The institute records room smelled of dry paper and cedar oil. Ning sat at the broad table with her folder open, while Ward advocate Mei set a locked cabinet key beside her elbow. Qinghe stood at the window, letting in enough air to move the curtain. Yan leaned against the opposite wall until Ning pointed at an empty chair.
“You can sit,” she said. “You don’t have to hover.”
“I wasn’t hovering.”
“You were standing over the folder.”
Yan sat, but kept his hands in his lap. Ning opened the first page. It held Ge Lian’s symptom summary without a name. The next sheet carried Han Tuo’s shift change and test result, with his permission for private clinic use only. She had left no page for a worker who asked her to listen without writing the account anywhere.
Ning tapped the blank page. “I remember what she told me. I won’t record it.”
“Then it cannot help the clinic see a pattern,” Yan said.
“It can help me remember to ask whether she wants another appointment. That is all.”
