The night in Qingshi Village always gets dark very early.
When the wind in the mountains blows, cool air fills the cracks in the earthen walls of every household. The barking of dogs spreads from the east end of the village to the west end of the village, like a thin thread, tying the entire poor village together.
Lin Xuan carried the medicine basket on his back and walked on the dirt road to the hill behind the village. The old coat on his body was already half wet from the rain.
"Grandpa's coughing up blood is getting worse and worse. If we don't find that old wild ginseng plant, I'm afraid he won't be able to survive this month..."
