The Unlucky Turn by Mark Twain 50
“The skin is whitish, and the cross-section smells acidic. Sulfur smoking might increase weight and prevent rot, but it destroys the medicinal properties and can even be toxic.”
Leilani spoke logically, her voice cool. It was obvious she knew the trade.
The elderly vendor at the neighboring stall looked up, eyeing her with surprise. “The young lady knows her stuff!”
Realizing Leilani was an expert, the vendor ignored her and went back to fanning himself on his lounge chair.
Leilani walked to the elderly vendor’s stall next door and pointed to the glass jar containing Cordyceps. “How much for this?”
The elderly vendor smiled. “Since you know quality, I’ll give you a real price. 80,000 a pound. Absolutely wild high-altitude Cordyceps. After soaking, the body is full and the mycelium is unbroken.”
Leilani picked one up, inspected it against the light, and nodded. “I’ll take half a pound.”
While paying, the elderly vendor couldn’t help but ask, “Do you have elders in the family who practice this trade?”
After all, Leilani looked so young. Few young people these days understood this.
“Yes.” She packed the herbs into her bag and asked casually, “Do you know where I can order real premium Hasma? Ninety percent of what’s on the market is fake.”
The elderly vendor’s eyes lit up. “What a coincidence! My son collects herbs in the northeast and just sent back a batch of premium Hasma two days ago. Leave a number?”
Leilani wrote down her number. As she turned, she heard the elderly vendor scoff at the sulfur ginseng vendor. “You messed with the wrong person. That girl knew it with one sniff!”
She lowered her head and chuckled softly.
Actually, her understanding of herbs was far less proficient than her acupuncture. She had mostly memorized things from Paulina’s notes. Who knew rattling off a little professional knowledge would bluff these herb bosses?
The next day, the first day of business for Pure-Spring Clinic.
In the morning, Leilani looked in the mirror and applied heavy makeup. She specifically chose a gothic anime style to disguise herself. The makeup was thick, greatly altering her eyes and features. Unless someone knew her extremely well, they wouldn’t recognize her.
18:15
In the treatment room, Leilani deepened the downward slant of her eyeliner in the mirror, put on amber contact lenses, and finally adjusted her voice changer. “Hello, please describe your symptoms.”
Leilani’s voice instantly transformed into a slightly husky, mature female voice.
The doorbell rang. The first booked patient had arrived.
On the monitor, a man wearing a mask and hat looked around warily, clutching the key card from his successful dark web reservation.
Leilani pressed the unlock button. The man entered and paused. The light in the treatment room was dim. Leilani sat behind a screen, only her silhouette visible. But from the glimpses of her features and her voice, he could tell Leilani wasn’t old.
“Sit,” she indicated. “Put your hand out.”
The man hesitated but offered his wrist, unsure if the person in front of him was truly the “Phantom Doctor.” But since he was already here, he could only let Leilani try.
The moment her three fingers touched his pulse, Leilani closed her eyes to listen carefully. The pulse was deep and choppy, with liver channel blockages. This was symptoms of long-term exposure to a specific chemical toxin.
“You work in a pharmaceutical lab?” Leilani asked.
The man looked up sharply, his eyes full of shock. She could guess his profession just by checking his pulse?
Seeing the man’s shock, Leilani didn’t show any pride. She was used to these reactions. She opened her computer. “From now on, I ask, you answer.”
18:15
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