Menopausal Cook: the Lady with Medicated Food Becomes a God with Her Baby

When I was dressed as a peasant girl in troubled times, I was being pinned down in a haystack by someone's teeth. He smiled evilly and said that in this world it would be better to starve to death than to be sold. I stabbed his throat with a hairpin and took away the bloody ration bag. She hid in a ruined temple to give birth on a rainy night, and the nobleman from the capital was chased and rolled down a cliff. I chewed the herbs and applied them to his wounds: "Will you cooperate? I will save your life, and you will be my baby's father." Later, I started selling medicinal food stalls in the refugee camp. On the day when the noble man regained his memory, my medicinal food store was driving across from the palace. He surrounded my new store with his cavalry: "My son belongs to me, and the position of shopkeeper also belongs to me." I wiped the medicine knife and chuckled: "Sir, the rules of our store are: line up first, eat later.