The morning after the dining hall meal, Qinghe changed Yan’s wrist dressing in the infirmary yard. The ash burn was shallow, but the skin was still tender. She cleaned the edge, checked the two small blisters, and replaced the cloth without tightening it around his hand.
“Can I eat now?” Yan asked.
“You can eat when I finish tying this.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“You reached for the bowl before I set it down.”
Ning placed a supper tray on the table. “He heard the broth was ready.”
Yan kept his hand still while Qinghe secured the knot. “I heard it was hot.”
“Now you can take it.”
He reached with his left hand. The wrist dressing stayed dry. His cheek cut had closed at the edges; it stung only when he smiled. His back remained under a wider pad, and Qinghe asked him not to lean against the bench until she checked it again.
Ning set a bowl of rice beside him. “Was the first serving at the dining hall not enough?”
“It was enough for the dining hall.”
“That sentence means nothing.”
“It means I’m hungry again.”
Qinghe lifted the sleeve of his shirt enough to examine the skin near the back dressing. The outer edge was clean, with no new redness. “Your skin is still warm from the burn. The pulse is steady. I’ll check it after you eat.”
Ning kept a small jar of preserved fruit on the tray. “You can have the last piece after your second bowl. Not before.”
Yan looked at the jar. “You brought a rule.”
“I brought fruit.”
Bai Jiu came into the yard carrying a collapsed delivery box. “I’ve brought the box you left beneath the arch during the evacuation.”
“I left it there because the furnace was about to break.”
“I know. The jars inside were intact. The box wasn’t.” Bai set it down beside the tray. One corner had been crushed, and a strip of the paper label was charred. “The courier fee did not include rebuilding the container.”
He untied the surviving string and showed Ning how the box had bent when an apprentice stepped against it in the rush. The lids had stayed on the jars, but the cardboard seam split when he lifted it. Ning checked the label and lot number before she touched the containers.
“These were the spare glass jars for the infirmary,” she said. “They’re clean, but we can’t store them in a box that opens at the handle.”
“I carried them intact,” Bai said. “The box failed after I set it down.”
“I believe you. I still need a replacement.”
“Then the clean-box offer settles it.” Bai slid the damaged label toward her. “Keep this with the delivery count so no one charges me for a jar that never broke.” Ning wrote the box damage beside the count and gave him the paper to initial. He signed without bargaining.
Qinghe looked at the broken corner. “I’ll give you a clean box from the infirmary store.”
Bai considered the offer. “That is a fair settlement.”
“I thought you’d ask for a copper.”
“I was going to. A clean box is better.” He folded the broken one flat and placed it away from the food. “I can salvage the handle.”
Yan took a spoonful of rice. “The rescue meal was supposed to include all the people who helped.”
“I was paid in the privilege of delivering a box that survived.”
Ning passed him another bowl. Yan accepted it. The broth was simple, with chopped greens and rice at the bottom. He drank carefully to avoid spilling against the bandage on his wrist. When he finished, Ning filled the bowl again before he could ask.
“Two bowls,” Qinghe said. “That is enough before I check your pulse.”
Yan set the spoon down. “I haven’t had the fruit.”
“That is not a bowl.” Ning moved the jar within reach. “You can have it after.”
Qinghe checked his pulse with two fingers. It was stable. The skin on his wrist was warm because of the burn, but his channels moved qi smoothly. “No delayed weakness?”
“No.”
“Your appetite is high.”
“It’s been high since the rescue.”
“Blood Ignition?”
“I think so. I was hungry before I used it too.”
Qinghe noted the answer without adding a cause she could not prove. “The method gave you strength and life, but the furnace still burned you.”
“Yes.” Yan touched the edge of the wrist dressing with one finger. “The heat did not become a benefit.”
Ning put the fruit jar in front of him. “Now eat this before Bai bills us for it.”
“Fruit is not on my fee card,” Bai said. “Yet.”
Yan took the last piece. It tasted sharp and sweet after the broth. He passed the jar to Ning, who shook her head and told him to finish it. He split the fruit with her anyway, saving a small piece for Qinghe.
The four of them spoke about the rescue in concrete pieces. The jar cart had blocked the main doors. Qinghe had managed the side arch. Bai had kept the apprentices moving. The beam had fallen across the aisle, and the hall had to remain sealed. Four workers had needed treatment. Yan’s burns, cut, and bruises belonged on his own medical record.
“Forty-two people came out,” Bai said. “Lu is still checking the duplicate name.”
“Did the steward post the corrected count?” Ning asked.
“Not yet,” Bai said. “He was waiting for the clinic list.”
Qinghe took a clean sheet from her case. “I’ll send the names of the four patients and their treatment status, not their full notes. Lu only needs to know they are accounted for.”
“Good,” Ning said. “The family board should say who is safe to visit and who needs rest. It does not need the details of their breathing tests.”
Yan looked at her. “You want the count posted before people start asking?”
“I want the families to hear it from the clinic instead of a rumor. The corrected total can wait until the duplicate is explained. No one should have to wait to know whether their person came out.”
Bai nodded. “I’ll take the list to Lu after I get the replacement box.”
“The corrected list will be posted,” Qinghe said. “The count should not include the same worker twice.”
Ning turned the broken delivery box over and examined the charred label. “This is why the clinic marks each crate. The jars made it through, but we need a clean container before the next shipment.”
“I’ll carry the replacement on my next route,” Bai said. “That fee is separate from the return cart.”
“Write it down,” Yan said.
Bai gave him a look. “You don’t trust me?”
“I trust you to remember the fee and forget the box.”
“Then I’ll remember both.”
Qinghe gathered her supplies. “The dressing stays clean tonight. Tomorrow I’ll look at the back again. Do not practice under load.”
Yan nodded. He had no intention of lifting another beam for the evening. His body felt full of energy, and the bowls had gone down easily. The burn still hurt when he moved his shoulder. He was content to sit, eat, and let the clinic keep its records straight.