Never Turn Away the Desperate, Never Scorn the Poor

Early the next morning, the sky had barely begun to lighten.

The chill that had settled over Tianjin during the night still lingered at the morning market. Most shops along the street still had their wooden shutters in place. Only a few breakfast stalls had set out great pots, frying crisp dough rings in bubbling oil while steam rose from the soy milk like white mist.

Qin Geng wasted no time on the road. He threaded through the bustling crowd and headed straight for Hundred Herb Hall in the south of the city.

Hundred Herb Hall was Second Senior Brother Zheng Tonghe's establishment, and a renowned clinic throughout Tianjin.

Its storefront was small, but the black signboard with gold lettering had been polished to a gleam. Before Qin Geng even stepped inside, the rich scent of herbs rushed to meet him, mingled with smoke from burning mugwort. The smell seemed to quiet his mind.

Qin Geng lifted the heavy cotton door curtain and went in.

Several early customers were already waiting for medicine. Before the towering medicine cabinets, apprentices worked briskly with small scales in hand, selecting herbs, weighing them, and wrapping them in paper.

Behind the counter, Zheng Tonghe was bent over his accounts.

He wore a dark-blue long gown with the sleeves rolled up. Refined and scholarly, he looked nothing like a martial artist—he could have been a schoolteacher.

"Second Senior Brother."

Qin Geng walked over and greeted him softly.

Zheng Tonghe looked up. Surprise flashed through his eyes when he saw Qin Geng, then he set down his brush, smiled, and came around the counter.

"Little Ten? What brings you here so early? I only heard last night that you lot set off a thunderous blast at Yin Mountain. Didn't you go back to the yamen to