Han Tuo came to the clinic carrying a folded medicine card in his coat pocket. He waited until Ning finished with another patient, then asked to speak with her and Qinghe in private.
“I kept this after my shift,” he said. “The labels rub off in the wash. I thought it might help if the clinic needed the lot number.”
He unfolded the card on the table. A handwritten number matched the changed concentration in Liao’s file. Qinghe checked the shipment list and found the same Pale River lot, delivered to the refinery before the workers received the supplement packets.
“When did you take this medicine?” she asked.
“For three weeks. I stopped when my fingers went numb.” Han Tuo flexed them slowly. “Some feeling came back, but not all of it.”
Ning did not write his employer’s name on the intake sheet. “Would you like a medical examination today?”
“Yes. But don’t tell the supervisor I brought the card.”
“We can keep the original in your personal file,” she said. “If we make a copy for the worker report, you can decide how much information it shows.”
