Han brought the bound field log into White Orchard’s archive room two days later.
She set the book on the table herself. Its leather cover had been rubbed smooth at the corners, and a line of old dust marked the stitching. Ning cleared a place beside the public route map. Qinghe moved the clinic pages farther from the open window before Han untied the log’s strap.
She had come from Narrow Bridge with only one escort and a small travel bag. Her coat still held the road’s dust at the hem. Before she sat, she checked the window latch and the archive door, then set her gloves beside the book. She had not brought the log to settle an argument by force of rank. She had brought it to let other people inspect the marks.
“You could have sent a sealed extract,” Ning said.
“An extract is easier to challenge,” Han replied. “And I want to decide in this room which pages leave.”
She tested the binding with one careful pull. The log opened without strain. Yan watched the way her thumb kept the spine from bending too far. It had been used in the field, not prepared for a hearing. There was grit at the edges of several pages and a dark stain along the lower corner.
