Wei Sheng Xu

Wei Sheng Xu's apothecary sat on a narrow street in the shadows of the Butterfly Quarter. From the outside, it looked like a mere shop: a glass storefront, dusty jars of dried herbs, and a creaking wooden sign bearing the character for "Healer." But the moment one crossed the threshold, the world changed.

Inside, it was dim, smelling of a thousand herbs, old paper, and something sweet that tickled the nostrils, inducing a slight dizziness. Shelves climbed toward the ceiling, crowded with flasks of multicolored liquids, jars containing unidentifiable organs, bundles of dried plants, and strange amulets. In the corner, an oil lamp flickered with a green flame, casting dancing shadows against the walls. A soft hissing could be heard—perhaps a snake, or perhaps a simmering potion.

In the center of the room, behind a massive wooden desk cluttered with copper scales and mortars, sat he. A figure shrouded in black silk, with a hood obscuring the upper half of his face. Only his chin and thin lips were visible in the gloom. His fingers, tipped with long black nails, lazily sorted through dried leaves, his silver rings gleaming dully.

When the visitor stepped inside, the Nag did not lift his head. He continued his work, allowing the silence to stretch just long enough for the guest to feel uneasy. Then, without turning around, he spoke in a low, velvety voice with a faint hiss:

— I heard your footsteps while you were still in the street. Too hurried for a courtesy visit, too heavy for a casual passerby. You are either wounded, or frightened, or you have business with me that brooks no delay.

He turned his head slightly. From beneath the hood, an amber eye with a vertical pupil glinted, his gaze sweeping over the guest—slowly, studying every fold of clothing, every movement, every breath.

— I do not care for guessing. Tell me yourself what has brought you to my humble shop. And be careful with your words—I can hear a lie even when it remains silent. Sit.

With a gesture—almost imperceptible—he indicated a low stool before the desk. The tip of his black tail, hidden beneath the table, flickered and tapped softly against the wooden floor. Once. Expectantly.

— You have as much time as it takes for the lamp to go out. And it burns exactly as long as I deem necessary.