Runner Fang found Yan in the clinic tent while Qinghe checked the dressing on his upper arm. The messenger carried a folded summons sealed with Zhao’s mark.
“Elder Zhao wants an account of the knife fight and the pills before the next shift,” Fang said. “You’re to come to the testing office.”
Qinghe looked at the seal. “Is it compulsory?”
Fang shifted his weight. “He wants him there. I don’t have an order to bind or carry him.”
Yan kept his injured arm still. “I’ll go after the bandage is checked.”
Fang looked at the cloth in the basin. “The summons says before the next shift, not at once. I can wait while the physician finishes.”
“Does Zhao want a written statement?” Yan asked.
“He asked for an account. I don’t know whether he expects it in writing.”
“Then I’ll give the facts in the office and ask for a copy of anything I sign.”
Fang nodded. “That is fair.”
“Then I’ll come with you as the physician who treated the wound,” Qinghe said. “I’m not leaving him to stand for an interview with a bleeding arm.”
Fang nodded. “I can wait at the gate.”
Qinghe replaced the outer cloth and checked the stitched line. The upper-arm cut remained tender, the shallow forearm slice was clean, and the shoulder bruise had darkened. She pressed lightly around the dressing and watched Yan’s face for any change.
“Any numbness?”
“No.”
“Does the pain change when you take a full breath?”
“Only when I move the shoulder.”
She wrote down the readings and the time. “The arm is stable enough for you to walk. Keep it close. If it starts bleeding through, we stop.”
Yan thanked her. He did not want to delay the summons, but he did not want the wound mistaken for a small scratch either. Qinghe folded the clinic note and kept it in her own pouch.
At the testing office, Zhao sat at his desk with the original draught record and a second sheet from the yard office. Fang waited by the door. Ma was not in the room.
“What did you take from my testing room?” Zhao asked.
Yan held his injured arm close to his side. “I drank the assigned draught. I bought labeled rejects from Bai Jiu.”
“Did you take anything else?”
“No.”
Zhao set the draught record beside the report from the yard. “The room sealed the sample. The book shows the dose, but not what happened afterward.”
“It shows what I was assigned to drink.”
“And you say you bought the pills yourself?”
“Yes. Bai gave me the source tags and I paid the listed price.”
“Where are the packets now?”
“In my records and storage. The batches are labeled separately.”
“Did you take them from the testing room?”
“No.”
Qinghe watched Zhao compare the two papers. The testing record accounted for the draught; the yard report described a separate purchase from Bai. Neither paper established what Yan had privately recorded about the effects.
“Was the movement form related to the first test?”
“I learned it from a complete manual at the yard.”
“That does not explain why your channels are clean.”
Qinghe set the clinic note on the desk. “I can confirm what I observed. The wound from the knife is external and required stitches. His channels and tendons showed no damage from the footwork. I cannot say why.”
Zhao looked at the note. “Was the blade injury consistent with Ma’s knife?”
“Yes,” Qinghe said. “The cut came from a sharp edge. I treated it after the guard brought him in.”
“Did Ma act under my direction?” Zhao asked.
Yan did not guess. “I can’t answer for him. He showed me an unsigned scrap with a blank signature line.”
“Do you have it?”
“Pei put it with the evidence.”
Zhao looked at Fang. “Bring the evidence packet.”
Fang left. Zhao turned back to Yan. “Repeat what happened from the beginning.”
Yan described Ma’s demand for the supplier, the unsigned scrap, Ren’s cart, the first movement of the knife, and how he used the rack to disarm Ma. He did not embellish the pain or claim to know why Ma had acted. He said the upper-arm cut needed stitches and that the forearm slice and bruised shoulder were also from the fight.
Zhao listened without interrupting. “Did Ma ask you about the pills before the fight?”
“He demanded the name of my supplier at the racks. I can’t say what he had asked others.”
“Did you know he had a knife?”
“I saw the handle at his belt. I asked for a work order before he drew it.”
“Why didn’t you leave?”
“He blocked the gate. Ren’s cart was in the aisle, and I asked him to stop it before someone got hurt.”
Qinghe shifted the clinic note toward Zhao. “The wound is consistent with the account he gave me. The deeper cut is on the upper arm, with a shallow forearm slice and a shoulder bruise.”
Zhao read the note. “You could have avoided the fight by giving him the supplier’s name.”
“I gave him the name. I told him I paid Bai for labeled rejects.” Yan held still while Qinghe checked his wrist. “He called me a liar and reached for the knife.”
“And you disarmed him.”
“I used the rack and held his wrist until the guard arrived.”
“And the pills?”
“I bought them from Bai with labels and source tags. I kept each batch separate.”
“You have no proof the labels are correct.”
“I have the tags and route records. I can show you what I bought.”
Fang returned with the sealed evidence sleeve. Zhao looked at the folded note without opening the seal. The blank signature line was visible through the thin paper.
“Ma said he was checking an order,” Zhao said. “This does not carry my signature.”
Qinghe replied, “That is all it shows.”
Zhao asked her to examine Yan again in front of him. “Take a second pulse reading.”
“I’ll take a pulse reading because it is clinically relevant to the wound,” Qinghe said. “I won’t turn treatment into an experiment without a medical reason.”
Zhao’s expression tightened. “You can observe the channels.”
“I can record the pulse and the wound. I won’t claim to know the cause.” She checked Yan’s wrist and wrote down the number. The stitched arm remained separate in her notes. Zhao watched but did not touch the dressing.
Yan stood still while she worked. His arm throbbed, and he wanted to leave and eat. He did not move it to satisfy the elder’s questions.
When Qinghe finished, Zhao folded his hands. “This matter is under review. Ma is to stay away from you until the yard investigation concludes.”
“Please send that order to both shifts,” Yan said. “I don’t want the boundary to change depending on who is at the racks.”
Zhao paused, then nodded. “Runner Fang will deliver the same instruction to the day and night offices.”
Fang carried the order out. Qinghe collected her clinic note and shipment receipt. “Your arm needs one more dressing tomorrow.”
Yan walked with her to the door, keeping his shoulder still. The questioning had produced no confession and no explanation for the clean channels. Zhao had pressed for a reason, but Yan had repeated what he knew: the assigned draught, the separate labeled purchases, the complete movement manual, and Ma’s actions at the rack. He had not added the System or the gray-flake draught. Qinghe had recorded what she saw and nothing she could not prove.