Bai Jiu unrolled his map across the old mill table and set four stones on its corners. Lines marked the north road, lower ridge, mill track, and eastern crossing. Beside each he had written a price: toll, bridge repair, driver, or turnback cost.
“This is the route I can use,” he told Ning and Yan. “Not the one I wish I had.”
Yao Lin, the delegate from the eastern village, leaned over the map. “You have the low track marked as open.”
“It is open for a handcart.”
“Not after a hard rain.” Yao pointed at the eastern route. “The culvert fills before the road does. If you send medicine jars through here, the cart can tilt into the ditch.”
Bai moved one of the stones. “Then medicine doesn’t go east. Grain?”
“Only in small sacks. A full wagon will bog down.”
“The lower ridge bridge can carry a handcart, not a grain wagon,” Ning said. “We need separate limits on the copies. People can’t make the same mistake from different roads.”
