Months after the storm, Yan and Qinghe returned to White Orchard to find the old granary smelling of dried herbs and pear wood. Ning had turned it into the center of her medicine network. The office door stood open; beyond it, two clinic workers counted bandages while a storekeeper read the public stock list aloud to a farmer who had come to check on fever powder.
One of the workers held up a crate. “Can you check this seal before we stack it?”
Yan did. The wax mark matched the invoice, and he carried the crate inside. On the wall, each province had its own column: name of storekeeper, stock on hand, date of last inspection. Three clinic workers sat on the council. They could inspect the supplies without asking Ning first.
“Good system,” Yan said.
“It’s a good beginning.” A messenger had left a folded order on Ning’s desk. It named her Imperial Director of Provincial Medicine and offered a purse of silver with the title.
Ning had returned it with the title crossed through in heavy ink. Her note asked that the clinics keep the network’s authority and that the offered travel funds go to communities that needed them. A second line said the council, not Ning alone, would decide how to use the money. The storekeeper tapped the note. “We can keep the stock moving without waiting for one seal.”
