Winter passed, spring came — then summer and fall — and before they knew it two years had gone by. The four of them had made snowmen in the Tianshan snows, raced across the northern steppes, drifted in boats through Jiangnan’s canals. Finally they decided to visit the Sleepless City.

　　The Sleepless City was the empire’s capital — the richest, busiest place in the realm, open to travelers from everywhere. Day or night it was supposed to glow with life. How could anyone touring the world skip it?

　　But when they reached the city gates the sight didn’t match the stories at all. The gates were shut tight.

　　They were puzzled — there wasn’t even a sentry by the gate to ask. On the gate tower a few soldiers stood watching them.

　　“Brother, why aren’t the gates open?” Ruoshui called up loudly.

　　“What are you here for?” one of the guards shouted back.

　　“We came to see the Sleepless City,” Ruoshui answered. “To see what all the talk is about.”

　　“If you value your life, move on,” the soldier waved them away.

　　“Why?” Feng Xinzi demanded.

　　“Because I said so. Don’t ask so many questions,” the guard snapped.

　　Then chaos erupted at the gate. A slit opened and a crush of people tried to pour out — but the first to squeeze through was skewered by a spear tipped with red tassels. Others shoved and shoved until the gate burst open and a tide of people — wild as stampeding horses — poured out. Those who ran slow fell and rolled in their own blood, clawing toward the outside as if something monstrous were inside the city.

　　It all happened so fast. Feng Xinzi shielded Ruoshui so she wouldn’t be trampled. Just when it looked like the fleeing mob would overrun them, a youth in armor dropped down from the wall like an avenging spirit. He moved with cold, lethal speed: one thrust to the heart, another throat cut — white blade in, red in. He seemed like a death god sent to take scores of lives.

　　Yu Furong and Yu Lan trembled with fright.

　　Feng Xinzi tried to rush in, but Ruoshui clung to his sleeve and buried her face against his chest as if she couldn’t bear to watch. He held her, murmuring, “I’ve got you. Don’t be afraid.”

　　It wasn’t fear so much as nausea. The sight of those dying people, the fresh blood, the smell of iron — it cramped something inside her chest. She shut her eyes and willed herself not to think.

　　The gates were slammed shut again. No matter how the young swordsman slew those who tried to flee, he couldn’t stop the panic. At last he leveled his sword at a wailing child and hesitated.

　　“You won’t even spare a child?” Feng Xinzi demanded.

　　Ruoshui took two steps back, forcing herself to look at the corpses and blood and waited for the youth’s answer.

　　Reluctantly, the youth sheathed his sword and gave a wry smile. “What do you think is going on?”

　　“I don’t know,” Feng Xinzi admitted. “So I didn’t interfere. Tell me — what’s happened in the Sleepless City? Why lock the gates? Why are people running out like that?”

　　“The plague,” the youth said. “It’s spreading through the city. Those who stay inside will die. The people fleeing will only carry the disease with them.”

　　“But this is the imperial capital,” Feng Xinzi protested. “There’s an emperor here, imperial physicians—how can it be like this?”

　　The young man’s smile turned strained. “The emperor fled. The famous imperial doctors? They left with him.”

　　That was staggering. When disaster struck, the emperor had run and taken the court physicians with him, leaving tens of thousands to fend for themselves. No wonder people risked everything to escape; staying meant certain death.

　　Yu Lan, quiet but brave, moved forward. She soothed a child as she spoke to the armored youth. “Then why haven’t you left?” she asked. She’d watched the young swordsman from the moment he’d appeared — terrified, fierce, strangely noble — and despite her fear something pulled at her heart.

　　He watched her with a glance both cold and rough, then leaped back up to the parapet.

　　Ruoshui turned to Feng Xinzi. “You’re a doctor. Can you really stand by and let people die?”

　　It wasn’t about being cold-hearted. People, even immortals, sometimes stayed out of affairs they couldn’t change. But if he refused because it was too hard, Ruoshui would think him heartless.

　　“I am Feng Xinzi. I know a bit of medicine,” he said loudly. “If you will, I’ll do what I can. Open the gate.”

　　The youth repeated the name slowly. His face brightened. “You are Feng Xinzi? The famous physician?”

　　“Yes — he’s the one people call the God-Doctor.” Yu Lan blurted the answer before Feng Xinzi could.

　　The youth dropped down from the wall to look Feng Xinzi over. The faint aroma of herbs on him gave him away. He bowed. “Forgive my rudeness. I did not recognize you.”

　　Ruoshui smiled. “No offense taken.”

　　“Will you let us in?” Feng Xinzi asked.

　　The youth hesitated. “Do you truly want to enter? Once you go in, you may never come back. You will meet the same fate as those people.” He looked at the bloodied ground.

　　“Feng Xinzi heals the world,” Ruoshui said, her voice full of feeling. “If he can help, how could we stand aside?”

　　The youth regarded them solemnly, then saluted Feng Xinzi in return. He admired the courage. Feng Xinzi clasped his fists and bowed. “You flatter me.”

　　“Then we’ll go,” the youth said. He introduced himself as Tang Di — heir of the old Yunan Prince’s house. Back in the day the Yunan Prince had been a great general, but court politics drove his family to ruin. When the plague struck and nobles fled, Tang Di was left to hold the city. He had been given the grim title “Prince of Stabilizing Peace” and the duty of defending the people — essentially a command to hold the line and wait for death if need be. He had wanted to die with his city — until now, when a glimmer of hope arrived.

　　Tang Di had provisions prepared and, after long hours of waiting until the streets quieted, personally opened the gate and brought Feng Xinzi and the others into the city.

　　Inside the Sleepless City, there was no bustle — only an eerie silence. Crows flew above and the occasional harsh caw split the air. The place had been turned from a thriving capital into something like a haunted hell.

　　Tang Di put them up at the Yunan Prince’s mansion. Food was prepared. After a long day Ruoshui yawned and fell asleep; she needed rest if she was to be of any use.

　　That quiet night, a soft zither voice drifted through the Prince’s house and calmed even Tang Di’s restless heart. For a few hours he, too, slept.

　　Before dawn Feng Xinzi left to inspect the sick, and Tang Di went to man the gate after him. He told the steward to look after the women.

　　At noon the servants brought simple food — plain rice porridge, pickles, a plate of greens. People who’d grown used to delicacies found such fare almost impossible to swallow. Ruoshui, who was notoriously picky, had been coddled by Feng Xinzi for two years and rarely ate plain food.

　　The steward saw how uncomfortable the situation was. A servant muttered bitterly: they had spent much of the mansion’s stores on welcoming Feng Xinzi — they had little left. He complained that Ruoshui and her companions were being served like nobles. The steward tried to smooth things over: “They’re the family of the famous doctor. Please show them respect.”

　　Ruoshui, hearing the fuss, walked over with a careless air, apologized for being lost, and let the steward lead her away. He felt both relieved and a little ashamed — she had used courteous language toward him, which made him suspect she was being deliberately distant. Ruoshui didn’t notice any of that. She simply wanted to avoid being lost again.

　　At the inner room the steward fumbled awkwardly, clearly worried about offending guests with little food to spare. Ruoshui waved him off.

　　“Don’t worry about me,” she said. “I’m picky, and I can go three or four days without eating rather than eat something I dislike. My sisters here need food more than I do. That’s your business; take care of them.”

　　The steward, chastened and embarrassed, bowed and said, “Forgive us.”

　　They finished dinner without incident.