The bridge bell did not ring.
From the irrigation channels, Yan could see its tower above the southern road. The bell hung motionless in the open frame. A line of hired fighters had taken the bridge itself, placing shields across the planks and blocking the route into White Orchard. Behind them, the river moved under a bright morning sky.
Ning looked from the silent tower to the people still scattered along the market lane. “Everyone to the storehouses. Leave the carts.”
The crowd hesitated. A grower reached for a crate of glass jars. Another tried to wheel a handcart toward the road.
“The clinic needs those jars,” the second man said.
“The clinic needs you alive to carry them later,” Ning replied. She turned to Huo. “Can you take the side path?”
Huo had been a soldier long enough to read a road without a map. He checked the two approaches, then pointed to a narrow ditch beside the orchard wall. “It leads behind the storehouse. The ground is dry enough for the elders, but not a cart.”
“Take the children and anyone who needs help walking. Wei’s corridor stays for the rest.”
