“This?” Zinnia dug it out from the bottom, where it had been buried for weeks. Her master had given it to her, muttering something about how she could take it to some shop if she ever got into trouble.
But she’d been half–asleep, and the details were fuzzy. She hadn’t needed it in Jinston, so she’d just shoved it in her bag–partly because she was still annoyed that her master had left without explanation. The token stayed, forgotten at the bottom.
“Yeah. Can I take a look?” The clerk’s voice buzzed with sudden energy as he stared at the token in her hand.
“Sure.” Zinnia handed it over without a second thought.
took the token in both hands, studying it. At
it looked ordinary–just a plain brown piece But when his fingers touched the bottom–right corner, he recognized the texture. His pulse jumped as the truth hit him–this was the real deal.
“Miss, what herbs are you selling? We’ll take everything you have.” The clerk smiled as he handed back the wooden token, his tone shifting from polite to friendly in a heartbeat.
The higher–ups had been clear: Anyone with this token got whatever they asked for–no questions. He didn’t know why a girl like her had it, but that wasn’t his problem. His job was simple–follow orders.
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“I only have five,” Zinnia said, tucking the token away and pulling out a small white tin. She hadn’t planned to sell more–the rest were for something else.
“Will you buy these?” She opened the box, revealing a messy pile of ginseng roots.
The clerk’s eyes went wide. “This… this is wild ginseng! At least eighty years old!” His hands trembled as he reached toward the roots.
The store handled plenty of ginseng, but specimens like this–wild, with perfectly preserved roots–were extraordinary. It was not quite ancient, but the wild growth made it worth a fortune.
“Yeah,” Zinnia replied casually. She glanced at the tangled roots, suddenly guilty for stuffing them in carelessly. As she tried to straighten them out, a thin rootlet snapped between her fingers.
The clerk couldn’t bear to watch Zinnia manhandle the ginseng any longer. “Please, miss, don’t trouble yourself,” he said hurriedly. “We’ll take it all. Just leave it to me.”
This wasn’t just any root–it was rare, wild ginseng, worth a small fortune, and she was treating it like some
common herb.
That single rootlet could have fetched thousands—yet Zinnia snapped it off without a second thought, as if it were worthless. Worse still, she carelessly stuffed the precious roots into a bare metal box before tossing the whole thing into her bag.
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The clerk couldn’t help but wince. He shook his head in disbelief. ‘Does she truly not understand how rare this is? Or does she just not care?‘
But Zinnia didn’t understand his reaction. To her, it was just ginseng–nothing special. She’d grown up surrounded by it in that small town, where her master had once ground it into bitter pills she’d long since grown tired of.
Zinnia had thought about giving the ginseng as a gift when she first arrived at the Shaw residence.
But their first meeting hadn’t gone well. After Betty fainted that first day–sending the family scrambling to the hospital while Zinnia stood forgotten in the empty house–she changed her mind.
Months passed, and the ginseng remained tucked away. By now, she’d made up her mind–the Shaws didn’t deserve it. It was not because of its value, but because she no longer cared to give them anything at all.
Spending the money on herself felt infinitely better than handing it over to the Shaw family.
Zinnia wasn’t one to forget a grudge. Wrong her, and she’d return the favor with frost. Offer kindness, and she’d match it tenfold. If someone disliked her, the sentiment was always mutual.
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