Ning replaced the clinic ledger with a board divided into three columns: urgent, soon, and safe to wait. She had written the names in a hand Yan remembered from childhood, firm and narrow. Below them sat a row of short marks showing how many doses remained.
Qinghe moved a few marks while she explained the patients. One woman could switch to local leaves for a week. A child needed the fever mixture every night. Two older patients relied on a remedy that was almost gone, and neither had a substitute in the lower village.
Yan leaned over the board. “I can ride out with the next supplier. If the Registry sees me, they’ll think twice before stopping the cart.”
Ning tapped the empty stretch after the word “urgent.” “And after you leave? Who keeps the rest of the route open?”
He took a breath. The question stung because he had already begun to picture himself riding ahead, clearing every checkpoint by force. He looked at the doses, then at the names beside them. “We need routes that still work when I’m here.”
“Good,” Ning said. “Help me decide which ones.”
Bai had returned from the south orchard with a list of traders willing to talk. The first was Tao Fen, who arrived carrying dried roots in a woven basket. She set it on the courtyard stones but did not let go of the handles.
