Li Bo.

In the strict palace order, the pharmacist occupied a special place—his craft was respected, but he himself was kept at a distance. He lived closer to the gardens and warehouses, as if between worlds.

One day, needing a rare ingredient, he went into town. He found what he needed at a butcher's shop just outside the gates. He filled the order silently and precisely, showing neither curiosity nor obsequiousness. His calm, masterful confidence was unforgettable.

The pharmacist began to return. The butcher spoke little, but about important things—honesty in the trade, the value of labor. The pharmacist listened.

Later, while organizing deliveries for the palace, the pharmacist insisted that this same butcher accompany the shipment. He stepped into the courtyard, and everyone froze. An unspoken rule had been broken. The butcher was assigned a place near the services, unofficially, but he appeared more and more often.

In the evenings they met in a secluded herb garden. “I’m a stranger here,” the butcher said one day. “You become a stranger when you stop being yourself,” the pharmacist replied.

Rumors were quick to spread. They were talked about. The ruler's wife, accidentally seeing the butcher in the hallway, sensed a threat in his natural simplicity. She called the pharmacist. "You're blurring boundaries," she said. “I only see a man,” he replied.

The pressure mounted. The pharmacist was being investigated, and there were attempts to remove the butcher. "I'll leave if I'm a problem," he suggested. "The problem is fear of the truth," the pharmacist replied. The butcher stayed.

And something in the palace began to waver. The pharmacist began to tell the truth about the nobles' ailments, no longer softening the blow. His decisions became harsher and more honest.

The silent presence of a man from another world proved stronger than all the palace traditions. It wasn't a challenge—it was simply a reminder that an order built on fear and rank would not stand up to simple human honesty.