The bunker was quiet. Shen sat at the table, the alchemy notebook open in front of him. The pages were stained with water stains and smudged fingerprints. He had read them so many times that he no longer struggled with the handwriting.
He laid out his materials: dried hemostatic grass, a small jar of crushed glowing mushroom powder, a chunk of mist root, a few dried leaves of drowsy herb, and a small bottle of distilled alcohol. Three recipes. He needed ten of each.
He started with the hemostatic paste. He took a large handful of hemostatic grass and crushed it in the stone mortar. The dried leaves crackled under the pestle, turning into a coarse green powder. He added two pinches of glowing mushroom powder, then a small amount of water, and stirred until it became a thick paste. He spooned the paste onto a clean cloth square, folded it, and twisted the cloth tight. A thick green liquid dripped into a small ceramic bowl. He let it cool, but the liquid stayed runny—too thin.
"Not enough mushroom powder," he muttered.
He poured it back into the mortar, added another pinch of mushroom powder, and stirred again. Then he heated the mixture gently over the alcohol burner, watching it thicken. After a few minutes, it turned into a dark gel. He filtered it again, and this time it cooled into a soft, spreadable paste. He transferred it into a small ceramic box and sealed the lid. One down. Nine more to go. He repeated the steps, adjusting the water and mushroom powder each time until the texture was consistent. By the tenth batch, he could do it without checking the notebook. Ten small boxes sat in a row on the table.
A knock came at the door. Shen looked up. Jiang was in the back room. He wiped his hands on a rag and opened the door.
Lin stood outside. Her short sword was at her belt, and her hair was damp from the evening mist. She didn't smile. She just looked at him. He stepped aside, and she walked in. She sat on the cot against the wall and watched as he returned to the table. He didn't speak. He picked up the next set of ingredients.
"What are you making?" she asked.
"Medicine. For the Third Door."
She nodded and said nothing more.
He moved on to the pain relief pills. He took a piece of mist root and scraped it into fine shavings with a small knife, then ground the shavings into powder. He added dried herb leaves, crushing them together until the mixture was uniform.
"What does that one do?" Lin asked, moving closer.
"Kills pain. You take it after a wound. Makes the hurt bearable."
He tipped the powder into a small bowl and added a few drops of honey, stirring until it formed a thick, sticky dough. Then he pinched off small pieces and rolled them between his palms. The first pill came out lopsided, too big. He set it aside. The second was smaller but cracked. His frown deepened.
Lin stood up. "Let me try." She rinsed her hands in a water basin, dried them on a cloth, and sat across from him. He showed her the size—roughly that of a dried pea. She pinched a piece of dough and rolled it between her palms. It turned out round and smooth.
"Good," Shen said.
She made another. Then another. He worked alongside her, rolling and shaping. Together, they made ten good pills. He swept the two failed ones into a small dish for testing later, then spread the ten pills on a clean cloth to dry.
"They need time," he said. "They'll harden by morning."
Lin looked at her hands. They were tacky with honey. She wiped them on the cloth.
He turned to the last recipe: the antidote tincture. He broke off a small piece of glowing mushroom and crushed it in the mortar until it released a faintly glowing juice. He decanted the juice into a glass beaker. Then he took a few slivers of mist root and dropped them into a separate jar with distilled alcohol. He shook it and let it settle, then poured the alcohol into the beaker. The mixture darkened to green. He stirred it with a glass rod.
"That smells bad," Lin said.
"It's supposed to."
He placed the beaker on the alcohol burner and heated it gently. The liquid bubbled and grew thick. Then he let it cool. When he checked, it had become a murky brown. He dipped a clean fingertip in and touched it to his tongue. His tongue tingled with numbness.
"Too strong. Poisonous."
He dumped it and began again. This time, he used less mist root and more water, heating it more slowly. That gave him the first good bottle. The liquid was pale yellow. He tested it again—a single drop. No numbness, just a slight bitterness. "Better." He made nine more batches, each with slight adjustments, until ten small bottles lined the table. He corked them and stood them in a row.
Lin had watched without moving. She hadn't left her spot.
"You're really going to make all this for the Third Door?" she asked.
"Some for us. Some to sell."
"Sell?"
"I know a merchant. She buys door loot. Medicine too."
Lin was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "I don't want to be on my own anymore."
Shen stopped what he was doing. He looked at her.
"I want to come with you," she said. "Into the Third Door."
He didn't answer immediately. He picked up a box of ointment and set it with the others.
"You know what that means."
"Yes."
"Your uncle knows?"
"It's my decision."
He studied her for a long moment. Then he nodded once.
"All right."
Lin's shoulders sagged with relief. She hadn't noticed she was tensed up.
Jiang emerged from the back room. She surveyed the rows of medicine on the table. "Ten boxes, ten pills, ten bottles. That's a lot."
"We need the money," Shen said. "To buy more materials. And for the Third Door."
Jiang nodded. "Ye Hongyu will take them."
Lin rose. "I'll go with you."
Shen glanced at her and nodded. He packed the medicines in a canvas bag. Jiang pulled on her coat. The three left the bunker.
The black market was in the old drainage tunnels beneath the city. Jiang led the way, Shen behind her, Lin at his side. The air grew damp and cold. Oil lamps flickered on the walls, casting long shadows.
Ye Hongyu's stall was at the end of a narrow passage. She was arranging glass jars on a shelf when they arrived. She had on the same black coat, the same high ponytail. Her pistol hung at her hip.
"Back again?" she said, smiling. Her gaze swept from Jiang to Shen to Lin. "And you brought more company."
"Business," Shen said. He set the canvas bag on the counter and opened it.
Ye Hongyu peered inside. She pulled out a box of hemostatic paste, uncorked it, and sniffed. She dabbed a finger into the ointment and rubbed it on the back of her hand. "Smells right. Texture's good." She returned it to the bag and picked up a bottle of antidote tincture. She raised it to the light, uncorked it, and sniffed. "Pale yellow. That's what it should be."
She looked at Shen. "You made these?"
"Yes."
"All of them?"
"Ten each."
Ye Hongyu whistled softly. "You've been busy." She picked up a pain relief pill, examined it, then nibbled a tiny piece. She chewed, swallowed, and paused. "Numbness on the tongue. That's the mist root. Not too strong. Good."
She set everything back in the bag. "I'll take them all."
"How much?" Shen asked.
Ye Hongyu quoted a price. It was fair—higher than the surface market, lower than the auction house. She counted coins from her lockbox and pushed them across the counter. Shen pocketed them.
"Same arrangement as before," Ye Hongyu said. "Fifteen percent commission when they sell. I can move these quickly. There's always demand for good medicine."
Shen gave a short nod.
Lin spoke for the first time. "Do you only sell medicine?"
Ye Hongyu looked at her. "I deal in anything that comes outdoors. Weapons, herbs, artifacts. If you bring it, I'll find a buyer." She glanced at Shen. "Your friend is clever. He creates rather than just scavenges. That's uncommon."
Shen picked up the empty bag and handed it to Lin. She accepted it silently.
"One more thing," Ye Hongyu said. "The auction house. I can send a few bottles there next week. Higher price, but they take a bigger cut. Your choice."
"Try it," Shen said. "Three bottles. The best ones."
Ye Hongyu smiled. "Done."
They left the black market. The stale tunnel air yielded to the cool evening breeze. Stars pierced the haze.
Lin walked beside Shen. "She's odd."
"She's a merchant," Shen said. "They're all like that."
Jiang chuckled. "He's not wrong."
They walked back in silence. Once inside, Shen poured the coins onto the table. Jiang counted.
"Enough for a month's worth of herbs," she said.
"More than that," Shen said. He looked at Lin. "You did well today. The pills—you made half of them."
Lin studied her hands. "They're still tacky."
"Go wash them."
She went to the basin and washed. When she returned, Shen was already grinding another batch. The rhythm was even.
Lin sat on the cot and observed. Jiang lit the lantern.
No one spoke, but the silence wasn't empty.