The inner apothecary was warm enough that cold sweat became obvious.
Lin Wuchen stepped inside with Gu Yan's plain packet hidden in his sleeve and his face arranged into the right kind of dull. Not blank. Blank looked like defiance. Dull looked like exhaustion.
Auntie He was at the counter grinding something pale in a stone mortar. The pestle moved in slow circles, steady as a heartbeat. The smell in the room was bitter and sharp, herbs that made the nose itch and the tongue go dry.
Her one eye lifted when Wuchen approached.
"Runner," she said.
Wuchen bowed. "A request."
Auntie He didn't reach for anything. "Requests cost," she said.
Wuchen slid the plain packet onto the counter with both hands and bowed again. "From Senior Brother Gu."
Auntie He's mouth tightened. She took the packet, unfolded it, and read the short lines.
Her pestle stopped.
For a long breath, she didn't speak.
Then she snorted. "So Gu Yan wants to sell comfort," she muttered.
Wuchen's stomach tightened.
She understood faster than he liked.
Auntie He looked at him. "It's not for you," she said.
Wuchen lowered his gaze. "This one only carries."
Auntie He's eye narrowed. "Trash," she muttered, but without real insult. More like a label for a tool. She turned back to the shelves and began pulling jars down.
She spoke while she worked. "Leaking cups need two things," she said. "One is breath method. One is marrow warmth. Gu Yan gave you both."
Wuchen stayed silent.
Auntie He set three ingredients on the counter: a dark red resin lump, a pinch of pale powder, and a small dried leaf twisted like a claw.
She crushed the resin first, slow, letting it break under pestle. It smelled sweet in a sick way, like fruit about to rot.
Wuchen's throat tightened.
Scent-adjacent.
Not the same as Shen Lu's resin, but the smell lived in the same family. The kind that stuck in memory.
Auntie He noticed his reaction and snorted. "Don't make faces," she said. "It's medicine. Not bait."
Wuchen bowed. "Yes."
Auntie He ground the ingredients together until the mixture turned into a fine, reddish powder with tiny glittering flecks.
Then she took a small vial and poured warm water into it, swirling the powder inside until it dissolved into a thin liquid that looked like diluted tea.
She sealed it with pale wax and pressed her thumbprint into the seal.
Not Gu Yan's mark.
Not Lan's mark.
Apothecary mark.
Clean hands.
Auntie He held the vial up and looked at it in the lamp light. "If someone drinks this," she said, "their qi will feel smoother for a day. Less leaking. Less shaking. They'll think it's comfort."
Wuchen's stomach tightened.
Auntie He's eye narrowed. "But if they drink it twice," she continued,