Chu Mu strolled down the street, nodding or exchanging greetings with people—some familiar, some not.
The original owner's nearly twenty years of memories held a staggering amount of information. For Chu Mu, instantly absorbing all of it was impossible.
His brain, in self-defense, treated those memories like a vast library. They were there, but pulling out specific details needed a spark—something to trigger them—followed by slow digestion.
Take the person he just ran into. Without meeting them face-to-face or deliberately thinking about them, they were a complete stranger to Chu Mu, no matter what the original owner's memories held.
This made him extra cautious about navigating this new world.
Even when memories were triggered, they didn't come into focus all at once. It took time to process and adapt.
Smiling faces greeted him along the way. He responded to each, piecing together the original owner's memories bit by bit while getting a feel for this era.
Guided by those memories, he walked for about fifteen minutes before stopping at a pharmacy.
"Mingxin Hall."
He stood outside, eyeing the signboard above the door, silently mouthing the name.
He could read… but also couldn't.
He knew the Chinese characters from his past life. But here, though this world felt like ancient times, the writing wasn't Chinese.
Not a single character he saw had any trace of Chinese.
The original owner? A total illiterate, didn't even know how to write his own name.
How did Chu Mu know the sign read "Mingxin Hall"? Simple—everyone called it that.
A misheard accent, and it could've been "Mingxing Hall" or "Mingheng Hall" for all he knew…
"A college grad, and now I'm illiterate…"
He chuckled at himself, gave the sign another glance, shook his head, and stepped inside without overthinking it.
Old Li, the pharmacy's doctor, was someone Chu Mu knew in this world.
When he'd first transmigrated, fainting from the original owner's collapse, it was Old Li who treated him. For two days straight, Old Li had checked in on him.
During the funeral's chaos, Old Li hadn't visited, only telling Chu Mu to come by for a follow-up once things settled.
He felt fine, but medicine wasn't his expertise. When a doctor says come back, you don't argue.
The pharmacy was modest, not too different from the traditional Chinese medicine shops he'd seen in his past life. The heavy herbal scent was identical to Chinese medicine.
Old Li, his only familiar face here, sat behind the counter, engrossed in a worn book.
"Brother Mu, you're here…"
Old Li set the book down and looked up.
Chu Mu smiled, gave a quick reply, and approached.
"…Have a seat."
Old Li pointed to a chair by a table. Once Chu Mu sat, Old Li came over, taking his wrist to check his pulse.
After a thorough check, Old Li kneaded Chu Mu's arm a few times before saying, "Nothing serious, just some strained muscles…"
He paused, then added, "Been practicing martial arts, Brother Mu?"
"Just messing around with some moves in my spare time."
Old Li nodded.
"Martial arts are fine, but don't overdo it. It can hurt you, especially since you're a bit on the frail side…"
"I'll write you a prescription to boost your qi and nourish your essence. Take it easy and recover."
With that, Old Li grabbed a brush, dipped it in ink, thought for a moment, and started writing.
A pharmacy assistant scurried over, grabbing the finished prescription and darting between cabinets to gather herbs.
Chu Mu stayed seated, chatting with Old Li—though it was mostly Old Li giving medical advice while Chu Mu listened quietly.
In his past life, Chu Mu didn't know much about Chinese medicine, but living in Guangdong, where it was a big deal, he'd picked up a bit through osmosis.
Listening to Old Li now, combined with the original owner's memories, Chu Mu realized this world's medicine was nearly identical to Chinese medicine—yin-yang, five elements, qi, essence, spirit, all that. Even the herbs matched.
"Take the medicine morning and night, and move around a bit after each dose…"
The thought flickered, but Old Li's voice cut it off before he could dwell.
Chu Mu didn't sweat it. Transmigration was wild enough; a familiar medical system was nothing. Plenty of explanations could fit, and if he obsessed over every detail, he'd drive himself crazy.
Once the herbs were ready, Chu Mu shelled out nearly ten silver, grabbed the package, and left.
Morning had passed, and the streets were even busier. This time of day was always Qinghe County's peak—pure chaos.
Villagers from nearby flocked to the market, mingling with local vendors, residents, kids running wild, the occasional carriage or sedan with servants clearing the way, and patrol soldiers keeping order. The street was a lively mess.
His muscles still ached, so reporting to the Patrol Division was off the table for now. That left Chu Mu with time to kill.
He wandered the street, taking in the sights of ancient life while cross-checking them with the memories in his head.
He moved slowly—sore muscles didn't let him go any faster.
Walking and pausing, he stumbled on something useful.
Food was cheap here. Grains sold by weight, steamed buns, stuffed buns—all dirt cheap.
A bun cost one copper. Unhusked rice? Seventy or eighty copper per shi. In this world's terms, one shi was a hundred jin, so a jin of rice cost less than a copper.
For an average eater, two or three copper could cover a day's meals.
That kind of affordability screamed surplus, at least in Nanshan Town.
The original owner's memories said Nanshan Town grew around the Nanshan iron mine, tucked in the mountains—not a grain hub by any stretch.
Yet, in a place like this, food was abundant. That told a bigger story: life in Qinghe County was likely pretty good.
One copper was the smallest paper note, and its buying power was strong. Even if things weren't perfect, they couldn't be bad.
If the rest of the land was like this, then Great Chu was probably a rare golden age of peace and plenty, the kind history books rave about.
*(End of Chapter)*