Ning met Yan and Qinghe at the lower gate clinic the next morning. She had a ledger tucked under one arm and a paper map under the other. Behind her, volunteers moved water jars toward a queue of residents with transfer papers. A second line waited for ordinary treatment.
She had left her depot several days earlier, after sending her first message about the transfer orders. The gate volunteers who had distributed water when Yan arrived were from the local relief team; Ning had traveled separately with two clinic workers and the latest shelter tallies. She reached the city late the previous night and spent the first hours setting up the clinic before asking to meet him.
“The road from the depot was crowded with families,” she said. “We passed two carts that had no shelter address. I’m not sending anyone farther until we know what this clinic can take.”
Yan looked at the map in her hand. “You made it through the ford?”
“At dawn. The guide was there, and we took the high stones. The supply team came another way.” She tapped the route with one finger. “I brought the counts, not the whole depot.”
“The two lines keep getting crossed,” Ning said. “People arrive with a notice and assume they must leave before asking for help.”
