Bai Jiu saw Yan outside the market lane, his upper arm wrapped and held close to his body. “Did you finally fight a furnace?”
“I fought a knife and lost a strip of sleeve.”
Bai held out a steamed bun. “Medical compensation.”
“How much?”
“The usual price.”
“That is not compensation.”
“It is at least edible.” Bai took the coin Yan offered and passed him the bun. “Did the injury put the courier route at risk?”
“Ma tried to force me to name my pill supplier. Zhao ordered him away from me until the review ends.”
“Then I’ll use the public gate route and avoid Ma’s shift.” Bai opened his route book. “My deliveries pass the herb racks twice each morning. I can stop at the yard office if he tries to detain me.”
Yan looked at the entries. “I can walk the first run with you.”
“I’ve delivered worse cargo through tighter gates. I don’t need an escort, and I don’t want to make it look as if I’m hiding from the yard.” Bai drew a line through the old path and wrote the public gate beside it. “This keeps the business in view and keeps me out of his way.”
Qinghe arrived from the clinic tent carrying a clean dressing. She saw the two men compare their separate work notes. “How long have you been using the footwork?”
“Since I learned it from a complete form,” Yan said. “The internal strain doesn’t harm me as expected.”
“Can you repeat the same motion for a pulse reading?”
“I can do one slow step without qi.”
She had him stand with his injured arm close to his body. Yan placed his feet in the three-step pattern and moved through the first turn slowly. The upper-arm stitches tugged when his shoulder shifted, so he stopped before the second step.
“Does the movement hurt the wound?” Qinghe asked.
“It pulled at the stitches. The tendons feel fine.”
She took his pulse and wrote the movement and wound observations on separate lines. “The step itself is clean. Don’t repeat it with the injured arm until the stitches close.”
“I won’t.”
Qinghe cleaned the edge of the dressing and replaced the outer cloth. The cut remained painful, and the shoulder bruise made the bandage feel tight when Yan laughed or turned. She secured the wrap without pressing on the forearm slice.
She asked him to keep the elbow close and hold a light bowl in his uninjured hand. Yan lifted it from the wall, carried it a short distance, and set it down without moving the stitched arm. The motion did not reopen the cut, but the shoulder still throbbed when he turned too quickly.
“Small tasks only,” Qinghe said. “The wound is stable, not healed.”
“I understand.”
“You’re listening now.”
“I was listening before. I just wanted to finish the delivery.”
“Then let Bai finish it.”
Bai watched her work. “Would a second bun help?”
“It is not a sterile dressing,” Qinghe said.
“It is at least edible.”
Yan took a bite of the first bun. “And it costs the usual price.”
“You paid it.” Bai closed the route book. “That makes it a fair trade.”
They sat on the low wall by the market lane, sharing the bun while Qinghe finished her note. A passing seller glanced at the dressing. Yan moved his arm so the cloth stayed under his sleeve and did not invite questions.
Bai read the final route entry once more. “The first delivery goes through the public gate. If the guard is there, I sign the receipt. If he isn’t, I wait at the office instead of taking the rack lane.”
“Does the stall know why you changed it?” Yan asked.
“They only need the arrival time. I’ll tell them the gate route adds half an hour. If they don’t want to wait, they can choose another courier.”
“Will they think the stock is different?”
“The packets stay sealed and the tags stay attached. I’m changing the route, not the source.” Bai placed a finger on the time entry. “I’ll log the delay so no one blames you for a late delivery.”
Yan considered offering to cover the fee if Bai lost the buyer. “If the stall cancels, tell me before you take the next batch.”
“I will. I’m not going to hide a lost sale in your pill price.”
Qinghe closed her medical case. “That is a sensible record.”
Bai smiled. “I’m beginning to think every physician wants me to keep a book.”
“Only when you carry medicine,” she said.
“Will that put the pills at risk?” Yan asked.
“No. They stay sealed in the bag. I’m changing who sees the transfer, not what’s in the packet.”
He tucked the route book away. “I’ll tell the market buyer the arrival time changed. They can decide whether to wait or use another courier.”
Yan nodded. Bai had his own business to protect and had decided the risk he would accept. Yan did not need to decide it for him. Yan kept his arm still. Bai asked whether Zhao had admitted Ma’s order was false.
“He said the scrap had no signature. He ordered Ma to stay away from me until the review ends.”
“Will that hold on both shifts?”
“Fang is delivering the order to both offices.”
“Then I’ll keep the public gate route for now.” Bai tapped the page. “My fees are still the same, and I’m still bringing labeled stock. I won’t let one overseer decide the whole business.”
Yan offered to walk the first run again. Bai shook his head. “I can handle a gate. You handle your arm.”
Qinghe asked Yan to turn his wrist so she could check the shallow slice. He did, and she removed the edge of the bandage. The forearm cut had stopped bleeding, but the skin was still tender. She cleaned it and placed a fresh strip over it.
“Keep the arm dry today. The stitches need time.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“I know. I’m telling you because being careful doesn’t make the skin close faster.”
Yan laughed, then stopped when the upper-arm stitches pulled. “The bun is the best medicine Bai sells at a price I can afford.”
“I will not prescribe bread for a knife cut,” Qinghe said.
Bai tilted his head. “Will you write that down?”
“No.” She smiled and put away the bandage roll.
They finished the bun. Bai took the empty paper and tucked it into the market bin. Yan’s arm remained close to his side. The stitches had not dissolved, and the wound still hurt when he laughed. The new route kept Bai’s deliveries visible and away from Ma’s shift without ending their partnership.