He Laid His Search History Out on the Table and Realized the Question "Where to Buy Japanese Tengsu" Was Itself the Problem

When A-Jie turned his laptop screen toward me, a convenience store payment slip was still spread out on the desk. He wasn't trying to borrow money, and he wasn't selling anything—he just wanted me to look at something for him: for three weeks straight, he'd been typing the same string of words into the search bar, and the results that popped up made him more uneasy the more he looked. Some were old forum posts, some were storefronts of unknown origin, and a few pages didn't even list a company address. He said he'd originally just wanted to figure out one very simple question, but instead those "limited-time price cuts" and "buy three get one free" offers left him more confused.

I asked him, where did you even start? He said that one day he saw someone mention this name in a group chat, didn't think much about it, and casually typed "where to buy Japanese Tengsu" into his phone. He said he thought it would be like checking restaurant reviews—type it in and you get an answer. But the first page of results all looked alike, with almost identical titles and similar images. After clicking through, he found that every seller claimed to be the most legitimate, yet none of them clearly explained where the goods came from, who was selling them, or who to contact if something went wrong.

A-Jie's mistaken assumption was this: as long as there were enough search results, it meant the product was common and safe. He even briefly thought he could just pick whichever storefront looked most appealing and place an order. But he did one crucial thing—he copied down his search history from those few days, entry by entry, and pasted it into a notes app. After finishing, he realized that every time he'd typed the same question, the pages he saw kept changing, and some even contained simplified Chinese characters and strange URLs. He asked me, does this mean someone is manipulating things? I said, not necessarily, but it does mean that relying on just the three words "where to buy" gives you no way to judge the source.

Later we tried a different approach. He stopped asking "where to buy" and instead first asked "what is this." He broke the product name apart to search it, checking whether it had clear labeling, whether the ingredients were written clearly, and whether there was a Chinese description. He also looked up the registration information of the storefronts and found that some pages only left a messaging app account, with even the return and exchange rules written vaguely. I reminded him that these were only preliminary clues, not conclusions. What he really should do was make a list of everything—what he wanted to buy, what medications he was taking, his physical condition—and take it to a pharmacist or doctor, letting a professional look at it for him.

After hearing this, he was silent for a moment, then said he'd never thought of asking a pharmacist before. He assumed walking into a pharmacy would only get him a "we don't sell this." I said, that's fine too—at least you can ask "how are products like this usually labeled" and "if I want to buy it, what should I watch out for." He actually did make a trip to a pharmacy near his home. He didn't buy anything—just showed the list to the pharmacist. The pharmacist didn't recommend any brand to him, only told him that some things are prescription drugs in Taiwan and can't be bought casually online, while others are classified as health supplements, and you have to check the labeling and source yourself. A-Jie said that for the first time, he felt like he wasn't just guessing blindly.

That night he opened the search bar again. This time he didn't type "where to buy Japanese Tengsu"—instead he changed it to "Japanese Tengsu labeling source verification." He said that even though it was still searching for information, after changing the question, the results that popped up were completely different. Some discussed how to read packaging labels, some warned about the risks of online storefronts, and one article talked about how to identify single-page websites. As he read, he noted the key points in his phone, like "is there a company name," "is there a customer service phone number," "is there a physical address," "how are returns and exchanges described." He said he never used to pay attention to these things—he'd only look at price and free shipping.

A few days later we met again, and he showed me that list. A few more lines had been added: first confirm whether it's a prescription drug, ask a pharmacist first, don't buy too much at once, don't believe phrases like "guaranteed effective." He said he still hadn't decided whether to buy, but at least he knew that instead of asking "where to buy," it's better to first ask "why am I buying this" and "what exactly am I buying." He tucked the convenience store payment slip into his pocket, saying he was going to show it to another friend, because that friend was taking medication for a chronic illness, and he wanted to remind him that before taking health supplements together with medication, it's best to ask a professional first.

There's no dramatic ending to this story. A-Jie didn't find a magic storefront, nor did he get any guarantees. He just laid out his search history, realized he'd been asking the wrong question all along, and then rewrote the question. He said he used to think "where to buy" was a shortcut, but now he knows those three words only push a bunch of unfamiliar storefronts in front of you. What's really worth spending time on is understanding the labeling, confirming the source, and asking the right people. He closed his notes app and said that next time someone asks him the same question, he'll first ask them to make a list, rather than just handing over a URL.