Bai returned two days later with a small package in the outer pocket of his satchel. He did not offer it as soon as he entered the disposal yard. First he found Yan beside the tool shed and asked him to read the label without touching it.
“Different guild storehouse,” Bai said. “A trial batch came back from the courier route. The seal is intact. The pill is supposed to warm the channels. The rejection says uneven heat and trembling hands.”
Yan read the ingredients and batch number. The ink was old enough to have browned at the corners, but the name of the storehouse remained clear. It was not the same number as the spirit-rice pill.
“Who marked it rejected?”
“The guild clerk. I saw the log when I picked it up.”
“You didn’t see it mixed.”
“No. I can tell you where it came from and who logged the return. I can’t tell you what the maker put in when no one was watching.”
Yan looked at the seal. “The label matches the number on the package?”
“Both sides. I checked at the storehouse and again before I came through your gate.”
The two had agreed that Bai would bring only intact labels. This one satisfied the rule. Yan still wanted another person present while he tried it.
“Will you stay?”
“That depends. Do I get paid for waiting?”
“You did last time.”
“I wanted to see if you’d keep your bargain.”
Yan took out a copper coin and set it on the door sill. Bai caught it before it could roll into the dirt. “The quarter dose,” Yan said. “You stay until my hands stop trembling.”
“Agreed. And if you look worse, I fetch Wu. I’m not pretending to be a physician.”
The tool shed was cool and smelled of oil, dust, and damp wood. A side door opened onto a short path to the infirmary. Yan left it unlatched. He set a cup of water, the pill, its paper sleeve, and his notebook on an overturned crate. A small iron weight used to test tool handles sat on the floor.
Bai inspected the setup. “You make every dose look like a court hearing.”
“I want the water close and a clear walk to the infirmary.”
“Reasonable. Still not very festive.”
Yan broke the pill along its scored line, then split one quarter from the piece. The portion was small, but the chalky coating left a faint scent of ginger and metal on his fingertips. He wrote the dose and time before taking it. Bai watched him compare the label once more.
“Is there a reason you ask me to watch the hands?”
“The warning says they tremble.”
“And if they do?”
“I wait. I don’t lift anything heavy while they do.”
Bai nodded. “Then take it.”
Yan swallowed the quarter dose with water. The warming began in his abdomen and spread outward in a thin line. It reached his chest, then ran down both arms. At first it felt like he had stood too near a furnace. He kept his hands open on his knees and breathed slowly.
His fingers began to tremble.
Bai leaned forward. “Enough to stop?”
“It’s slight.”
“Can you hold the cup?”
Yan reached for it. A ripple passed through the water as his fingers closed around the rim. He set the cup down rather than lifting it. The tremor lasted several breaths. He felt the warming qi gather and remain, while the unsteady twitch in his fingers loosened. His next breath went deeper. The warmth settled into his arms as steady control.
A silent notice formed in his mind.
Cultivation benefit retained. Cultivation-linked trembling reversed into control.
Yan did not react. The warmth did not vanish. It remained pleasant, like sun through a window, and the pulse in his wrists grew firm without pounding. His hands rested on his knees, still and responsive.
“Try opening your fingers,” Bai said.
Yan opened and closed each hand. “The shake has stopped.”
“Already?”
“It came in pulses. It’s even now.”
“Could be the dose settling.”
“Could be.” Yan picked up the cup by its handle and took a careful sip. Water left no ripple. “I’m not calling it safe.”
“Good. I’d hate for you to become unbearable.”
Yan shifted the iron weight with one hand. It was too heavy for a quarter dose to prove anything, so he lifted it only a hand’s breadth and returned it to the floor. The movement stayed controlled. His grip felt more precise than before, but not strong enough to risk a loaded cart or a glass rack.
Bai crossed his arms. “The whole pill would have made you strong enough to pull the cart?”
“No. I won’t test that with the yard’s load. If the warming gets uneven again, one dropped jar could cost someone their ration.”
“You’re careful enough to make a good courier.”
“I’d rather keep the work I have.”
Yan placed the needle and thread on the crate. Bai held a scrap of rough cloth taut. Yan guided the needle through the fabric. The first stitch sat crooked. He pulled the thread back, adjusted his fingers, and tried again. The second stitch went straight through both layers.
Bai looked at the cloth. “That one’s cleaner.”
“Was my hand shaking before?”
“I saw the cup jump.” Bai held the cloth close to the window. “Now it didn’t.”
Yan added the observation to his notebook: quarter dose, warmth remained, fingers trembled briefly, then steadied. He wrote that Bai had witnessed both the cup ripple and the later stitch. The effect was physical enough to check, but he did not claim it would last.
They waited through the full interval printed on the label. Bai asked about the courier route; Yan listened and watched his fingers. The warmth slowly thinned, yet his hands stayed steady. When the time was up, Yan checked his pulse again and found no sudden jump.
He returned the remaining pill to its paper sleeve and folded the label over it. Bai asked him to read the batch number aloud. They compared it with the wrapper and the notebook entry, then set the package inside the locked tool chest until Yan could bring it back to the disposal inventory.
“You’ve tried two rejected pills now,” Bai said. “One settles your stomach, one steadies your hands. You could ask me for a whole bag next time.”
“I’ve tried two labeled pills from different batches. That’s not a whole theory.”
“No, but it’s enough to request a range.”
“A range of known rejects, with source and warning. Not a bag of unknowns.”
Bai collected the copper coin from the sill and tucked it away. “I’ll look at the next route list. I won’t promise what isn’t there.”
“Good.”
When he left, Yan put the iron weight back beneath the bench. He washed his hands, then flexed his fingers once. The warming had faded, but the thread’s straight stitch remained on the cloth. It was a small result, checked by another pair of eyes. He carried the remaining labeled dose to the chest with the same care he would have given a bottle that had never been opened.