Bai arrived at White Orchard with two wagons and enough ledgers to make the drivers groan. He had been smiling since the gate, where two merchants stopped him to ask how to combine orders for the medicine road.
“Three months ago, they asked how to keep the toll keeper from seeing the load,” he told Yan. “Now they want to know which road is legal.”
“They might still want the old road,” Yan said.
“They can want it. I’m showing them the cost.” Bai spread a map on the wagon bed. The old tunnel route ran straight through the hills. The new public road passed wells and inns, with a toll at each bridge. The legal route cost more, but small clinics could share carts rather than compete for them.
At the market yard, the wheelwright refused Bai’s first wagon. He tapped the rim with a mallet; a crack opened under the paint.
“The seller promised a sound cart,” Bai said.
“The crack doesn’t care what he promised.” The wheelwright held the mallet out. “You can take it as it is, or I’ll repair it at the agreed price.”
Bai’s jaw tightened. Yan saw him look to the seller, then at the waiting drivers. “Repair it,” Bai said. “Put the delay on the invoice. We’ll list every crate, including the tea.”
