Yan arrived at the clinic dining room at the usual hour. Qinghe’s place was empty. Ning had set a covered bowl beside it, though the steam had faded.
“She’s in the laboratory again,” Ning said. “Two patients reacted differently to the same tonic, and she wants to understand why before tomorrow’s dose.”
Yan sat down. “Has she eaten?”
“She had tea. That’s not a meal.” Ning watched his face. “Do you want me to send for her?”
His first thought was that Qinghe had chosen work over him. Hollow Heart had made the feeling easy to recognize, but recognition did not make the thought true. She had told him she might work late. She had not asked him to wait.
“No. I’ll bring her food and ask if she wants company.”
Ning nodded toward the kitchen. “Take the soup while it’s warm. I can cover the late delivery if you need to go back to the patient room.”
Yan carried the bowl to the laboratory. Through the open doorway he saw Qinghe comparing two charts under a lamp. A stack of notes sat beside her elbow. She was rubbing the bridge of her nose.
