In the plum-rain season of her sophomore year, the air was filled with a damp, musty smell. Tiny red dots suddenly appeared on the back of Chen Yao’s neck, like marks left by mosquito bites. She casually applied some cooling oil, not anticipating that this would be the beginning of a nightmare. As the temperature warmed, the red dots spread like wildfire, developing into red patches covering one side of her neck, with layers of scales on the surface that fell off like snowflakes with the slightest scratch. In the clinic, amid the pungent smell of alcohol, she clutched the diagnosis sheet reading “psoriasis vulgaris,” her knuckles white; the cicadas’ noisy chirping outside could not drown out the roar of her heartbeat.

This sudden illness completely changed Chen Yao’s life. To treat it, she visited hospitals of all sizes across the city and tried various treatments. In the Chinese herbal pharmacy, the prescriber skillfully weighed each medicinal herb: Chenpi, Kushen, Baixianpi... These bitter herbs were boiled into a dark brown decoction that churned her stomach every time she drank it. The bitter medicinal steam rising from the earthenware pot often brought tears to her eyes, yet despite it all, her condition remained intermittently better and worse.

Desperate and impulsive, she also believed many folk remedies. A black plaster mixed with the smell of herbs and rust, when applied to the skin produced a burning sensation that lasted all night; her skin became red and swollen from the irritation, yet there was still no improvement. Once she saw a street advertisement for “fire therapy cures all diseases” and gritted her teeth to pay the expensive fee. Scorching moxa sticks blistered her back, pain interwoven with scales; she curled up under the quilt crying until dawn, and the next day still forced herself to attend class.

Other people's stares hurt more than the disease itself. On the subway, a neighboring passenger, upon noticing the scales on her neck, suddenly moved away; the look of disgust was like a sharp thorn. At company dinners, coworkers' subtle avoidance slowly cooled her once-hopeful social spirit. She began wrapping herself tightly in turtleneck sweaters and long-sleeve shirts, refusing to wear short sleeves even in summer, and even turned down dates from a man she liked. Countless nights she faced the mirror, looked at the mottled skin on her body, and tears soaked her pillowcase.

A turning point came on a rainy night. Rain hammered against the window, and Chen Yao, curled up on the sofa, listlessly scrolled through patient forums. A comparison image stabbed at her eyes: the photo showed flaky skin contrasted sharply with smooth new skin, and the poster detailed the course of biologic therapy. She lay awake all night; a sliver of hope ignited in her, tempered by fear of disappointment. The next day she rushed into a tertiary hospital clutching the wages she'd saved for half a year.

When the biologic injection needle pierced her skin, amid the smell of disinfectant, Chen Yao thought of those itch-devouring early mornings and the countless times she had torn new clothes apart in the fitting room in despair. The initial phase of treatment was not smooth; side effects such as mild dizziness and loss of appetite from the drug tormented her, but she gritted her teeth and persisted.

Three weeks later one morning, Chen Yao was applying ointment in front of the mirror as usual when she suddenly froze. The reddened skin began to lose its swelling, the scales came off at a gentle rub, revealing tender new flesh beneath. At the three-month follow-up, the doctor pointed at the exam sheet and smiled: “Recovery is very good.” Stepping out of the hospital, sunlight filtered through the leaves of the plane trees and fell on her. Standing beneath a tree, Chen Yao slowly unbuttoned her turtleneck sweater. The sun kissed her neck, and a long-missed warmth soaked into her through her pores and into her heart — for the first time in seven years of illness, she felt so relieved.

In a corner café, Chen Yao calmly placed her arm on the table. The young man opposite her smiled and handed her a hot latte. In the steam hovering above the rim, she finally understood what it meant to break out of a cocoon and be reborn. The painful experiences of the past had now become precious medals in her life, making her stronger and teaching her to cherish this hard-won new life all the more.