The Story of the Little Pharmacist: Herbs Shine on the World

The setting sun is like blood, and the scent of burnt medicine floats on the scorched earth of Luoyang City. Five-year-old Lin Xiaoyao was huddled at the bottom of the medicine shop cabinet. Through the cracks, she saw her father throwing out a packet of windshield powder before being chopped down with a knife. The golden mist of medicine confused the eyes of the pursuers, but it could not fascinate the wide eyes outside the cabinet seam - my father's blood spattered on the "Angelica" medicine drawer, dyeing the word "Gui" dark red. "Danggui Danggui, when will parents return?" Xiaoyao chewed on the faded red hairband that his mother used to tie his hair on the last night. It wasn't until a pair of calloused hands pulled him out of the closet, the lame old man picked him up and ran wildly, and the medicine box banged on his back, that he cried out. The old pharmacist was lame and cursed: "Why are you crying! Hell will not accept the medicine man's life!" Xiao Yao didn't understand what a "medicine man" meant. He only remembered that the master's sleeves had rubbed against his face, smelling of mugwort and blood and rust. Only later did he learn that on that day when the rebel army massacred the city, the pale gold lines of Angelica sinensis that stopped bleeding spread from his wounds to his shoulder blades, like an inescapable life talisman. And the medicine box contains more than just medicine.