BiBi was a lively little girl who loved to run, skip, and hop all over the village. Her laughter echoed through the bamboo groves, and her tiny footprints often marked the dusty paths around her home. But one rainy afternoon, something changed.
It started with a stumble. BiBi had been playing near the rice field, chasing butterflies, when she slipped and landed hard on her left leg. At first, she didn’t think much of it—she was used to little bumps and scrapes. But that evening, she limped back home, holding her leg and wincing with every step.
When Uncle Phong saw her, his heart sank. Uncle Phong wasn’t really her uncle by blood, but everyone in the village called him Uncle. He was the kind of man who treated every child as his own. A retired teacher with deep wrinkles and a kind smile, Uncle Phong spent his days tending a small garden and helping neighbors whenever they needed.
“BiBi, what happened?” he asked, rushing to her side.
“I fell,” she whispered, trying to be brave, “and now my leg hurts a lot.”
He helped her sit down, gently examined her leg, and noticed a bit of swelling around her ankle. “It’s not broken,” he murmured to himself, “but it’s hurt bad enough to need care.”
They wrapped her leg with a warm cloth and gave her some rest. But over the next two days, BiBi’s limp didn’t get better. In fact, it worsened. She cried at night and didn’t want to eat during the day. Seeing her pain made Uncle Phong feel helpless. The village clinic was closed for the week—Nurse Lan had gone to visit her family in the city. So Uncle Phong decided to take matters into his own hands.
“I’m going to find something to help you feel better,” he told BiBi, brushing her hair gently. “I know some old herbal remedies my grandmother once taught me. Maybe they’ll help.”
That night, under the light of a dim oil lamp, Uncle Phong sat at his wooden table flipping through a thick, old herbal medicine book with worn-out pages and handwritten notes. It had belonged to his grandmother, a skilled healer in her time.
“Ginger… turmeric… lemongrass… Ah, here it is—cây chìa vôi and ngải cứu,” he muttered to himself. These were traditional Vietnamese herbs known for reducing swelling and soothing muscle pain. They were not always easy to find, but he knew a place deep in the forest where wild herbs still grew.
At sunrise, with a straw basket and a walking stick, Uncle Phong set out for the hills beyond the village. The morning air was crisp, and mist hugged the trees like a protective blanket. Birds chirped overhead as he followed an old footpath he hadn’t walked in years.
Hours passed as he searched. He climbed slopes, crouched under thick branches, and scanned the forest floor carefully. Finally, near a mossy rock by a small stream, he found the silvery leaves of ngải cứu—mugwort. A little further down, growing close to a cluster of ferns, was cây chìa vôi. He picked the leaves carefully, thanking the earth for its gifts.
When he returned, BiBi was still lying on her mat, trying to stay cheerful despite the pain. “Uncle Phong!” she cried out, seeing him sweaty and muddy but smiling.
“I found what we need,” he said, setting the basket down.
That evening, the house smelled of boiling herbs. Uncle Phong prepared a warm compress by crushing the herbs and wrapping them in cloth, then lightly steaming it. Gently, he pressed it onto BiBi’s sore leg. She winced at first, but the warmth was comforting.
He repeated this twice a day. He also made her drink a mild herbal tea with ginger and lemongrass to help with inflammation. The whole village heard about what he was doing, and some neighbors came by to offer help—Mrs. Hanh brought honey, and old Mr. Ba lent a bamboo steamer for the herbs.
By the third day, BiBi’s pain had lessened. She no longer cried at night, and she could eat with a smile again. “It’s working!” she said, excited.
Uncle Phong nodded, relieved. “Nature knows how to heal if we learn to listen to it.”
A week later, BiBi was able to walk slowly. Her limp was still there, but it was barely noticeable. Uncle Phong continued the treatments and encouraged her to move a little each day. He even made a little wooden crutch for her, decorated with carvings of flowers and birds to cheer her up.
Soon, BiBi was outside again, walking among the trees and smiling at butterflies. She wasn’t running yet, but she was strong and determined. Uncle Phong watched from his porch, sipping tea, his eyes full of pride.
One afternoon, she came up to him and said, “Uncle Phong, when I grow up, I want to learn about herbs too. I want to help others like you helped me.”
He chuckled warmly. “Then I’ll teach you. The forest has many secrets, but it shares them with those who care.”
From then on, every weekend, BiBi and Uncle Phong went to the forest together. He taught her how to recognize leaves by their scent, how to harvest without harming the plant, and how to mix remedies with care and respect. BiBi kept a small notebook where she drew pictures of each herb and wrote down everything Uncle Phong said.
Her leg fully healed in time. But more importantly, her heart had grown full—with knowledge, gratitude, and a desire to give back.
Uncle Phong’s simple act of love, fueled by worry and wisdom, had not only healed her body but had planted a new seed in her life—a passion for caring and for healing. The villagers began to call her “Little Healer” and often came to her with questions about plants and teas.
And so, what began with a fall in the field turned into something much greater—a bond between generations, a rediscovery of old traditions, and the beginning of a new path for a bright little girl with a brave heart.
