The Turmoil of Western Jin: The Tale of Aixi

When Lian Aixi opened her eyes amid a bone-deep chill, the air around her carried not the smell of hospital disinfectant, but the damp stench of mildew and the acrid smoke of burning firewood. She tried to lift a hand to rub her throbbing temples, only to find her arm as heavy as lead. The coarse hemp sleeve scraped painfully against her skin. This was not the silk blouse she had worn before the car accident. Her vision slowly came into focus. In the dim room, the earthen walls were cracked and peeling. A shaft of daylight leaking through the roof cast scattered patches of light across the floor. Half a bundle of dry firewood lay in the corner, and the only piece of furniture was a wooden table missing a leg. A chipped pottery bowl sat at its edge, with half a bowl of cloudy rice broth left inside.