The supply yard held the wagons in a row beside the storehouse, with a rope lane between them and the residents. Ning had asked the drivers to remain nearby, but Han Yue found them a bench under the awning and told the watch to bring them meals. They could see the crates without being stopped by every curious person who passed.
Bai walked the row with a wax tablet and a charcoal sketch of each seal. He drew the stamp, the cracks in the wax and the place where the cord crossed the lid. He noted the damp mark on one crate and the split in the corner of a bandage box. The inner wrapping there was intact, but the box stayed apart from the rest until Qinghe checked it.
The storehouse keeper, Sella, stood at the far end with keys looped around her wrist. “If we leave everything on the wagons, the night air will soak the sacks.”
“Move the grain that matches the public inventory,” Ning said. “Keep each lot with its wagon mark. We can place it on the dry platform and cover it.”
Sella looked at the uneven line of crates. “And the medicine?”
“Leave it sealed. We’ll make a separate space once the clinic is ready.”
