Chapter 8
Luna White dragged her heavy feet into the village clinic. The village doctor, Dr. Steven Davis, had once been a barefoot physician, roaming the countryside with his medical kit for years. When the government mandated every village to establish a clinic a few years back and no suitable candidate could be found, the mayor and villagers agreed to let Uncle Steven take the role.
He took her temperature, his frown deepening. "103.1°F!" he exclaimed. "Any higher, and you’ll fry your brain." The wound on the girl’s head was caked with dirt and dust—clearly infected, causing the fever.
After administering a fever-reducing injection, Dr. Steven counted out a dozen pills and pressed them into Luna’s hands. "Two pills, three times a day," he instructed. "Keep the wound dry and rest." He sighed, knowing his advice would likely fall on deaf ears. The White girl was notorious in the village for her relentless work ethic—no one truly expected her to slow down.
Luna thanked him and pulled money from her pocket. Dr. Steven hesitated—villagers usually settled medical bills at year’s end. He accepted fifty cents and handed back the remaining change.
Stepping out of the clinic, Luna felt slightly lighter. Sweat soaked her clothes, as if carrying away some of the fever. She carefully tucked away the remaining dollar fifty, already planning her next steps as she walked.
Her Acceptance Letter should arrive any day now. That life-changing document Clara White had stolen from her in her past life—this time, she would secure it no matter what. Did they really think she’d keep slaving away for the Whites? Not a chance!
But getting the letter was just the first step. Though the state provided subsidies, travel expenses and supplies still needed to be covered. The Whites would never pay, and her sisters’ families were barely scraping by. The memory of her eldest sister falling off a cliff searching for her and her second sister wasting away from illness in her past life sent a sharp pang through her chest. This time, she would protect them all.
Her supernatural ability! She suddenly remembered the power she’d gained later—the one that could bring the dead back to life. If she could reclaim it, her siblings would never suffer again.
When she returned to the White family courtyard, the household was gathered under the persimmon tree for dinner. Not a single glance was spared for her as she entered. Used to the cold reception, Luna called out, "Grandma," and turned toward her room.
"Stop right there!" Clara slammed her chopsticks down, dishes clattering.
Luna froze, her peripheral vision catching the neighbors eating in their own yard next door. The gate stood wide open—an easy escape if needed.
"What is it, Grandma?" she feigned ignorance.
"How dare you ask!" Clara’s beady eyes narrowed. "Was it you who took the flour? Did you steal the eggs? Such greed at your age—what will people say about our family?"
Luna smiled. "You knocked me unconscious yesterday and left me without food or water all day. When I woke up at noon looking for leftovers, there was nothing. Don’t Maya and the others get flour and eggs when they’re sick? I thought that was the rule, so I made myself some noodle soup." She deliberately raised her voice. "Or am I not allowed to eat that when I’m sick?"
"You worthless brat!" Clara shrieked, hopping in fury. "How dare you compare yourself to Maya? You’ll eat us out of house and home!"
Jack White’s expression darkened. He’d just told the whole village that morning that the old woman had taken Luna’s money—accusing her of freeloading now would only make him look like a liar.