Qinghe finished the inspection of the Ashfall shipment and prepared the medicine cart for its return to the capital clinic. The clean roots had been counted and signed for. The damp bundle remained in a hold box, marked for replacement before it could enter patient stock.
Qinghe compared every tie to the route slip before she let the clerk load the cart. The clinic used dried roots for cough broth and inhalation packs; the tags mattered because damp stock could spoil before anyone noticed from the outside. She opened the first sack and checked the roots by touch and smell. Ning recorded the lot number while the clerk counted each bundle into the crate.
“Keep the clean tags facing the aisle,” Qinghe said. “The receiving clinic needs to see the lot before opening the seal.”
“I’ll put the replacement on the outside,” the clerk replied.
“Put its own tag on it. Don’t cover the old hold mark.”
Yan carried the sealed root crate with his left arm. His right upper arm was still stitched, and the shallow forearm slice had a clean dressing. The shoulder bruise had faded but ached when he lifted too quickly. He held the crate close to his uninjured side and set it on the cart without pulling at the wound.
“Did that strain the stitches?” Qinghe asked.
“No. I kept the weight on the other arm.”
“Good. I’ll review the stitches when I’m back at the clinic.”
Ning stood beside the hold box with her work slate. She had marked the damp bundle’s source and crate number so the replacement would be traceable. “I’ll tell the sorting crew to watch for water at the bottom seam.”
“Keep the spoiled roots out of the clean crate,” Qinghe said. “The new batch gets a separate tag.”
Bai Jiu arrived with his courier badge and a folded route receipt. “I can take the return cart to the gate. The public route is clear, and I have room on my schedule.”
Qinghe checked the badge and the route slip. “You’re a delivery man who can read a label. That is more useful than an assistant who can’t.”
Bai bowed. “I’ll put that on my fee card.”
“Don’t.” She compared the root tags against the shipment receipt before closing the cart. One sack had been listed as dry stock, though the wrapping felt wet beneath the outer cord. Qinghe opened the tie and checked the bottom. Water had seeped into the inner cloth, leaving two roots soft and discolored.
“The clerk replaced the first damaged bundle,” Yan said. “This is a second one?”
“Same crate, different sack. The outer list is corrected, but this wrapping is still wet.” Qinghe showed the mark to the shipment clerk. “Replace this sack too. I won’t take a damp package back to the clinic.”
The clerk checked the side of the crate. “It’s listed as dry stock.”
“The list doesn’t change the wrapping.” Qinghe pointed to the water-darkened seam. “Write the replacement on the receipt and sign beside it.”
The clerk changed the count and brought a clean sack from the storeroom. He signed the substitution line. Qinghe compared its tag with the ledger, then set it in the cart. The spoiled roots stayed in the hold box, separate from the clean stock.
Bai accepted the sealed receipt from Qinghe. “I’ll take the cart through the public gate and keep the tag with the load.”
He checked the wheel straps and showed the guard his route badge. “The cart is heavier than my usual sack. I’ll take the wide gate and avoid the herb lane.”
“Good,” Qinghe said. “The crate is sealed, but the contents can still shift. Keep it level.”
Yan tested one wheel lock with his left hand. It held. The cart’s handles were at a height he could reach without lifting; he steadied the frame while Bai tightened the rear strap. The stitched arm stayed close to his side. He did not force it simply to be useful. “Do not break the seal before the clinic receives it.”
“I know how a sealed delivery works.”
“Then the receipt should not surprise you.”
Bai laughed and secured the paper under the route strap. Yan helped him check the wheel locks with his uninjured hand. He did not lift the cart or use the healing arm; the wheels were already free and rolled easily over the lane.
Ning wrote the new sack number into the sorting record. “The clean batch is ready, and the damp one stays here until the storehouse replaces it.”
Qinghe signed the corrected receipt. “The clinic gets sound stock. Nothing from this box will be used until the replacement arrives.”
Yan asked, “When will you return to Ashfall?”
“My next inspection depends on the clinic schedule. I’ll review your stitches when you come to the infirmary.”
“That gives me a real appointment without promising you know why my channels stay clear.”
Qinghe looked at him. “I know what I observed. I haven’t explained the cause.”
“I like that answer.”
Bai rolled the medicine cart toward the gate. Ning followed to see the sealed receipt through the first checkpoint. The clean roots stayed dry, the damp bundle remained out of patient medicine, and the clerk had signed for the replacement.
At the gate, Bai showed his badge and receipt. The guard checked the cart seal and initialed the route slip. A gate driver took the handles to carry the cart onward to the capital clinic. Bai tucked his stamped fee slip inside his book and turned back toward Ashfall.
The guard asked whether the replacement sack had a new lot number. Bai pointed to the separate tag and the corrected line on the receipt. The guard checked both before lifting the gate bar. Nothing in the cart was opened or relabeled at the checkpoint.
“Your records are better than the storehouse’s,” he said.
“They’re the same records,” Bai replied. “I just keep my copy where I can find it.”
The guard laughed and let the cart through. Bai rolled it toward the road without needing to detour back through the herb racks. Ning returned to her morning shift with the spoiled-root mark in her slate. She had a task for the sorting crew and a record to show the next clerk if another damp crate arrived. Yan watched the gate driver roll the medicine cart out, then turned back toward the infirmary.
Qinghe had not gone with the shipment. She set the corrected receipt on the infirmary desk and sorted the remaining appointment slips for the next morning. Yan carried the light bundle of notes with his left hand. His right arm still ached if he lifted too much, but the stitches were healing. His channels remained clear after the footwork, and the cut still needed ordinary care. Ashfall’s roots and records stayed separate until the replacement had been inspected.