The rain had stopped, but water still dripped from the western storehouse roof. A split beam sagged above the grain shelves. Suyin and two neighbors carried sacks into the yard and laid them on mats where the morning sun could reach them.
“Keep the dry ones under the awning,” Qinghe said. “The damp grain can dry outside. Anything that smells sour goes to animal feed.”
One of the storehouse keepers opened a sack and frowned at the dark kernels. “This will be a loss.”
“Some,” Qinghe said. “But we can save most of it if we spread it thin.” She checked the medicine chest and found only one cloth bundle damp at the edge. The herbs inside remained dry. She moved the chest to a higher shelf and turned back to the sorting line.
Yan stood beneath the split beam with his arms raised. “How far do you need it lifted?”
Pema checked the frame from the side. “Just enough to slide a support under it. Don’t lift the whole roof.”
He gathered the beam in his hands and raised it. The wood groaned. A burst of rainwater spilled from a pocket in the roof and ran down his sleeve.
