By noon, the clinic’s patient bench was full. A farmer held one wrist against his chest, a woman sat with her eyes closed to keep the room from turning, and a child leaned against her mother with a flushed face. Qinghe looked over the list once and began assigning work.
“Jessa, take the wrist first. Tessa, bring clean water for the child and ask the mother when the fever began. I’ll speak with the dizzy patient.”
Yan sat at the experiment bench with the stabilizer ledger closed in front of him. He watched the clinic move around him: clean cloth laid out, the examination space cleared, the marked patient jars kept on their own tray. He wanted to compare the compound with what Qinghe used for people whose qi did not settle like his. She had told him the useful comparison would come after the examinations, so he kept his hands away from the instruments and waited.
The farmer’s name was Ruo. He winced when Jessa asked him to turn his wrist. “It swelled after I caught the basket. I can still move the fingers.”
“Did you strike it against anything?” Jessa asked.
“No. I twisted while lifting.”
Jessa checked each finger and palpated the wrist. She asked him to point to the worst pain, then fitted a temporary support. “The joint is tender, but I don’t feel an obvious break. I’d like you to keep it supported and come back if the swelling grows or the fingers go numb.”
