Lu Qinghe’s medicine cart rattled into the yard office lane just as Pei brought Yan through the side gate. She had come to inspect a shipment of dried roots for the sect clinic. A crate of herbs sat near her wheels, waiting for a clerk’s mark.
Qinghe saw the blood running down Yan’s arm. “Bring him to the wash table.”
Pei kept a hand near Ma’s bound wrists. “He was cut beside the drying racks. The guard office will want a statement after treatment.”
“After.” Qinghe pointed toward the table. “Set him down and keep Ma away from the medical supplies.”
Yan sat with his injured arm held close to his body. The upper-arm cut throbbed with each pulse. A shallow slice on the outer forearm stung, and his shoulder ached where he had struck the rack post. The folded cloth was soaked through at the center.
Qinghe opened her medical case. “When did this happen?”
“Just now. Ma drew a knife beside the herb racks.”
“Did the blade look rusty?”
“No. The edge was clean.”
“Has anyone washed the cut?”
“Not yet.”
“Then we clean it thoroughly.” She cut the sleeve away from the upper arm rather than pulling it across the wound. “Hold still. I need to see the full line.”
Pei stood at the far side of the table. “Do you need anything?”
“Clean water, boiled if you have it. And a lamp.”
He sent an attendant for both. Qinghe washed her hands and put on gloves. Yan gripped the table with his uninjured hand while she lifted the cloth. Blood welled along the deep cut. She pressed gauze above it and watched how quickly it soaked through.
“Keep pressure here,” she said, guiding his good hand to the upper edge of the wound. “Don’t press on the cut itself.”
The clinic attendant brought a basin and a kettle. Qinghe tested the water on the inside of her wrist, then poured it over a clean pad. The irrigation solution stung as it reached the exposed tissue. Yan’s jaw tightened, but he kept still. She flushed the wound until the last trace of dust and cloth fiber came away.
“Tell me if you feel numbness or a sudden weakness,” she said.
“I feel the cut. My hand is still steady.”
She checked his pulse again and looked at the blood on the gauze. “The bleeding is normal for this depth. Your channels remain clear.”
“Breathe slowly,” she said. “Tell me if your fingers go numb.”
“They don’t.”
She checked the hand and wrist, then the shoulder. The shallow forearm slice bled little. She cleaned it separately and covered it with a narrow dressing. The upper-arm cut was deep enough to need stitching. Qinghe irrigated it with clean solution, drawing out dust and fibers from the torn sleeve.
Yan’s face tightened when she reached the deepest part. The knife injury hurt in a plain, sharp way. His bones remained firm, but the wound was in skin and muscle. No internal cultivation benefit changed the pain or closed the tissue.
“Does this movement form usually strain your tendons?” Qinghe asked as she worked.
“Yes. It is a complete footwork form. Its internal strain should damage tendons.”
“Did it hurt during the movement?”
“No. The strain changed into stronger tendons. The knife still hurt.”
She paused to examine the tendon line above his wrist, then felt his pulse. “The cut bleeds normally. Your channels are unusually clear.” Her interest sharpened, but she returned to the wound. “I’ll deal with the injury first.”
She placed the stitches one at a time, bringing the edges together without pulling them too tight. Yan kept his eyes on the far wall. Pei poured water into a basin and set it within reach.
Qinghe paused between stitches to check that the cut edges stayed aligned. “This will leave a line, but it should close cleanly if you keep the dressing dry.”
“How long before I can lift normally?”
“Not today. I’ll check tomorrow. You can carry something light with the other hand, but the upper arm needs to stay close to your side.”
“What about the forearm?”
“That slice is shallow. It needs a clean cover and watching, but it won’t need stitches.” She secured a narrow dressing around it and returned to the upper-arm cut. “Don’t decide the arm is ready just because the pain becomes dull.” The medicine cart remained pressed against the wall, its load of herbs waiting.
A shipment clerk entered with a crate of dried roots. “The storehouse needs your signature before lunch. The whole bundle is listed as dry.”
Qinghe did not look up. “I won’t sign before inspecting it.”
“The inventory says it came from a dry shed.”
Yan glanced at the crate. A darker stain marked the wood near the lower seam. “Water came through the bottom edge. The crate’s damp on that side.”
The clerk set down the papers. “The roots are still tied.”
“Then we can inspect the ties,” Qinghe said. She placed a final stitch and secured the line. “Pei, can you finish the bandage while I check the crate?”
“I can hold the clean cloth.”
Qinghe washed her hands again and went to the shipment. She opened the outer wrapping and examined the roots. One bundle smelled damp and had pale fuzz beneath the inner leaves. She separated it from the others and marked it as spoiled.
“Don’t mix it back in,” she told the clerk. “This bundle needs replacing.”
“The form lists the full quantity as usable.”
“The form is wrong.” She wrote the damaged amount on the shipment sheet and signed only the clean stock. “Ask the storehouse to replace the spoiled weight before you change the quantity.”
The clerk frowned but took the amended note. Qinghe returned to Yan and checked the stitches. She wrote down the external cut, the bruised shoulder, and the shallow forearm slice. In a separate line she recorded that the footwork had left no sign of tendon or channel damage.
“Can I go back to work?” Yan asked.
“You can carry light jars after the wound is bandaged. No heavy cart today, and keep the upper arm still. If the dressing soaks through, come back.”
“That is the worst duty.”
“It is better than bleeding on my shipment.”
Pei helped hold the fresh cloth while Qinghe tied the dressing around Yan’s upper arm. She made sure it did not press the shallow slice on his forearm. The stitches held, but his arm throbbed beneath the bandage.
Qinghe handed Pei a short injury note. “This records what I saw and what I treated. It does not say who started the fight.”
“I’ll attach it to the yard report.”
Yan stood slowly. His shoulder protested when he tried to lift the arm, so he kept it close to his side. Qinghe pointed to the small jar tray on the table.
“You can carry that if you keep your elbow near your body.”
“I can do that.”
Pei told him the guard office would take his statement after he carried the tray to the clinic tent. Yan took the light load with his uninjured hand. Qinghe waited until he had set it down without reopening the cut, then packed the dressing cloth and returned to the root shipment.
“Your arm is stitched,” she said. “The tissue still needs time. Don’t make me repeat this before lunch.”
“I’ll keep it still.”
“Good. I’m going to finish this inventory before the clerk comes back with another form.”
The clinic cart stayed against the wall while she sorted the dried roots. Yan left for the guard office with the bandage secure and the wound still painful. The channels remained clear; the cut needed ordinary care.