Yan counted his coins twice before he reached the market gate. He had enough for rice, greens, and one small serving of roast duck, with a few coppers left for Ning’s next medicine jar. He planned the order in his head so he would not stand at the stall and change his mind under the smell of hot oil.
Ning waited beside the gate with her work basket. The sorting shift had left a pale dust on her sleeves, and she had tied her hair back with a strip of green cloth. When Yan showed her the coins, she pushed the duck seller’s larger plate toward him.
“You should take the bigger portion.”
“You’re the one who needs strength.”
“I need treatment. That is not the same as starving you.” She cut the roast duck in half with the side of her spoon and put one portion in his bowl. “Eat.”
Yan accepted it. “You’re very strict about my meals.”
“Someone has to be.”
They found space at a low table near the herb stall. The rice was hot enough to fog the rim of the bowls. Ning ate slowly, pausing between bites to breathe through her nose. Yan did not ask if she felt better. She had told him twice that one meal would not change the damage.
Chen Diao came through the market crowd carrying a sack of unsold buns. He spotted Yan, shifted the sack onto his shoulder, and nodded at the empty space near their table.
“Need a hand?” Yan asked.
“I could use one. These are heavier than they look.”
Chen set the sack down. The buns inside were wrapped in paper, but the paper had gone soft at the corners. Yan helped him carry the load to the stall. Chen opened it and showed the remaining food to the seller, who counted out the coins due.
Ning checked the price on the slate. “That’s the usual rate?”
“It is today,” Chen said. “Yesterday it was lower.”
“Why?”
“Yesterday’s buns were fresh.”
He waited until she gave him a stern look, then admitted that today’s were a day old. Yan laughed. Ning asked him to name the discount before she bought anything. Chen named a lower price, and she handed over the exact coins.
“Two for breakfast,” Yan said. “If they’re stale, I’ll toast them.”
“You can’t toast them in the labor quarters,” Ning said.
“I can warm them near the water kettle.”
“That’s not toasting.”
“It’s a working definition.”
Chen wrapped two buns and took payment. He counted the remaining coins at the table, then gave one back to Yan. “You gave me an extra.”
“I thought you charged for carrying the sack.”
“I charged for the buns.”
“You could have kept it.”
“I could. Then you’d think I cheated you, and I’d lose a customer over one copper.” Chen put the coin in Yan’s palm. “I’m trying to make a living, not a legend.”
Ning tucked the buns into her basket. “That’s a sensible goal.”
They returned to the low table. Yan broke his bun in half and put one piece beside Ning’s bowl. She took it without protest, which meant she was hungry. For a few minutes, they ate without talking about medicine or the ledger.
Then Ning wiped her hands and asked, “Did you hear anything about Ren’s brother?”
“The dates are wrong. Suli filed a request with the roster signatures. The steward has to review it.”
“Does Ren want more copies?”
“He wants to go demand an answer. Suli asked him to wait until the request is reviewed.”
“Is that what she wants, or what you think she ought to do?”
“She wants the correction first. She’ll decide about a wider appeal after she talks to the other families.”
“Good.” Ning brushed crumbs from her sleeve. “You can help with the facts without deciding how much risk she should take.”
“I know.”
“You know it when I say it.”
Yan let that pass. “I’ll ask her what she wants before I copy anything else.”
Chen had been gathering the empty wrappers. He paused at the mention of copies. “If you need paper, I sometimes bring parcels from the guild. They throw away the wrappers when the label is still readable.”
“Would they be clean?” Ning asked.
“Clean enough for notes, not for food.”
Yan liked that Chen had named the limit. “I could use a few if you bring them with the source tag.”
“Then I’ll charge for the trip.”
“Of course.”
Chen sat briefly at the end of the table. “There’s another route I run. A guild courier brings rejected cultivation pills to the waste yard. Sometimes the label is intact. Sometimes it isn’t.”
“Only bring the intact ones,” Yan said. “I want to read what they’re supposed to do before I buy them.”
“You plan to take them?”
“I want to know what’s in them first.”
Ning looked at Yan over her bowl. He could see the question forming. “If it’s a cultivation medicine,” he said, “I’ll ask about the dose and keep the label.”
“And if it’s ordinary medicine?”
“Then it’s ordinary medicine. I won’t treat a bitter taste like a cultivation effect.”
Ning nodded. “Bring the labels home. I can read them too.”
Chen rolled the empty paper wrappers into a neat bundle. “I can identify whether they’re cultivation stock and tell you the source. I can’t promise every batch is good. If I don’t know, I’ll say so.”
“That works,” Yan said. “What would you charge?”
“Depends on the route and the parcel. I’ll tell you before I bring it.”
They agreed to talk again when Chen had a labeled return. He did not hand over a pill or ask for money now. He had another delivery to make, and Yan had a shift to finish.
Ning gathered the empty bowls and gave them to the stall keeper. “That was a good meal.”
“Because we split it fairly?” Yan asked.
“Because I got to choose what to spend, and I know the buns were old before I paid.”
Chen bowed as if receiving a compliment from a magistrate. “My business rests on honest staleness.”
“Your business rests on selling me a bun I’ll have to toast with a kettle,” Yan said.
“Then I should charge more.”
“Don’t.”
They laughed. Ning’s breath caught, and she waited for it to settle before standing. Yan stood with her, but did not take her basket until she handed it over.
At the quarters, she put the medicine bill in its cloth pouch and set the new broth beside it. The plan was still tight, but now it had a price they could manage and a work request to pursue. Yan placed the two buns on the shelf for the morning.
He wanted more than the next meal and another shift. He wanted enough strength to leave the furnace yard, enough money for a house with clean air, and enough freedom that Ning could choose her work. The goal felt far away, but he could name the next steps: save, train, and keep asking what the records meant.