Before the old doctor could finish speaking, a mother and son briskly walked in from outside.
The son reached out with a large hand, intending to snatch the ginseng from the old doctor's grasp.
"Ah, ginseng! Judging by its age, it's at least fifty years old. This is good stuff. I'm taking it."
As he spoke, he shot a sidelong glance at Zhao Jing, who was standing nearby. "This thing is precious. It could sell for fifty taels of silver, at least. Can a pauper like you afford it?!"
The man's mother was a stout old woman who looked to be in her sixties, though her actual age was surely much younger.
In the past, this wealthy madam had always taken excellent care of herself, a middle-aged woman who still possessed a mature charm.
But lately, something must have been troubling her. Her brow was furrowed, her face etched with fatigue, and her once-sharp, shrewd eyes now drooped, giving her an air of profound misery.
Who else could this be but Meng Jintang's birth mother?
