Early the next morning.
Liu Xiaoman did not set out immediately. Instead, she circled the broken pot once, then reached out and scraped up a handful of fine soot from its cold bottom.
Facing her blurred reflection in a puddle, she did not hesitate to smear the black ash across her already sallow face.
Even her thin hands were dirtied, as if she had just crawled out of the mud.
She then dug out an old, tattered piece of clothing—so worn it could hardly be called whole—and wrapped herself in it, making herself look even more like an insignificant little beggar.
Only after finishing all this did she sling the lump—wrapped layer upon layer in rags and straw—onto her back.
Disguise was the best protection for the weak.
The twelve-kilometer journey to the town was an enormous challenge for her body, which had only just recovered from a fever.
The morning wind carried a chill that stung her face.
With every step, a faint burning pain rose in her lungs, and her legs felt as heavy as if filled with lead.
But Liu Xiaoman gritted her teeth.
Feeling the weight of hope on her back, she did not stop for a single step.
Her desire for her first pot of gold was the only thing holding her faltering body together.
By the time she reached the town, the sun was already high in the sky.
The bluestone-paved streets were bustling with people. The cries of vendors, the clatter of hooves, and the laughter of children intertwined, brimming with the lively atmosphere of everyday life.
Liu Xiaoman was not dazzled by the prosperity.
Drawing on her knowledge as a graduate student of history, she quickly scanned the closely packed shops for her target.
Her gaze finally settled on a pharmacy named “Huichun Hall.”
The signboard was a heavy slab of black-lacquered wood, its characters ancient and vigorous. There was a steady flow of customers at the entrance, and those coming and going were well-dressed—clearly a reputable, well-established shop.
She took a deep breath, hunched her back slightly, and walked inside.
A rich medicinal aroma rushed toward her, mixed with licorice, angelica, and countless other herbs.
A young apprentice, about fifteen or sixteen, was working an abacus behind the counter. Seeing her ragged, beggar-like appearance, he immediately frowned and waved her away impatiently.
“Go, go, this isn’t a place for begging. Don’t block the customers.”
Liu Xiaoman did not move, letting his disdainful gaze sweep over her from head to toe.
She lifted her head, revealing a pair of clear, steady eyes that stood out against her dirty face. Her voice was soft but firm:
“I have life-saving medicine. I need to see your shopkeeper.”
The apprentice was momentarily stunned by her calm confidence and was about to drive her away again when a steady voice came from the inner hall:
“Let her in.”
A middle-aged man in a gray silk robe with a goatee stepped out—it was Shopkeeper Qian.
He looked her over, his gaze lingering briefly on her unusually composed eyes, curiosity flickering within him.
“I guessed right. The bigger the establishment, the more they follow rules—and recognize value,” Liu Xiaoman thought to herself, slightly bowing as she followed him into the inner room.
The back hall was quiet and refined, completely different from the bustling front.
Shopkeeper Qian sat at a table, took a sip of tea, then gestured for her to begin.
“You said you have good medicine. Let me see it.”
His tone was calm, carrying the usual scrutiny of a seasoned businessman.
Without speaking further, Liu Xiaoman carefully placed the mud-covered bundle on the table.
In front of him, she slowly untied the vines, peeled away the dry straw and rags layer by layer.
When the innermost layer—a broad leaf smeared with soil—was lifted, a plant with intact roots and strange purplish-red vines appeared before him.
Shopkeeper Qian’s pupils shrank sharply. The hand holding his teacup froze midair.
He set the cup down and leaned closer, examining it carefully. He even snapped off a small piece of vine and brought it to his nose.
A rich, peculiar herbal fragrance instantly filled his senses.
Though his face remained composed, his heart was already in turmoil.
“Hm, it’s bloodstop vine. Decent quality,” he said, sitting back and tapping the table lightly. His tone returned to calm calculation.
“But since it was dug up by a village girl who doesn’t know preservation, its potency has diminished after leaving the soil. How about this—I’ll give you two taels of silver. That’s quite generous.”
He thought to himself: It’s good stuff, but the girl probably doesn’t know the market. I’ll start low and test her.
Hearing the price, Liu Xiaoman sneered inwardly, though her face showed no trace of emotion.
She smiled slightly. On her dirty face, the expression looked a bit odd—but it made Shopkeeper Qian’s heart skip.
“Shopkeeper, that’s not quite right.”
She raised a similarly dirt-stained finger and lightly tapped the soil clinging to the roots.
“This vine grows on damp rock walls. The moss on its roots preserves its vitality to the greatest extent. Look at these nodes—deep purplish-red, with a sticky, fibrous break. That shows its age and potency far exceed ordinary stock.”
“A specimen like this is ideal for making top-grade wound medicine. It must be slow-roasted over a gentle fire in a clay pot, then supplemented with three qian of licorice to temper its harshness. Only then can it become proper medicine.”
“Two taels? That wouldn’t even cover the charcoal for preparation.”
Don’t take me for a fool, she thought. I know more than you. Trying to lowball me? Not happening.
Shopkeeper Qian’s tapping fingers stopped.
The casual look on his face vanished, replaced by near shock.
He stared at the frail girl before him, as if trying to see through her.
Even many experienced physicians couldn’t articulate such details—let alone the preparation method, which was a closely guarded secret of Huichun Hall!
In just a few sentences, his attitude completely changed.
From a careless buyer, he straightened into full attention.
The way he looked at Liu Xiaoman transformed—from a village girl selling herbs to someone unfathomable…
Or perhaps the descendant of a hidden master.
The effect of her overwhelming knowledge was immediate.
Shopkeeper Qian quickly dropped all condescension, forcing a polite smile.
“I was mistaken. Please don’t take offense, young lady. A specimen like this is indeed rare. How about ten taels of silver?”
He paused, then took out a small wooden token and handed it to her.
“This is a VIP token of our shop. If you have more herbs like this in the future, come directly to me. I guarantee a fair price.”
Ten taels of silver.
The amount made Liu Xiaoman’s heart skip a beat.
She suppressed her excitement, maintaining a calm expression as she accepted the silver and token, offering her thanks.
She did not get carried away. After leaving Huichun Hall, she quickly purchased fifty jin of white rice, twenty jin of flour, a large bag of coarse salt, and several bolts of durable cotton cloth.
As she carried the heavy load, her steps felt noticeably lighter.
At that moment, Liu Dabao swaggered out of a gambling den, cursing under his breath—clearly having lost money.
He immediately spotted Liu Xiaoman leaving the grain shop, as well as the bulging sack on her back.
By the time Liu Xiaoman returned to the village entrance on an ox cart, she felt a greedy, jealous gaze stick to her like a venomous snake.
She turned sharply—and met the eyes of her cousin Liu Dabao, sitting on another cart, staring fixedly at the money pouch at her waist. The greed in his gaze was fiercer than a starving wolf spotting meat.
Her heart tightened.
Without revealing anything, she turned away, quickly got off the cart, and hurried home.
She knew that once Liu Dabao saw this, Old Madam Tian and the others would swarm like flies smelling blood.
She had to prepare immediately.
Watching her retreating figure, Liu Dabao spat on the ground. His eyes shifted, and he jumped off his cart, running toward the Liu family house.