The next morning.
Liú Xiǎomǎn did not set off immediately. She first circled around the old pot, running her hand through the fine gray ash at its cold bottom.
Without hesitation, she smeared the black ash over her already waxy yellow face, coating her thin hands as well, making her look as if she had just crawled out of the mud.
She then pulled out a tattered old garment, wrapping herself to look even more like an inconspicuous little beggar.
Only after all this did she sling the mud-covered lump, wrapped layer by layer in cloth and straw, onto her back.
Disguise is the best camouflage for the weak.
The twelve-kilometer road to town was an immense trial for her body, still frail from the fever.
The morning wind was sharp against her face; each step sent tiny stabs of pain into her lungs, and her legs felt as if filled with lead.
But Liú Xiǎomǎn gritted her teeth, feeling the heavy hope on her back, and did not stop.
The desire for the first pot of gold was the sole support keeping her faltering body moving.
By the time she reached town, the sun was already high in the sky.
The streets, paved with blue-gray stones, were crowded with people. Shouts of vendors, horse hooves, and children’s laughter intertwined, filling the air with lively energy.
Liú Xiǎomǎn was not dazzled by the bustle. Drawing on her knowledge as a history graduate student, she quickly scanned the densely packed shops for her target.
Her eyes finally settled on a pharmacy called “Huīchūn Táng.”
The signboard was a heavy black lacquered wood, with simple yet strong calligraphy. The front had a steady flow of customers, all well-dressed, clearly an established and reputable store.
She took a deep breath, hunched her shoulders, and stepped into Huīchūn Táng.
A strong medicinal aroma enveloped her, mingling licorice, angelica, and countless other unknown herbs.
A young apprentice, around fifteen or sixteen, was behind the counter, calculating on an abacus. Seeing her beggar-like appearance, he frowned and waved dismissively. “Go away! This is not a place for begging. Don’t block the customers.”
Liú Xiǎomǎn did not move, allowing his disdainful gaze to scan her from head to toe.
She lifted her head, revealing clear and steady eyes amidst her dirty face, and spoke in a low but precise voice: “I have a life-saving medicine. I wish to see your shopkeeper.”
The apprentice was stunned by her composed demeanor. Just as he opened his mouth to dismiss her again, a steady voice came from the inner hall: “Let her in.”
A middle-aged man in a gray silk robe, with a goatee, emerged — the shopkeeper Qián.
He examined Liú Xiǎomǎn, pausing at her unusually calm eyes for her age and appearance, curiosity piqued.
“Right guess. The bigger the shop, the more they follow rules and recognize quality,” Liú Xiǎomǎn thought with relief, slightly bowing as she followed Qián into the back room.
The back room was serene and elegant, in stark contrast to the noisy front.
Qián sat at a table, sipped his tea, then gestured: “Little girl, you say you have good medicine. Show it to me.” His tone was calm, with the scrutinizing air of a merchant.
Liú Xiǎomǎn said nothing, carefully placing the mud-covered lump from her back onto the table.
In front of Qián, she slowly unwrapped layer by layer — the vine, dry straw, and tattered cloth.
When the large leaves coated in soil were finally removed, a plant with intact roots and a strange purplish-red vine appeared before Qián.
His pupils contracted sharply; the hand holding his tea froze mid-air.
He put down the cup and leaned in to inspect it closely, even pinching off a small piece to sniff.
A rich, unique herbal fragrance filled his nose instantly.
Though his expression remained calm, his mind churned wildly.
“Ah, Hemostatic Vine, good quality.” Qián sat back, tapping the table lightly, his voice returning to measured professionalism, “But after being dug by a country girl, she doesn’t know preservation methods. Once out of the soil, much of its medicinal property is lost. Let’s do this — for pity’s sake, I’ll offer you two taels of silver. That’s generous.”
Qián thought: “It’s good quality, but she clearly doesn’t know the market. I’ll probe with the lowest price first.”
Liú Xiǎomǎn sneered inwardly at the offer, outwardly calm.
She smiled slightly, a peculiar contrast against her dirty face, causing Qián’s heart to skip a beat.
“You are mistaken, shopkeeper.”
She extended her equally blackened finger, lightly touching the soil at the vine’s root, and spoke evenly: “This vine grew on a shaded, damp stone wall. The moss on its roots preserves its activity to the fullest. Look at the joints — deep purplish-red, sticky when broken — indicating both age and potency beyond ordinary stock. This quality Hemostatic Vine is the perfect raw material for making top-tier wound medicine. It requires slow-roasting in a clay pot, with three qian of licorice to counter dryness. Two taels? That wouldn’t even cover the roasting costs.”
Liú Xiǎomǎn thought: Don’t treat me like a fool. I know the trade better than you. Trying to undercut me? Forget it.
Qián’s fingers paused on the table.
The casual expression on his face gradually vanished, replaced by near-shock.
He lifted his head, staring intently at this frail girl, as if trying to see through her entirely.
What she said — even most experienced apothecaries could not articulate!
The roasting method was a secret of Huīchūn Táng!
In just a few sentences, his attitude shifted from casual to fully formal.
His gaze on Liú Xiǎomǎn changed completely — from seeing a country girl selling herbs to recognizing a profoundly skilled expert…
Or perhaps a descendant of a reclusive master!
The effect of this intellectual “dimensional drop” was immediate.
Qián instantly shed all condescension, forcing a polite smile, his attitude much more respectful.
“My eyes were short-sighted, little girl. Forgive me. Such quality Hemostatic Vine is indeed rare. I’ll pay ten taels of silver. How about that?”
He paused, taking a small wooden token from a drawer, handing it over: “This is our VIP card. If you bring such quality medicine again, come to the back hall. Price will always be fair.”
Ten taels of silver!
The huge sum made Liú Xiǎomǎn’s heart skip a beat.
She suppressed her exhilaration, maintaining a calm face, taking the silver and token with a word of thanks.
Without gloating, she immediately went to the market and purchased fifty jin of white rice, twenty jin of flour, a large bag of coarse salt, and several rolls of durable cotton cloth.
As she walked with the heavy goods, her steps lightened slightly.
Liú Dàbǎo was lazily emerging from a gambling stall, cursing under his breath — clearly he had lost money.
He immediately spotted Liú Xiǎomǎn leaving the grain store, the bulging cloth bag behind her.
Just as Liú Xiǎomǎn boarded a bullock cart to return to the village, a greedy, jealous gaze from behind clung to her like a poisonous snake.
She turned sharply, meeting her cousin Liú Dàbǎo on another cart, eyes fixed on the coin purse at her waist. The intensity of his stare was fiercer than a starving wolf spotting prey.
She shivered inwardly, feigning calm, turned back, and quickly descended the cart, speeding home.
She knew that now, seeing this, Elder Tián’s group would soon swarm like flies drawn to blood.
Preparation for confrontation was urgent.
Liú Dàbǎo spat on the ground, eyeing Liú Xiǎomǎn’s hurried retreat, then jumped off the cart, sprinting toward the Liú family mansion.