Ning used part of her saved night bonus to organize a shared meal for the sorting-room crew. She chose noodles, greens, and a small pot of broth from the market. Yan brought two buns from Bai’s stall, while Bai followed him carrying a tray and expecting to be paid for the delivery.
“You’ve come to the sorting room for two buns?” Ning asked.
“I have brought them as a guild delivery.” Bai set the tray down with exaggerated care. “The courier fee is one bowl.”
The workers laughed. Ning gave him a bowl and told him to sit before the noodles cooled. She had checked with the supervisor about using the room after the morning shift. The tables were pushed away from the windows, leaving space for the workers to sit together.
One of the night sorters looked at the posted schedule. “The night crew still gets the worst vent hours.”
Ning nodded. “Who wants to trade a night for a morning?”
She wrote each name on a slate. No one spoke for the whole crew; some wanted a full change, others only one night each week. Ning asked what times they could work and which stations needed experienced hands. She moved the names around, then read the rotation back to them.
“This leaves the sorting line with two trained people at each shift,” she said. “The late furnace crew still has one experienced sorter. Does that work for everyone?”
A worker pointed to her name. “I can trade Tuesday, but not Thursday. I take my mother to the infirmary then.”
Ning shifted the slate. Another worker took Thursday and asked for Wednesday morning instead. They adjusted the list until everyone had a day they could manage. The plan covered each station without overtime or leaving one shift short.
“Take it to Qiao,” someone said.
“I’ll ask him to post it,” Ning answered. “I’m not changing the roster on my own.”
Yan carried the slate to the steward’s desk while Ning stayed with the crew. Qiao reviewed the names and the skill coverage. He approved the rotation, then wrote it onto the official schedule for the following day. Ning checked that the start times matched the crew’s choices.
Bai brought the noodles to the table. “I expected a courier fee.”
“You already have a bowl,” Yan said.
“Food is not a fee unless it has a record.”
Ning wrote “two buns” on the meal slate. “There. You have a record.”
Bai considered it. “I accept the payment.”
The workers began to eat. The room felt lighter after a week of schedules, medicine notes, and shift requests. People traded stories about their first days at the furnace and the worst meals they had carried through the yard. Yan helped move the table away from a draft so the broth would stay warm.
One worker looked at the new rotation and frowned. “I lose the night bonus if I trade both shifts.”
“Then don’t trade both,” Ning said. “We can move one night and leave the other with you.”
Another worker volunteered to take the night in exchange for a morning later in the week. Ning wrote both names on the slate and checked the sorting-room count. The change kept the night crew staffed and gave the first worker one morning near the lower vent. They would take the revision to Qiao for approval, rather than cross out the posted schedule themselves.
The worker nodded. “That’s better. I need the bonus, but one morning off the vent would help.”
“Then that’s what we ask for,” Ning said.
When he lifted the soup pot, the handle shifted. He grabbed it with his left hand, the hand that had not been burned by the grate, and the hot side touched his palm. He dropped the pot back onto the trivet and pulled away. A red mark rose on the skin.
Bai pointed at him. “A cultivator who can crack stone should know better than to grab a hot pot.”
“The pot moved faster than the stone.”
Ning handed him a cloth. “Cool water. Don’t rub it.”
Yan held his palm under the basin tap while one of the workers moved the pot away from the table. The sting faded after a few moments. The skin was red but not blistered. He dried it lightly and wrapped the palm in clean cloth.
“Do you need the medic?” Ning asked.
“It’s small. I’ll keep it clean and check it later.”
She looked at the wrapped hand. “You don’t have to prove you’re careful by doing nothing. Just don’t lift the pot again.”
Bai served the soup instead. The meal continued, and the workers took turns refilling bowls. Ning asked each person whether the new schedule suited them. One worker suggested changing a morning start by half an hour; another said she could cover the late shift if she had a day off afterward. Ning wrote the preference on the slate, then said they would ask Qiao before changing the posted rotation.
“You helped us without deciding for us,” one of the workers told Ning.
“The crew made the plan,” she said. “I wrote down what people asked for.”
Yan sat beside her and kept his bandaged hand in his lap. “I carried the soup.”
“And burned your hand,” Bai said.
“It was a small mistake.”
“It’s a useful reminder that stone does not have a handle.”
The crew laughed. Ning took the empty bowls from the table. “The schedule starts tomorrow. If you want to trade a day, ask each other and bring the change to Qiao.”
Before the workers dispersed, the steward posted the rotation on the wall. Each person checked their name and the shift time. Two workers agreed to swap one day by mutual consent and brought the change to Qiao, who initialed the new line. The sorting room stayed staffed, and no one lost all of their night pay.
Ning looked over the final board. “That is the version we agreed to.”
Bai gathered the empty bowls. “The sorting room is my favorite account. Payment in noodles and clear records.”
“You can take the bowls back to the market stall,” Yan said.
“I thought you were paying me in dumplings.”
“Those were tomorrow’s delivery.”
Bai took the bowls and bowed. “I will collect then.”
The next day, the rotation began. Ning worked a morning shift away from the worst vent. The other workers arrived at their assigned times, and the line kept moving without overtime. The small burn on Yan’s palm had cooled overnight. It remained tender under the cloth, but it did not blister or spread. He washed the skin, put on a clean wrap, and kept the pot handles off that hand.
When Ning came home, she took the shift slate from her pouch. “The crew agreed to one more trade. Qiao signed it before the work started.”
“That means the schedule is working.”
“It means the first day worked. We’ll keep asking.” Ning set the slate beside the treatment notes. “Helping didn’t mean you had to solve it alone.”
“I carried the soup.”
“And you helped me write the rotation.”
“The crew wrote it.”
She smiled. “Then you carried the slate.”
Yan checked his palm. The redness was fading and the skin stayed intact. He set the used cloth aside to wash and took the covered soup pot with his uninjured hand. Bai’s bowls would return to the market stall; the meal had already reached the crew, and the new schedule had begun.