The peddler asked, "Want to buy some ointment?"
The man nodded repeatedly; there was an injury on his throat, preventing him from speaking.
The peddler asked again, "Got money?"
The man fished out a few Silver Yuan from his pocket, his hand trembling with worry that he might not have enough money, his eyes full of pleading.
The peddler took the Silver Yuan, grabbed some medicinal liquor, poured it on a piece of cotton cloth, and began to clean the man's wound.
After wiping away the pus, the peddler applied two pieces of ointment to seal the wound: "Don't let it get wet for three days, find a place to rest, and don't let the wound reopen."
The man kept bowing to the peddler and walked away with a grateful look.
The peddler weighed the few Silver Yuan in his hand and sighed, "Gains and losses, it all evens out, but this time, I made a loss again."
Li Banfeng said, "Knowing it's a loss, why insist on doing this business?"
