His legs are not useless.
Someone put poison in his veins.
On the wedding night, Su Nianwei knew it as soon as they laid hands.
In her previous life, she was a doctor of traditional Chinese medicine and died of exhaustion in the laboratory. In this life, she was the loser of the Su family, beaten by her own mother and given to a veteran on crutches. My sister picked out the one who was eating public food, and the remaining "crippled" one belonged to her.
Crippled or not, she has the final say.
Nine silver needles are enough.
Thirty cents per pound of skullcap that no one wanted, she knew, would have doubled tenfold in two years.
A recipe for medicinal wine, sold out in three days, and made a net profit of forty-seven yuan.
While the whole village was still calculating work points, she was already calculating the purchase price of the supply and marketing cooperative.
But the person who poisoned him has not yet been found.
