A splitting headache.
When Quan Weichen opened his eyes, he found himself lying on a hard bed. The air was filled with a strange mixture of herbs and musty smell. He stood up and looked around - the wooden house, the papered windows, and the dried herbs piled in the corner.
"Are you awake?" An old voice sounded.
An old man in gray cloth stood at the door, holding a pottery bowl in his hand: "You have been unconscious in the alley for three days. Drink it, Bupleurum soup."
Quan Weichen took the bowl and trembled slightly when his fingertips touched the edge of the bowl. This body is not his. Fragments of memories came flooding back - the original owner was a wandering musician who fainted from hunger on the street. And he, the genius doctor and top singer of the 21st century, actually traveled through time.
"Thank you." He said hoarsely and drank the whole drink in one gulp. The decoction is bitter, but the combination is precise. It seems that the medical skills in this world are not hopelessly backward.
The old man squinted his eyes and looked at him: "Do you understand pharmacology?"
