Wushan Prefecture.
Zhang Rongfang leisurely weighed the herbs behind the counter with a small scale, then wrapped them in paper, collected the payment, and handed them to the patient.
"This is enough for seven days. Hold onto it carefully, don't spill it."
"Thank you, Pharmacist Zhang." The patient, a middle-aged man with a persistent cough and a sallow complexion, appeared well-off from his attire.
But it was unclear why he suddenly came here to get medicine.
Zhang Rongfang tossed the money into the drawer, suspecting that it might be his sister discreetly helping with the business.
But these trivial matters were of no concern.
After all, he was just running the shop as a diversion, a cover for his identity.
Ever since settling down in Wushan Prefecture, his mood had gradually relaxed.
No one was looking for trouble, there was no unrest, no fighting.
Every day was just the mundane routine of running the shop, eating, and sleeping.
