The announcement of the Grand Harvest Competition sent a jolt of energy through the quiet routine of the Eastern Medicine Garden.
For Daniel, it was a beacon of hope, a clear finish line for his difficult journey of cultivation.
The thought of finally obtaining the Ten-Thousand-Year-Old Ginseng made the endless rows of radishes seem suddenly less oppressive.
That evening, as they sat in their crude wooden hut, Daniel decided to try one last time to get some advice from his mysterious roommate.
"Old Man Hemlock," he began, speaking slowly and clearly, "the competition tomorrow.
The prize is a divine medicine. Do you have any advice? Any strategy for the final harvest?"
Hemlock, who was meticulously sharpening a small garden trowel, looked up, squinting.
He cupped a hand to his ear. "What's that, boy? You're worried about the competition? Worried you can't beat this old bag of bones?" He let out a dry cackle.
