaked with blood.

By nightfall, dozens of bonfires lit up the isolation zone.

In the firelight, Margaret oversaw the construction of makeshift stoves. Bitter-scented medicinal soup bubbled in clay pots.

Suddenly, a delirious woman lunged toward her, clawed fingers nearly scratching Margaret’s face. Dustin was quicker --- he grabbed the woman and restrained her, injecting golden light into her body. Slowly, the woman calmed down, tears streaming from her cloudy eyes.

Back under the canopy, Li Wenxing yawned.

He watched the last grains of sand fall through the hourglass. It was already the third night watch, yet the isolation zone was still lit as if it were midday.

Zhao Hu flatteringly handed him a bowl of warm meat broth. “Your Highness, look at them --- running themselves into the ground. They'll probably fall apart any minute now.”

Li Wenxing scooped a spoonful and glanced at a soldier who had fainted near a fire. His comrades dragged him up, and even then, the man was mumbling, “Medicine… medicine…”

Li Wenxing sneered. “All a waste of effort.”

Just before dawn, the final bowl of herbal soup was poured into a patient’s mouth.

Margaret stood up using a wooden staff. The pale light of dawn broke over the horizon, casting a faint red hue across her colorless face.

The golden light surrounding Dustin had grown dim, but he still forced himself to inspect the last shelter.

The medical team lay sprawled across the open ground, too tired even to snore. Only the occasional cough proved they were still alive.

Then, someone knelt.

A boy who had lost both arms prostrated himself using his elbows, bowing in Margaret’s direction.

Others followed --- first the infected on the western side, then the healthy civilians from the east, and finally even those mildly ill who had only just regained enough strength to move.

More than five thousand people knelt in waves like the tide. The sound of foreheads striking the muddy ground echoed over and over, splashing dirty water onto their faces --- but no one reached up to wipe it away.

“Long live Her Highness, the Princess!”

Someone shouted, and the cry spread like wildfire.

An elderly man held bloodied soil above his head. A grieving mother lifted the swaddled corpse of her child toward the sky. Toddlers lay flat on the ground, imitating the adults and kowtowing again and again.

Margaret’s eyes welled up as she took in the sight.

She tried to speak, but her throat had closed up. Instead, she slowly raised her hand and gave the crowd a deep, solemn bow.

Up on the rise, Li Wenxing hurled his soup bowl to the ground. The sharp crack of shattering porcelain rang out as his eyes locked onto the kneeling masses. His fingers clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Zhao Hu didn’t even dare to breathe. He looked at his prince’s stormy face, knowing full well that this grudge would fester.

These were commoners who should’ve revered the royal prince.

Yet now, they bowed to a woman as if she were their sovereign.

That stung worse than a blade. - Ton

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