Chapter 28 — The Medicine Bearer Through the Chaos

Strange Smell Of Medicine In The Warehouse

The news that there were not enough lights at night spread further than Tinh Yen imagined. Not only in the barracks, but following the convoys of food trucks and groups of soldiers changing shifts, the story of a young nurse who could stitch wounds in the dark, and remember rare poisons that many veteran nurses had never heard of, gradually spread to the translation stations along the way to the South.

"I heard from a medicinal merchant that in Thanh Duong palace, people have started rumors about a 'cloth-clad goddess' at Long Mon pass." Nhuoc Lan recounted, her voice both funny and a bit proud, while the two were inventorying the medicinal herb warehouse after the recent war. "You see, your reputation has gone further than you thought."

"Don't talk too much like that, I'm just doing my job." Tinh Yen replied, still constantly sorting the remaining bundles of medicinal herbs, recording the quantity in the inventory book. She didn't pay much attention to the rumors, but there was still a small joy in her heart at the thought of her efforts being recognized, even if only through simple word of mouth.

The job of inventorying the medicinal herb warehouse was part of the new responsibilities Ky Ba Nghiem assigned to her after being officially hired — another sign that his trust in her had increased significantly. She and Nhuoc Lan opened each wooden crate one by one, checking the quality of the remaining medicinal herbs after the massive use in the recent battle.

When opening a new batch of medicine delivered from Thanh Duong palace just a few days ago, Tinh Yen suddenly stopped. She picked up a handful of dried licorice, brought it to her nose to smell it, her eyebrows slightly furrowed.

"Is something wrong?" Nhuoc Lan asked, seeing her strange expression.

"This batch of licorice smells a bit strange." Tinh Yen replied, sniffing carefully again. "Not exactly moldy, but not the typical aroma of good licorice either. There's a bit of a musty smell mixed in, as if it had been stored in improper conditions, or..."

She paused, a memory suddenly rushed back - the smell of rice that was saved in Coconut Creek, the strange smell that her grandmother used to frown and suspect before the July epidemic broke out, the smell that she still can't forget even now even though she tries not to think about it.

"Or what?" Nhuoc Lan continued asking, seeing her suddenly silent.

"Nothing." Tinh Yen shook her head, trying to dispel the feeling of insecurity that had just arisen. "Maybe I'm just thinking too much. But just to be sure, I think I should tell Captain Ky not to use this lot until I check more carefully."

She brought a sample of licorice to Ky Ba Nghiem and expressed her suspicions. He took it, smelled it, and his face flashed a bit of discomfort.

"You're right, the quality is a problem." He confirmed, placing the medicine sample on the shelf. "Recently, the supply of medicinal herbs from Thanh Duong government is no longer as stable as before. Some batches are of very good quality, while others are much worse than the price paid. I have sent official complaints several times but have not received a satisfactory response."

"Do you know why there is such a difference, Captain?" Tinh Yen asked, trying to keep her voice calm even though an irrepressible curiosity was rising in her heart.

Ky Ba Nghiem sat down, sighed, his eyes looking into the distance as if he was considering what he should or shouldn't say. "Military supplies, herbs, and medicinal materials supplied to the border must go through many intermediate levels before reaching the barracks - from the royal warehouse, through district offices, and then to the military hospital. Each level can be a place for loss, whether due to negligence or intentionality." He stopped and looked at Tinh Yen for a long moment, as if he was considering the level of trust he could give her. "I don't want to speculate baselessly, but through many years of working in the military, I have learned that sometimes the thing that causes the most harm to soldiers is not the enemy's swords or spears, but the silent cuts right within our own ranks."

That sentence made Tinh Yen speechless, a vague but strong association arose in his heart - what master Lieu Nguyen had said before his death, about a conspiracy related to the distribution of herbs and medicinal herbs that he had witnessed many years ago in the Royal Hospital.

"Captain," she asked, trying to keep her voice casual, "have you heard of anything similar happening in other areas, many years ago? For example, food relief deliveries being mixed up, or poor quality medicine being sent to civilian areas?"

Ky Ba Nghiem looked at her intently, his eyes revealing a bit of scrutiny. "Why do you ask?"

"I just... I grew up in a small fishing village where there was a big epidemic many years ago." Tinh Yen replied, choosing each word carefully. "My grandmother, who taught me medicine, was once suspicious about the origin of a batch of rice relief given to the village right before the outbreak. She died during that epidemic, and I never learned the truth."

Ky Ba Nghiem's face darkened, he was silent for a long time before responding. "I don't dare to confirm anything, because I don't have any specific evidence. But if you really want to find out the truth behind such things, perhaps the Thai Medical Institute in Yen Phung, where all the records of medicinal herbs and herbs have been distributed to the regions for decades, will be the only place that can give you the answer. That's also part of the reason I think you should go there, when the time is ripe — not just because your skills are worthy of a good offer. bigger field, but also because perhaps, part of the truth you are looking for is also there."

Tinh Yen nodded, burying those words in her heart like a new seed, along with the other scattered pieces she had been silently collecting since the night her master died - half a piece of jade talisman, a medical case related to an assassination in the court, and now, a vague hint that the records at the Royal Hospital might hold the key to the mystery of her grandmother's death.

"I'll keep that in mind, Captain." She spoke, her voice more certain than ever.

"For now, let's continue with this defective batch." Ky Ba Nghiem said, changing his tone back to his usual stern tone, as if he wanted to close the sensitive topic just now. "Make a detailed list of batches of medicinal herbs that have had problems in the past six months. I will personally send a report to superiors. If there is indeed a systematic abnormality, we will at least need written evidence."

Tinh Yen left Ky Ba Nghiem's office with a complicated mood, both having new clues and feeling more clearly than ever the weight of the road ahead. She returned to the medicinal warehouse, where Nhuoc Lan was still diligently taking inventory, and began the work of making a list of suspicious shipments, each written line carrying a silent question about what was really going on behind the normal appearance of the military supply machine on this remote border.

That night, under the light of an oil lamp in her private tent, she took out the Bach Thao Chan Sutra and turned over the last pages where her master's handwriting became much more shaky, probably written in the last days of his life when his health was failing. She read and reread a short paragraph, seemingly hastily written: "If one day you find the truth, remember, that truth may bear the names of people you once respected." She closed the book, looking out into the darkness outside the tent, wondering if the road to Yen Phung would lead her to light, or to a darkness even deeper than she had ever imagined.

She stood up, walked out of the tent, took a breath of cold night air to calm her confused mind. The barracks was silent under the moonlight, with only the steady footsteps of the patrolling guards and the sound of the wind blowing through the rows of tents. She looked towards the dark medicinal warehouse, where the suspicious batch of licorice still lay there waiting to be processed, then looked south, where the road leading through miles of mountains would take her to the capital city of Yen Phung - where, according to Ky Ba Nghiem, all records of the relief shipments that had ever been sent throughout the kingdom were kept.

She remembered her grandmother's face in the last days, remembered her suspicious eyes when she picked up the handful of rice that was saved that year and smelled it, just like she did with the handful of licorice today. Perhaps, she thought, that intuition was not only a taught professional skill, but also a part of the flesh and blood that had been deeply ingrained in the Do family through three generations of physicians, an invisible compass that always points towards the truth no matter how bumpy the road to get there was.

The night wind blew stronger, carrying the cold air of the coming winter. Tinh Yen tightly closed her shirt and went back into the tent. She knew that from tonight onwards, every shipment, every package of medicine that passed through her hands would no longer be seen with the simple eyes of a medical practitioner, but would also carry the smoldering question of a greater truth waiting for her ahead.