"Excuse me," a voice diverted Zhihao's attention as he noticed a young woman entering their store. "Do you happen to have any headache medicine?"
Composing himself, Zhihao approached the bar with a warm welcome. "Ah, welcome to the Magic Potion shop! Yes, we have it. How much do you need?"
"Well, I don't know what the dosage is," she said, confusion evident in her expression.
He smiled reassuringly and made a statement, "That's fine. Just tell me your age, and we'll proceed with the diagnostic method."
"It's not me," she said, her eyes weakening as she looked down. "It's my mother. She's sick. She is in her forties now."
Observing the sadness in her expression, Zhihao offered his condolences, "I'm sorry to hear that. If you're comfortable, we can figure it out. Could I ask you a few questions about her specific complaints?"
"Oh, sure," she answered, moving closer to the bar as she leaned forward. "No problem."
