Zhao Ming followed the medicine lady into the preparation room, his curiosity growing. The room was dimly lit, illuminated only by a few flickering oil lamps. Shelves lined the walls, packed with dried herbs, glass jars filled with mysterious liquids, and ancient scrolls. The scent of medicinal ingredients filled the air, earthy and slightly bitter, mingling with the faint aroma of burning incense.


    The woman moved with practiced grace, each step deliberate, as if she had spent a lifetime among these remedies. Her robes, though plain, bore faint embroidery of medicinal plants—wormwood, ginseng, and peony—stitched with meticulous care.


    She turned to him, her sharp eyes scrutinizing him like a patient under diagnosis. Despite her age, there was an air of strength about her, as if she had seen and endured much in her lifetime. There were callouses on her hands, marks of years spent grinding herbs and preparing medicine, yet her fingers remained steady, precise.


    “You passed the first test, but learning medicine requires steady hands and a sharp mind,” she said, placing a mortar and pestle before him. Her voice was neither warm nor unkind—just firm, like a seasoned teacher testing a student’s potential.


    Zhao Ming’s attention was drawn to a deep crimson birthmark shaped like a lotus flower on the left side of her cheek. It stood out starkly against her pale skin, making her face both unique and intimidating. There was something about it, something that felt oddly familiar, though he couldn’t place why.


    For a brief moment, a shadow crossed her expression, as if she had noticed his gaze and knew the unspoken questions forming in his mind. But instead of addressing it, she merely gave him a knowing look, one that carried a weight of history untold.


    "Well? Are you going to stare all day, or are you ready to prove yourself?" she said, arching a brow.


    Zhao Ming straightened, pushing aside his curiosity. Whatever story lay behind that birthmark, he would have to earn the right to hear it.


    <hr>


    The woman handed Zhao Ming a bundle of dried herbs, their brittle texture indicating they had been cured for preservation. The faint scent of ginseng and angelica root mixed in the air as she placed them in front of him.


    “Grind these into a fine powder without losing their essence,” she instructed, her tone leaving no room for hesitation.


    Zhao Ming activated Insight, and a flood of information filled his mind. He quickly learned that the right technique required controlled force—too much pressure would crush the herbs and release their essential oils too soon, while too little would result in an uneven grind, making the medicine ineffective.


    He placed the herbs into the mortar and began grinding with circular motions, but the moment he applied pressure, the brittle leaves crumbled too quickly. A small cloud of herbal dust rose into the air, making him cough.


    “Too rough,” the woman commented, arms crossed. “You’re not crushing stones. Medicine requires patience.”


    Zhao Ming adjusted his grip and tried again, but this time, he was too gentle, barely making progress. His movements were hesitant, unsure. He ground for a minute, then checked the consistency. Some pieces were still too large, while others had turned into near-powder.


    The woman let out a quiet sigh. “Balance, boy. Do you think medicine is about rushing? If your grind is uneven, the medicine won’t mix properly. Start over.”


    Zhao Ming inhaled deeply, steadying himself. He emptied the mortar, carefully brushing out any uneven remains, then picked up a fresh batch of herbs.


    This time, he paid close attention to the rhythm, using Insight to refine his technique. Slow, steady movements. A slight twist of the wrist. He adjusted the angle, feeling the resistance as the herbs broke down under controlled pressure. The aroma intensified as he worked, the essence being drawn out gradually.


    Minutes passed, and his arms began to ache, but he didn’t stop. He finally lifted the mortar and examined the powder—fine, even, without unnecessary oil loss.


    He presented it to the woman, his breath slightly uneven from the effort.


    She examined it with a critical eye, rubbing a pinch of the powder between her fingers. It was not perfect, but it was acceptable.


    “Barely passable,” she muttered, before nodding. “But at least you learned something.”


    Zhao Ming exhaled in relief, but before he could relax, she pushed another set of ingredients toward him.


    “Again.”


    His shoulders slumped, but he tightened his grip on the pestle. If nothing else, he was going to prove himself—even if his arms felt like they were about to fall off.


    <hr>


    Without a word, the woman placed three different powdered medicines in front of Zhao Ming, each in a small porcelain dish. Their colors ranged from pale green to deep brown, with faint herbal aromas drifting into the air.


    She folded her arms, watching him closely. “Identify their composition,” she said simply.


    Zhao Ming activated Insight, and information immediately flooded his mind. His vision sharpened, and he could almost see the individual components breaking apart within each powder—their properties, uses, and interactions forming a web of knowledge in his mind.


    He leaned in, picking up a pinch of the first powder and rubbing it between his fingers. The texture was slightly coarse, and the scent was familiar—earthy, with a hint of citrus.


    “The first one contains Bai Zhu, to strengthen the spleen, and Chen Pi, which aids digestion and prevents stagnation,” he said with confidence. “It’s likely used for treating bloating and weak appetite.”


    The woman said nothing, only arching an eyebrow as she gestured toward the second powder.


    Zhao Ming studied it carefully. It was lighter in texture, almost fluffy, and had a slightly musty scent. He took a careful whiff, recognizing the distinct properties of two herbs.


    “The second is a mixture of Fu Ling and Ban Xia,” he continued. “Fu Ling helps drain dampness and supports the spleen, while Ban Xia is used for nausea and clearing phlegm. Together, they work to regulate water metabolism and prevent vomiting.”


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    A small flicker of approval crossed the woman’s face, though she remained silent.


    Now, the final powder. It was the darkest of the three, fine and smooth, with a faint mineral-like quality to its scent. Zhao Ming hesitated for a moment before recognizing the key ingredients.


    “This one… is a variation of a calming powder,” he said slowly. “It contains Suan Zao Ren, which nourishes the heart and calms the spirit, and Long Gu, which is often used to suppress anxiety and promote sleep.”


    He looked up, waiting for her reaction.


    The woman smirked, though her expression remained guarded. “Not bad,” she admitted, tapping the edge of one dish with her fingernail. “Your Insight ability is certainly useful, but true medicine isn’t just about knowing names and effects. It’s about understanding how to blend them in the right proportions. Can you combine them properly?”


    She slid a sheet of parchment toward him with a set of symptoms hastily written in neat, slanted strokes:


    Dizziness, nausea, fatigue, and heart palpitations.


    Zhao Ming frowned, analyzing the symptoms carefully. Each powder had useful components, but using them incorrectly could throw off the balance. Too much Fu Ling might over-drain fluids. Excess Ban Xia could irritate the stomach. Long Gu, if not prepared well, could be too heavy on digestion.


    He took a deep breath and began measuring.


    First, he took a small portion of the Bai Zhu and Chen Pi mixture—this would help stabilize the spleen and aid digestion, preventing further weakness.


    Then, a moderate amount of Fu Ling and Ban Xia, just enough to clear dampness without over-drying the body’s fluids.


    Finally, he added a precise pinch of Suan Zao Ren, just enough to calm the heart without making the person too drowsy.


    The woman watched in silence as he worked. Zhao Ming carefully mixed the powders, ensuring even distribution, then handed the final blend to her.


    She inspected the mixture, running it between her fingers, and then nodded. “Acceptable,” she said. “You adjusted for the person’s condition instead of just dumping the herbs together blindly. That’s the difference between knowledge and understanding.”


    Zhao Ming exhaled, feeling a small wave of relief. But before he could savor the moment, the woman’s smirk returned.


    “Now, let’s see how well you do with a real patient.”


    She turned toward the door and called out, “Bring him in.”


    Zhao Ming’s eyes narrowed as he straightened his back. The real test was just beginning.


    <hr>


    From the side of the room, a young boy was led forward by an apprentice. He couldn’t have been older than seven or eight, his frail body trembling slightly as he was guided to a low stool. His skin was pallid, and a thin sheen of sweat clung to his forehead. His breaths came shallow and uneven, his chest rising and falling with effort.


    Zhao Ming immediately crouched beside him, concern flashing in his eyes. The boy’s eyelids fluttered open sluggishly, but his gaze was unfocused, as though he was barely aware of his surroundings.


    “He has mild poisoning,” the woman stated calmly, arms crossed. “Treat him.”


    Zhao Ming swallowed his initial panic and activated Insight. Information flooded his mind, analyzing the boy’s condition. His pulse was weak but rapid, his lips slightly dry, and his stomach emitted faint gurgling sounds. These signs pointed to food poisoning—likely from spoiled or contaminated food. If left untreated, dehydration and further organ strain would follow.


    Zhao Ming’s mind worked quickly. He needed to expel the toxins, soothe the stomach, and restore lost energy—but in the right order. Treating one symptom while ignoring another could worsen the condition.


    He turned to the shelves, scanning the array of herbs before selecting Hou Po and Huang Lian.


    Hou Po would help relieve food stagnation and clear dampness, easing the bloating and discomfort.


    Huang Lian, known for its bitter and potent properties, would neutralize toxins and prevent further complications.


    As he worked, the woman observed him silently. She didn’t interrupt, but her sharp eyes followed every movement, judging his skill and decision-making.


    Zhao Ming ground the herbs quickly, mixing them into a small bowl of warm water. The bitter scent filled the air as he stirred, ensuring the medicine dissolved properly.


    “Drink this,” he said gently, helping the boy lift the bowl to his lips.


    The child flinched at the bitterness but managed to sip it down, his body too weak to resist. Zhao Ming supported his back, ensuring he didn’t choke.


    Minutes passed. The room was silent except for the faint crackling of the oil lamps and the rhythmic grinding of herbs in the background.


    Then, the boy’s breathing steadied. His complexion, though still pale, gained a hint of warmth. He blinked a few times, his once-glassy eyes now clearer. His small fingers curled slightly, regaining strength.


    He swallowed and looked up at Zhao Ming with gratitude.


    The woman let out a low chuckle. “Looks like I made the right choice.”


    Zhao Ming turned to her, still watching the boy carefully. “It worked, but he’ll need something mild to restore his energy. Perhaps a light porridge with medicinal roots.”


    The woman nodded approvingly. “You’re learning.” She walked over to a wooden box, her fingers brushing against its aged surface before pulling it open. Inside, various herbs lay bundled neatly, their scents blending into an earthy, complex aroma.


    She took out a small pouch and tossed it to Zhao Ming. “A gift. Inside are rare herbs—use them wisely. Some of these you won’t find in common apothecaries.”


    Zhao Ming caught the pouch and glanced inside. He recognized a few—Ling Zhi for vitality, Tian Ma for circulation—but there were others he couldn’t identify yet.


    He looked back at her, curiosity flickering in his gaze. “Why help me? You don’t seem like the type to give out gifts easily.”


    The woman smirked but said nothing for a long moment. Then, she slowly pulled back her sleeve, revealing something on her forearm—a faint crimson lotus birthmark, eerily similar to the one on her cheek.


    Zhao Ming’s breath hitched.


    Something about it felt significant. A legend he had yet to uncover? A connection to an unknown past?


    She studied his expression, as if gauging his thoughts. “Come back when you want to learn more,” she said simply, giving him a final, knowing look.


    Zhao Ming hesitated but nodded. With the pouch secured, he turned and stepped back into the bustling market. The scent of spices and roasted meat greeted him, mingling with the lively chatter of merchants. He exhaled, letting the cool night air clear his mind.


    With new knowledge and supplies, it was time to return and prepare for the voyage ahead. But one thing lingered in his thoughts—the crimson lotus birthmark and what it truly meant.


    <hr>


    Zhao Ming stepped back into the bustling market, the scent of fresh produce and sizzling street food replacing the herbal aroma of Madam Yue’s shop. He adjusted the pouch of rare herbs at his waist, deep in thought about everything he had learned.


    Then, a familiar chime echoed in his mind.


    <blockquote>


    System Notification: Fame 130+50


    Madam Yue has acknowledged your skill. She is considering taking you as her apprentice.


    New Quest Unlocked: A Path to Medicine—Earn Madam Yue’s Trust.


    Reward:


    <ul>


    <li>Basic Medical Knowledge (Unlocked) – Understanding of common ailments, poisons, and their treatments.</li>


    <li>Apothecary’s Insight (Passive) – Increased efficiency when preparing medicine, reducing waste and improving potency.</li>


    <li>??? (Locked) – Gain Madam Yue’s full trust to unlock.</li>


    </ul>


    </blockquote>


    Zhao Ming’s steps slowed as he processed the message. The rewards were intriguing—medical knowledge and efficiency in crafting medicine would be invaluable in both survival and future endeavors. But what was the hidden reward?


    “So, she really is testing me,” he murmured.


    His fingers absentmindedly brushed against the pouch of herbs. Madam Yue was no ordinary medicine woman—her sharp eyes, the way she carried herself, and that crimson lotus birthmark on her cheek… something about her felt familiar yet mysterious.


    “Who exactly is Madam Yue?” he muttered to himself.


    A merchant overheard him and chuckled. “Ah, lad, you’ve met the Ghost Lotus, haven’t you?”


    Zhao Ming turned sharply. “Ghost Lotus?”


    The merchant grinned. “That’s what some folks call her. They say she once served in the imperial court as a physician, but she vanished after a scandal. Now, she only takes in a handful of students—if they’re lucky.”


    An imperial physician? That explained her vast knowledge, but if the rumors were true, why was she here, hiding in a small apothecary?


    With a renewed sense of purpose, he straightened his back and walked forward. There was much to prepare for—the voyage ahead, his training, and now, the opportunity to uncover the secrets of Madam Yue.