The east-valley farmer had returned the route copy with three corrections. Ning laid it on the granary table beside the map Wei had drawn from Han’s log.
“He says the bridge is two li south of the mark,” she said. “And a spring lies near the road, but the ground is too soft for a cart.”
“The guide who knows that path should check it,” Wei said. “A map drawn here can still miss a washed-out step.”
Liao Ren looked toward the loading door. “Huan knows the ridge. He tried to warn us at the furnace town.”
Yan remembered the flags moving against the smoke and the terrible noise of the furnace alarm. “Ask him to come. I want to hear where I missed it.”
Huan arrived after noon. He carried a long staff and wore a strip of red cloth around one wrist. The guide set the staff beside the table but did not sit.
“The pass was blocked before your group reached the fork,” Liao said. “The signal log confirms it. But you tried to warn us from the far ridge. We need to understand why the message came late.”
Huan looked from Liao to Yan. “I raised the red flag when I saw the first stones fall. The furnace alarm drowned the call. I raised it again when I saw your group near the lower track.”
