The first redirected medicine cart reached White Orchard as the evening clinic opened. The driver brought the baskets through the side path and left them beneath the dispensary awning. Qinghe checked the dry herbs before she let anyone carry them inside.
“These are good,” she said. “Keep the damp leaves separate. They can dry, but they are not ready for treatment.”
The clinic assistants relit the dispensary lamps one by one. A patient waiting outside heard the news and brought in a bucket of water to help prepare the next batch. He had been on half doses for several days. Qinghe told him they could restore his full treatment after she reviewed the fresh stock. He sat on the low bench while Qinghe compared his symptoms with the notes from his last visit. He had slept badly, but his fever had not returned. She asked if he had taken any other tonic. He said his neighbor had offered him a grain mixture, but he had left it unopened after seeing the clinic’s warning.
“Good,” Qinghe said. “We can restore the dose tonight, then check you tomorrow. If the fever rises, come in sooner.”
“Will the jar be mine to keep?” he asked. “My work takes me past the gate.”
