My name is He Qi'an, and I am guarding this traditional Chinese medicine clinic in the town. My days are spent quietly in the fragrance of medicine.
Xu Qingyue's name has been mentioned in alleys recently, saying that her new album has sold out again. I was grinding Poria cocos in the medicine mortar, and it sounded like I was listening to a stranger - after all, the girl who always came to me and said that I smelled delicious gardenia should have been put away at the bottom of the box with my high school uniform.
Until she walked in wearing sunglasses and asked in a hoarse voice: "Can it cure insomnia?"
The moment she took off her sunglasses, the black and red eyes under her eyes suddenly overlapped with the red eyes from crying on the rooftop six years ago.
"Take the pulse." I handed over the pulse pillow, and when my fingertips touched her slightly cold hand, it trembled more than the guitar strings I had touched in the piano room.
"The pressure is too heavy." I took my hand back and deliberately paused while writing the prescription, "Don't stay up late, and -"
When I raised my eyes, I met her eyes staring at the gardenia petals on my sleeves. The timidity and hope in her eyes were exactly the same as when I was caught secretly drinking medicinal wine from my grandfather.
"Don't wear sunglasses next time," I pushed the prescription over, "to block my view of the tongue coating."
There was still water on her eyelashes, but she smiled with her eyes bent, like gardenias stained with morning dew.
"Okay."
When the door closed, I looked at the pot of newly bloomed flowers on the medicine cabinet and lightly crushed the remaining mint.
I'm afraid this insomnia will take some effort. After all, some roots hidden in time can only emerge again if the right method is used.
Mission: Everyone deserves to be loved