Stacie arrived at the hour of the Horse. She looked better—still tired, but no longer hollow?eyed. Her hair was pulled into a neat bun, and she wore a simple green dress, practical and understated. The only thing that made her stand out was her glasses, the thin frames catching the light every time she moved.

  Gracie blinked in mild surprise. She hadn’t expected Stacie to show up today—not after yesterday.

  When Stacie spotted her, her face lit up for a split second before hesitation crept in.

  “Hey… you’re here,” Stacie said, glancing around. “I didn’t see you in the house.”

  “Yeah, I came early again,” Gracie replied with a small smile. “How are you feeling?”

  Stacie shifted her weight. “Better,” she said, though her voice didn’t match the word. “Meditating helped. Yesterday was… a lot.”

  Gracie nodded. “It was,” she said, not pressing further. “But it’s a new day.”

  “Right—a new day,” Stacie said, running her fingers along the edge of the wooden table. “So, um… are we starting soon?”

  Gracie gestured toward the tea set. “Just about to heat the water.”

  Stacie stepped closer but hovered, uncertain whether she was welcome. Gracie filled the kettle in silence. The soft hiss of water against porcelain grounded the moment.

  A silence stretched between them. Then Stacie murmured, “I didn’t think you’d want me here after… everything.”

  Gracie looked at her. “It’s all right. None of this has been easy. My grandmother used to say, ‘When someone’s struggling, give kindness, not judgment.’”

  Stacie let out a faint laugh. “She sounds wise.”

  “She was.”

  Another pause. Then, more quietly, Stacie said, “I owe you an apology. I lost it yesterday. That wasn’t fair to you.”

  Gracie gave her a small nod. “Want to talk about it?”

  Stacie swallowed. “Yeah. I do.”

  Leaning on the table, she steadied herself. “Everything’s just… been building. I’ve felt so lost—like I’m walking through fog with no idea where the path is.”

  She paused. “When I was a kid, I was terrified of getting lost in the woods behind our house. That’s what this feels like.”

  Some fears vanish with childhood—monsters under the bed, the dark at the end of the hallway, getting lost in the woods. Stacie had outgrown that fear long ago. Or so she thought. But fear has a strange way of circling back, reshaping itself in silence. The woods may be gone, but now she stood in another kind of thicket—unfamiliar paths, unseen dangers, and no way to know which direction led out. And this time, there was no one calling her name from the porch, no safety waiting at the edge of the trees. Just her, and the quiet question pressing against her ribs: what do you do when the fear you left behind finds its way back in another form?

  Stacie shook her head. “I never told you this, but I started meditating back in eleventh grade. I was being bullied badly. Meditation was how I escaped.”

  “It’s supposed to help you stay grounded, but for me it became a way to disappear. Yesterday, though… it was like trying to meditate during a storm. Nothing worked—no stillness, just noise.”

  Her fingers traced the grain of the wood. “When you walked in, I snapped. Meditation was the one place I could breathe, and suddenly I couldn’t even have that.”

  Gracie listened quietly, her chest tightening.

  Everyone carries pain—it's one of the few things we all share, even if it wears a different face. Some people cry. Some go quiet. And some, like Stacie, strike out not to hurt, but to shield whatever’s breaking inside. Gracie had done it too, once—pushed people away before they could see the cracks. That’s why her grandmother’s words stayed with her. It wasn’t just a lesson—it was a lifeline. Gracie didn’t need every detail to understand Stacie’s hurt. She’d felt enough of her own to know that the ones who lash out the most are often the ones who need acceptance the most.

  Then Stacie added softly, “And one of the reasons I’ve been so on edge is… my mom is dying.”

  Silence fell.

  Gracie opened her mouth, then closed it. “That’s…”

  “Stage four,” Stacie said. “They’ve stopped treatment.”

  She wasn’t crying, but her whole body looked like it was holding something fragile together.

  “I keep wondering—does she miss me? And if I go back, will she still be there?”

  She let out a shaky laugh. “Funny enough, even though you’ve all been so kind to me from the start, I never even wanted to enter the competition. But she heard about it from a friend, and since she misses her hometown so much, what better way to make her proud—and get tickets—than by winning Chinese Bridge?”

  Another pause.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  “I’ve been thinking… what if we’re here for a reason? What if there’s something here that can help her?”

  Gracie frowned. “Help her how?”

  “I don’t know,” Stacie admitted. “We haven’t explored much. But maybe there’s something—herbs, treatments, anything. I have to believe there’s something.”

  Gracie saw hope tangled with desperation. Part of her wanted to promise the world; the other part knew better.

  Still, she offered a smile. “So maybe you’re meant to become a tea master and save the world?”

  Stacie gave her a flat look. “If my destiny depends on tea pouring, we’re screwed.”

  Gracie laughed. “Better start practicing, then.”

  Stacie groaned. “Fine. But if I spill anything, it’s your fault. Also—I hate tea.”

  Hope is a funny thing. It walks hand-in-hand with fear, each step forward trembling with the risk of disappointment. But sometimes, the sheer act of hoping is what keeps a person standing. And maybe—just maybe—that’s enough.

  Later, when Madam Cheng returned, she raised an eyebrow at the chatting girls. Without a word, they sprang to attention and began their lesson.

  ~

  They walked home together.

  “So,” Stacie said suddenly, “please tell me you brought face wash or makeup. I can’t emotionally spiral and get acne.”

  Gracie blinked. “I have lip oil?”

  Stacie groaned. “This is how it ends.”

  “At least you’re not doing chemistry homework,” Gracie pointed out.

  Stacie sighed. “Ugh. Don’t remind me. I was in the middle of stoichiometry. It’s evil.”

  Gracie grinned. “Totally.”

  They walked in silence, the leaves rustling around their feet.

  Then Gracie said quietly, “Just so you know… you’re not alone. I cut ties with my parents recently. Coming here was my way of getting space. They never approved of the life I chose.”

  Stacie glanced at her, something gentle in her eyes. The wind carried their words away.

  For the first time in a while, neither of them felt completely lost.

  ~

  Of course, the quiet couldn’t last. A voice suddenly cut through the air from down the road, loud and insistent.

  “Hey! Young misses! Over here!”

  A squat man in a wide?brimmed straw hat trotted toward them, maneuvering a handcart draped with fabric, fans, and trinkets that shimmered in the evening sun.

  “Would you be interested in the latest collection of dresses? Brought here straight from the hands of the famous seamstress, Lady Qing!” he declared, puffing out his chest. With a flourish, he produced a soft pink silk gown embroidered with cranes in mid?flight.

  It was the kind of gown that didn’t just belong in another time—it belonged in a world Gracie didn’t feel she had access to. Something too delicate for the hands of a girl who'd run from her past.

  Gracie blinked at its beauty but shook her head politely. “Actually, I’m afraid we don’t have the means to buy this. Maybe another time.”

  The merchant narrowed his eyes but kept smiling. “Don’t jest, misses. Looking at your complexions, I bet you didn’t have to do a day’s work in your entire life. There’s no way you can’t buy this. And if you’re not fond of Lady Qing’s designs, perhaps a fan to blow the gods off their high mountains?” He lifted a delicate fan, carved bamboo spokes peeking through painted rice paper depicting a misty mountain path.

  Stacie raised an eyebrow. “Hey, that’s rude. I’ve worked a fair amount, thank you very much.”

  “Doing what?” the merchant quipped, eyes dancing. “Singing competitions? I can see it from a mile away—your voice probably sounds like a songbird, but your hands haven’t seen a callus.”

  Gracie snorted.

  Stacie crossed her arms, mock?offended. “For your information, I once worked a summer at a dog grooming salon. I’ve been peed on by more poodles than I can count.”

  The merchant blinked, thrown. “Ah… well, that is a type of hardship,” he muttered, clearing his throat.

  “Exactly,” Stacie said, trying not to laugh. “So no need to judge.”

  He gave an exaggerated bow. “Forgive me, Miss Dog Whisperer. But consider this—should your noble work with poodles earn you any coin, my humble stall will be waiting. First customer discount, I swear on my mother’s wok.”

  Stacie smirked. “Deal.”

  Gracie and Stacie turned to leave, but the merchant didn’t budge. Instead, he squinted at Gracie, tilting his head like a man trying to make sense of a half?remembered dream.

  “Wait a moment,” he muttered, stepping around his cart for a better look. “Let me see your face again.”

  Gracie blinked, caught off guard. “Is something wrong?”

  The merchant didn’t answer at first. His gaze grew sharper, thoughtful. “No… no, just curious. You’ve got a very particular look. Elegant features, straight posture… like someone who hasn’t spent a day hauling buckets or chasing chickens.”

  Stacie raised an eyebrow. “I’ll have you know, she’s hauled plenty of… um, emotional weight.”

  The merchant didn’t laugh. He kept studying Gracie. “You remind me of someone. I swear it.” He snapped his fingers. “Aha—yes. Years ago, when I passed through the outer markets near the old capital, I caught a glimpse of someone just like you. A girl surrounded by attendants. Li family, I think. Big name, very private people.”

  Gracie’s smile faltered. “I’m not sure I know any Lis.”

  Quietly, the merchant thought he’d seen this kind of story unfold before—elegant girls in strange towns, carrying names heavier than they dared speak aloud. And whenever people like that showed up, whispers weren’t far behind. He wasn't one to meddle, but he’d learned that sometimes, offering a quiet warning was the smartest kind of self-preservation. A tip of the hat, a well-placed word—it bought you goodwill, and sometimes, distance from the trouble you saw coming.

  He gave her a long, assessing look. “Maybe not by name. But I heard whispers just a few days ago—some of the Li men are coming down here soon. Didn’t say why. Now I’m thinking I understand.”

  Stacie’s playful expression faded into something more wary. “You think they’re coming because of her?”

  “I don’t know,” the merchant said, lifting his palms. “But it’s a funny thing, isn’t it? I hear strange news from up north, and now I see a familiar face down here.”

  Gracie shifted uncomfortably, suddenly very aware of her posture, her hands, even the way she stood.

  The merchant seemed to sense her discomfort and offered a half?smile. “Don’t worry, misses. I’m not one to go stirring up hornets’ nests. Besides, I’m heading out in a week’s time. Just here to sell my wares and move on.”

  He tapped the side of his nose and added in a low voice, “Just a word of advice—keep your shadow small, misses. Not everyone passing through’s got a kind word or clean hands.”

  With that, he tipped his hat, turned, and began calling out again, his voice full of cheer.

  Gracie stood still, the noise of the market fading into a distant hum. She looked at Stacie, who gave a small shrug.

  “Well… that wasn’t ominous at all.”

  Fear doesn’t always roar. Sometimes it slinks in on market chatter and half-familiar names, curling into the corners of a quiet day. But Gracie had learned not to flinch at every shadow. Not yet.