Back home, Shen Zhihuan closed the door and emptied the contents of her basket.

“Ginseng…”

Li Qiuhua’s voice rose in shock, only for her to quickly quiet herself. She turned to Xiao Weidong and sent him to check that the courtyard gate was securely locked. Still uneasy, she went to confirm it herself and even braced the gate with a thick wooden stick before returning to the main room.

She then shooed Xiao Weidong, who was munching on a peach, into the kitchen to boil water.

“Zhihuan, did you dig this up from the back mountain?” Li Qiuhua’s hands trembled as she pointed at the two ginseng roots lying on the table.

She had heard elders in the village mention that ginseng grew in the mountains around Panshi Village. Over the years, many had gone looking for it, but since no one recognized the plant’s shoots, they eventually gave up.

Yet here was her daughter, going up the mountain for the first time and returning with such a prized find.

“Yes,” Shen Zhihuan nodded. “Mom, tomorrow is the weekend. Let’s take these to the county and sell them.”

Selling these two ginseng roots would ensure their family could eat well for a long time. Just thinking about it made Shen Zhihuan’s mouth water.

The body she now inhabited was already frail, and she herself had always been a meat lover. Eating nothing but rice porridge, cucumbers, and chives every day was making her crave meat more and more.

“Sell them in the county yown?” Li Qiuhua looked worried.

“I heard from my classmates that the pharmacies in the county offer good prices,” Shen Zhihuan said, her gaze bright and clear.

Li Qiuhua frowned deeply, her unease evident.

A few years ago, a man from the village named Er Zhuzi had tried to trade goods in the county. He was caught and hadn’t been released since.

“Maybe I should go alone,” Li Qiuhua suggested, thinking about the nearly depleted supply of American ginseng and the 80 yuan of debt they owed. She steeled herself despite her fear.

“Mom, Xiao Weidong and I have never been to the county town before!” Shen Zhihuan pouted, trying to coax her mother.

She understood Li Qiuhua’s concerns, but if she didn’t find a way to bring those goods out into the open, they’d remain uselessly locked away in her “resort.”

And as for meat? Forget it!

“Mom, the water’s boiling!” Xiao Weidong’s voice came from the kitchen before Li Qiuhua could respond.

The wild chicken couldn’t be kept for long in the heat, so Li Qiuhua stewed it all in one pot with just a bit of ginger and salt. Even so, the family ate until they were stuffed. They even mixed the leftover broth with rice porridge to savor every drop.

For Shen Zhihuan, this was the best meal she’d had since arriving. It was also the best meal Li Qiuhua and Xiaowei had in years.

Once night fell, Shen Zhihuan, relying on her experience navigated confidently through the uneven terrain. Her destination? The grove of cypress trees, known locally as the “Graveyard Thicket,” notorious for its ghostly legends.

Stories abounded about blue ghost lights floating through the grove and ghostly women with long tongues wandering the graves. Over time, villagers from Shuangsha Town and nearby areas avoided the grove like the plague, preferring to take a longer route than to pass through it.

This reputation made the grove a perfect spot for discreet trades, which is why Shen Zhihuan and Qin Bin had chosen it as their meeting place.

Upon reaching the grove, Shen Zhihuan placed the fruits she had brought under the nearest cypress tree by the road. She then sat on a stone and closed her eyes to rest, wrapping her jacket tightly around herself against the cool night air.

Before long, the familiar sound of a creaking cart broke through the stillness. Shen Zhihuan opened her eyes, stretched, and walked toward the sound.

“Fell asleep here, did you?” Huang Xiao’er, the cart driver, teased as he dismounted.

“Fear doesn’t pay the bills,” Shen Zhihuan replied with a small laugh.

“Did you bring everything?” Qin Bin asked, cutting through Huang Xiao’er’s banter. He dismounted with practiced ease and walked toward Shen Zhihuan, glancing at her coolly.

“Over there.” Shen Zhihuan nodded toward the tree.

Qin Bin shone his flashlight and began inspecting the goods one by one. Meanwhile, Huang Xiao’er busied himself unloading empty baskets from the cart, his earlier grin fading under Qin Bin’s stern gaze.

“Same quantity as last time,” Shen Zhihuan said as Qin Bin finished his inspection.

“Next time, bring more lychees and cherries. Apples, grapes, melons, plums, and peaches—add an extra hundred pounds for each,” Qin Bin instructed.

“Lychees and cherries, 150 pounds each. Everything else, 200 pounds. Deal?” Shen Zhihuan confirmed.

“Deal,” Qin Bin agreed, pulling a bundle of banknotes from his pocket.

As he began counting, Shen Zhihuan spoke up. “Master Qin, I’ve got a question.”

“What is it?” Qin Bin paused, his sharp eyes meeting hers.

“Do you know any pharmacies in the county that buy fresh wild ginseng? Ones that offer fair prices.”

“Ginseng?” Qin Bin’s brow lifted slightly. “You’ve got ginseng now?”

“It’s not mine. A friend’s. I’m just asking on their behalf,” Shen Zhihuan replied quickly.

“How old are the roots?”

“Judging by their appearance, at least 100 to 150 years,” Shen Zhihuan estimated.

In her previous life, her grandparents had often prepared tonics with ginseng and lingzhi mushrooms to nurse her frail health. While she wasn’t an expert, she had learned enough to recognize quality.

“You know about ginseng?” Qin Bin remarked, eyeing her curiously.

“Just a bit,” Shen Zhihuan replied modestly, holding her thumb and forefinger barely apart.

“Try Baokang Pharmacy on East Street,” Qin Bin said, returning to counting the money.

Satisfied, Shen Zhihuan accepted 46 crisp banknotes. She waited until Qin Bin and Huang Xiao’er had driven off into the night before packing up the empty baskets and stowing them in her “resort.”