The afternoon crowds in Nuoding City were a little thinner than in the morning, but the shops lining the streets were still open.
The clanging of a blacksmith's hammer drifted out from deep within an alley. In a tea stall, several merchants taking a break gathered around a low table, drinking tea and chatting. Every now and then, they burst into hearty laughter.
Yang Wushuang walked alone along the main street. Lean and wiry, he wore a plain gray robe, with a half-worn medicine pouch hanging from his waist. The handle of a bronze pestle used for grinding herbs protruded from its opening.
His pace was neither hurried nor slow. His gaze occasionally swept over the shop signs and storefronts along the street. He looked no different from those veteran medicine merchants who had traveled far and wide for years.
After walking half a street, he stopped in front of a shop and looked up at the black plaque with golden lettering above the door: Blue Medicine Hall.
Customers streamed in and out without pause. Some were commoners dressed in coarse cloth, while others were merchants in finer garments. Some bought pills at the counter and left immediately, while others stood before the shelves, studying the labels on the porcelain bottles.
Yang Wushuang stood at the entrance for a moment, watching the flow of customers. Then he nodded and stepped inside.
The shop was more spacious inside than it appeared from outside. A whole row of wooden shelves lined the wall behind the counter, neatly stocked with porcelain bottles of various sizes. Each bottle bore a white label with the name and grade of the pill written in tidy handwriting.
The counter had been carved from a single thick slab of wood. Its surface had been polished smooth and warm,