"Nonsense, if that were the case, where do those whiskers that signify the ginseng's age come from, and what about that ginseng fragrance? Ordinary ginseng doesn't have such a strong scent." The fur-coated woman pointed out two doubts.
When the woman spoke, she counted the heads in the herbal medicine store, plus the clerks and those two naive girls, there were roughly seven or eight people. If she really got angry, none of them would get out alive.
A vicious look flashed in her eyes, but it dimmed when she recalled the name "Plum Rice Ball" hanging over the store's entrance, which was an odd name for a pharmacy. She nearly forgot that this pharmacy belonged to that old lady.
Zeng Xuerou and Huang Yaoshi also nodded along, recognizing that the whiskers of ginseng, like tree rings, represent its age. This century-old wild ginseng had long, delicate whiskers, numbering over fifty or sixty roots; typical farmed ginseng could never have such abundant whiskers.
