The market stall stood beneath a patched awning that clicked in the morning wind. Bai had cleared a dry space on the board and spread a piece of dark cloth across it. He laid out three rejected pills, each wrapped separately.
“These came through the west route,” he said. “All three have a record. You may inspect the wrappers before I name a price.”
Yan read the labels in order. The first was a weak qi tablet, returned after an apprentice complained of a mild loss of appetite. The second was a warming pellet whose batch had been rejected for uneven heat. The third wrapper had been torn and damp. Its ingredients could no longer be read, though the jar carried a guild mark.
“What do you know about the third?” Yan asked.
“That it came from the guild. I can’t prove the contents from this paper.”
“Then I won’t buy it.”
Bai picked up the damp wrapper and set it aside. “It could be valuable.”
“It could be anything.”
“Exactly. Anything could be valuable.”
“Anything could be unsafe. I won’t pay for a guess.”
Bai shrugged and began negotiating over the other two. He started high enough to make Yan laugh. Yan pointed to the chipped coating on the warming pellet and the faded return date on the qi tablet. Neither flaw affected the seal, but both had to be accounted for.
“They’re still sealed,” Bai said. “The storehouse logged both batches.”
“They’re rejects for a reason.”
“And the reason is written on the label. You wanted labels.”
“I want them. That doesn’t mean I’ll pay the price of a fresh pill.”
They settled on a price that covered the courier’s time and left a little profit. Bai added a fresh bun to the bundle. Yan had not eaten since early morning, and the market smelled of hot flour and sesame.
“You can take that one,” Bai said. “I’ve had breakfast.”
“I’ll pay for it.”
“It’s a bun, not a jar from a sect vault.”
“I don’t want to owe you for breakfast.”
Bai sighed. “Then pay the bun price. I’m not charging courier rates for food.”
Yan placed the coins on the board. Bai counted them once, then slid the stamped receipt over. It listed both pill batch numbers and the bun separately. Yan checked the numbers against the packages before putting them in his pouch.
He took the weak qi tablet back to Ashfall and waited until he had his assigned place beside the waste-yard table. He checked the batch, ingredients, seal, and warning again. The pill’s surface smelled of toasted grain. He took the listed dose with water and sat on a clean crate while the first warmth gathered beneath his navel.
The qi accumulation was weak, but unmistakable. It settled into the same low warmth as the spirit-rice pill. A little later, his appetite dipped. He was still hungry from the morning, yet the thought of food seemed distant. He stayed seated, letting the label’s warning become a real sensation rather than a sentence on paper.
The dullness in his stomach softened. His appetite returned without the first sharp hunger. The qi remained.
The System’s notice was brief: the listed cultivation benefit stayed, and the cultivation-linked appetite loss reversed into a comfortable stomach. Yan read the words and closed his eyes before Bai could see any change in his expression. The result matched the pattern, but each pill brought its own effect. He did not know whether another dose of the same batch would behave the same way.
He recorded the time, listed dose, and batch number in the reject map. The page gave separate lines for the intended benefit and the listed disadvantage. He wrote both before adding what he felt. Then he ate half the bun Bai had added, letting the warmth settle before he tested his pulse.
Bai leaned on the far end of the table. “Did the tablet work?”
“I gained a little qi. The appetite dip passed.”
“Can you work?”
“I can.”
“Then carry the full waste cart.”
“No.”
“You feel stronger.”
“I feel fed and steady. That is not the same as knowing the cart is safe to lift.” Yan tightened the lid on the pill package. “If I lose my grip, the jars break. I’m not using the work as a strength test.”
Bai tapped the notebook. “You’re hiding more than you’re showing.”
“I’m hiding enough to keep Zhao from asking questions.” Yan looked toward the testing-room windows. “I can show enough to make the next shift easier. I don’t need to prove anything with a load.”
Bai followed his glance. “That difference makes sense.”
Yan wrapped the rest of the bun and kept the pill record separate from the receipt. He spent the rest of the shift on sorting and light cart work, noticing that his body had more energy without forcing a test. The small benefit made the afternoon easier, though it did nothing to settle the account for Ning’s medicine.
After that shift, Yan went straight to the market and bought a hot bowl of noodles with part of his saved coins. He ate the whole meal while it steamed, enjoying the way the tablet’s extra energy let him walk there without dragging his feet. It was a small comfort, not a solution to Ning’s treatment costs. He carried the warming pellet home in its paper wrap.
At the next closing time, Yan had not eaten since morning. The second pill was still sealed. Its label said to take it on an empty stomach and warned of uneven heat. He checked the batch number and the returned date once more, then sat on the low step near the wash shed with water at his side. The infirmary path stayed clear. Bai was finishing a message at the gate.
Yan swallowed the listed dose. Warmth spread through his abdomen and arms, but it did not flare or burn. He flexed his hands, watching for the uneven tremor described on the label. None came. His fingers stayed steady. The warmth seemed to blunt the usual chill he felt when he stood beside the drain after sundown.
He waited through the interval, checking his hands every few minutes. When the yard bell rang, he lifted the empty water cup and put it down again. The warmth remained gentle. The shift’s last chill did not settle into his shoulders.
Bai walked over. “How much of this strength do you intend to hide?”
“Enough that Zhao doesn’t ask for another examination. Enough to keep working without making my body a display.”
Bai glanced at the wrapped pill. “That’s not shame.”
“No.” Yan closed his notebook. “It’s my choice what I tell him.”
Bai nodded once. He understood the difference between secrecy and shame. He would bring labeled rejects on the days his route passed the yard, at the prices they had set together. Yan paid the agreed fee and checked the receipt against both batches.
He had more energy after work, and his channels held the new warmth. He did not pretend the small gain had solved Ning’s treatment costs. Her medicine pouch still carried the two fees she planned to question, and the next appointment was hers to handle.
Before sleeping, he put the pill records beside the notebook and his half of the split wrapper under a clean scrap of paper. Bai kept the other half with his courier record. The qi tablet had brought a little more energy; the warming pellet had kept the evening chill away. The advantages were real, but so were the warnings. He would take them one at a time, with a readable label and someone nearby.