Ning walked Yan through the rooms he had helped build before the sea journey. The old store alcove now served as a classroom. The assembly room had been partly sealed by the officials, and the patched roof wore pale tiles he had never bought.
Bai met them under the eaves. “Before you ask, I paid for the repair.”
“I was going to ask where the tiles came from.”
“You were going to ask if I spent your money.”
Yan considered that. “I might have.”
“The rain was getting into the medicine chests. I used my own trade account. The carpenter gave us a lower price because the residents carried the old tiles down.”
Ning pointed to a row of broken pieces along the garden path. “The children gathered these. We used them to fill the muddy places.”
Yan had thought the improvements would wait for his return and his purse. Instead, a carpenter had donated two days of work, a baker had traded bread for herb cuttings, and the children had turned the broken roof tiles into a path. He asked what else needed repair.
