The winter of the third year of Yongchang in the Dayong Dynasty came extremely early and was extremely cold.
The cold wind of the twelfth lunar month carried broken snow and blew through every corner of the capital like a knife. The "Jishitang" drug store located deep in the back alley in the south of the city has long since removed its door panels. Only a dim yellow oil lamp swayed in the wind, reflecting the slender figure on the window paper who was writing at a desk.
Shen Zhiyi put down the pen, rubbed his sore and swollen wrists, and breathed out a white breath. The table in front of her was piled with dried medicinal materials and papers filled with prescriptions. This is her seventeenth year in this world and her third year running this small medicine shop.
