Hana pressed the paddle with her elbow, lifted a basin and left the rack to stop by itself.
The student watched it settle.
“I could turn that whole thing with one release.”
“You could leave it alone,” Hana said. “That costs less.”
His friends laughed. He did not.
Felix came through the gate beside Lyra. The young man wore clean practice robes, a narrow belt and the expression of someone accustomed to finishing an argument by looking at the other person’s sleeves.
He looked at Felix’s sock-covered bandage.
“You made this?”
“Some of it.”
“Why mark a maximum? It’s barely moving anything.”
“Wet cloth weighs more than your opinion.”
Lyra made a small sound beside him. It might have been a warning.
The student stepped toward the spindle. Hana put the empty basin in his path.
“My machine. My bracket. Your washing’s over there.”
His friend collected the household bundle from the assistant. The student remained beside the basin.
“If he frightened you into thinking that limit means something—”
“It means don’t hang a blanket on the upper rack,” Hana said.
Felix felt his right fingers tremble against the support. He had been preparing an excellent explanation involving one very small demonstration and the young man’s hat.
His hand disagreed.
Lyra leaned close enough that only he could hear.
“Hana already answered.”
He looked at the woman, who was waiting for three students to get out of her working yard.
The young man noticed his hesitation.
“We could settle it with a friendly trial. Jory Pike.”
“Is that the trial or your name?”
“My name.”
“Good to establish the rules.”
Jian entered from the service path with his testing needle case.
“I’m here to check the return,” he told Hana.
“You can check them while you’re at it.”
She pointed toward Felix and Jory with a wet hand.
Jian listened to the proposed trial without smiling.
“No qi contest. Felix is still recovering.”
Jory looked pleased for entirely the wrong reason.
“Balance, then. The beam in the practice court. No release. No striking.”
Through the low gate beside the yard stood a short beam mounted over a deep sand bed. A central pin let it tilt. Marked sections at opposite ends showed where contestants could plant their feet.
Felix looked at it.
“How much falling?”
“About a foot,” Jian said.
“An attractive distance.”
They inspected the support. The pin was secured. The sand had been raked, and there were no tools beneath the beam. Jory balanced on one leg while they checked the second board.
“You don’t need to repair it first.”
“A valuable tradition,” Felix said. “Checking before I stand on something.”
Hana called from the gate. “If this interrupts my assistant, someone pays his time.”
Lyra set the small wager. The loser covered the interrupted half hour, no further claims. Felix checked his own purse before accepting.
Jory agreed quickly.
His friends took the washing to a dry bench. One leaned a chalk bag against the low rail while the other cleared a trailing display cloth away from the court.
Jian repeated the rules. Soles on the marked boards. Hands off the apparatus. No striking or qi. Either man could lower himself or turn within his section. Sand meant defeat.
Felix looked at Hana.
“Does appearance count?”
“Only if it makes you fall.”
Jian adjusted his feet once, then stepped away.
Before they mounted, Jory offered his own slippers to the friend holding the laundry and stepped onto the board in soft practice shoes.
Felix looked down at his ordinary soles.
“Am I improperly dressed for falling a foot?”
Jian checked them. Dry, no loose buckle, enough grip.
“They’ll do.”
Jory rolled his shoulders. “You could withdraw.”
Felix tested his weight on the first board while Jian steadied the apparatus.
“Would that improve my reputation?”
“It might save the money.”
“Unfortunately, I’ve already pictured winning. Very difficult to return an unused picture.”
Lyra moved his coat off a post before its hem could reach the sand. He thanked her, stepped onto his mark and waited while Jory took the other end. Jian removed his steadying hand only after both said they were set.
The beam dipped under Jory first. Felix’s end rose. He stiffened, tried to straighten the moving world with his knees and felt his weight drift backward.
Heel. Knee. Shoulder.
He bent before the heel left the board.
The beam settled into a long tilt. Jory stood beautifully at the lower end, one knee flexed, arms arranged as though somebody might paint him.
Felix kept his injured arm close and lowered his hips.
“Ready?” Jory asked.
“I thought this was the unpleasant part already.”
Jory shifted forward.
The beam rose beneath him and fell beneath Felix, who nearly answered with a backward step. He stopped himself. The painted mark ended just behind his slipper.
Jory shifted again. Quicker now.
Felix’s good hand flew outward. His right shoulder tried to follow and sent a sharp warning across his chest.
He tucked the arm back against himself. The pain faded when he stopped asking it to help.
Jory saw the change and smiled.
The next dip came faster. Felix bent his knees, let the board move and tried not to be the person moving it more.
Beside the court, Hana’s assistant counted a load into a basket.
“Rack could’ve turned twice by now.”
“Then turn it,” Jory snapped.
“It turns itself.”
Hana laughed from the gate.
Jory’s ears reddened. He swept his weight toward one foot, then across to the other. The beam rolled in a shallow sideways motion before its pin checked it.
Felix felt the wood tilt beneath his slippers. His instinct said stand taller, escape the uncomfortable bend. Jian’s lesson said that was how he’d nearly sat on a chair four feet away.
He stayed low.
There was a pause. Not long, but long enough for the beam to stop giving him a new problem every instant.
He breathed out.
Jory was good. That had become clear. His first long tilt had been perfectly controlled. Even the faster changes stayed within the board until he began trying to make them look effortless.
Felix couldn’t outmaneuver him. He could stop cooperating with his hurry.
The next shift came. Felix let it pass through his knees. He didn’t send a competing lurch down the beam.
Jory frowned.
He held the tilt, waiting for Felix to overbalance. Felix waited too.
The longest pause came with Jory’s end high and Felix’s low. From there, Felix could see a worn patch beside the central pin. He fixed his attention on it while the edge of the yard moved in the corner of his vision.
His left slipper began sliding inside the shoe.
He curled his toes without lifting the sole. The small adjustment steadied his foot, but his knee wanted to turn with it. He let the knee bend instead.
Jory watched him notice the problem. His next shift was slow, almost courteous, inviting Felix to lean farther than he should.
Felix nearly did.
Then he remembered the practice stand: comfortable reach first, ambitious reach later. He stayed above his feet and let the other man’s end rise.
For one brief moment, Jory’s handsome arrangement broke. His arms spread wider. He recovered well, setting his shoulders over his hips, but the audience had seen that both men were working now.
Felix smiled before he could stop himself.
Jory’s mouth tightened.
The assistant carried a finished basket past the rail.
“Another load,” he said.
“You’re enjoying this,” Felix told him.
“A little.”
He took two empty baskets back into the yard.
The board vibrated beneath Felix’s feet. His thighs had developed definite opinions about how long a small trial should last. He lowered another inch and discovered a position that was ugly, tiring and surprisingly stable.
Lyra pressed her lips together.
“Don’t,” he said.
“I haven’t said anything.”
Jory looked between them, then made a sudden broad shift meant to force Felix upright.
At the same moment, a gust caught the loose display cloth.
It snapped across the rail and wrapped around one of Jory’s friends, covering his face in a painted announcement of excellent household service.
The other friend laughed.
Jory glanced sideways.
Felix kept his eyes on the pin.
The beam moved. He let his hips travel with it, knees bent, his soles planted inside the ugly yellow marks.
Jory’s foot slipped off the edge of his board.
He tried to correct. The empty end rebounded beneath him.
He landed in the sand with both feet, caught the chalk bag under one heel and vanished in an enormous white puff.
For a second there was only cloth flapping and somebody coughing.
When the dust cleared, Felix remained crouched on the beam.
He didn’t move.
Jian raised his hand. “Felix.”
“May I stand up? Or is this my position now?”
Hana laughed so hard she had to set her basket down.
The assistant applauded. Two people watching from the stair joined him. Lyra shook her head, smiling openly now.
Felix rose slowly, waited for the beam to settle and stepped into the sand under his own control.
Jory wiped chalk from his face. One white eyebrow remained above an otherwise furious expression.
“He squatted.”
“Both soles remained on the marks,” Jian said. “Within the terms.”
Jory looked at the beam, then at his own friends. The one tangled in the cloth was still trying to get free without tearing the advertisement.
At last Jory reached for his purse.
Hana’s assistant accepted the lost time payment with great solemnity.
Felix considered several possible remarks. He had won. He could afford to keep some of them.
“Servants must be very patient,” he said.
Jory dusted his sleeves and collected the washing. He didn’t bow, request instruction or promise to reconsider his whole life. He left with his friends, one of whom quietly removed a strip of cloth from his collar before following.
Hana returned to the yard.
“Good,” she said. “Now I can get something done.”
The rack turned and stopped behind her.
Felix sat on the low rail, grinning.
“A celestial stance,” he told Lyra.
“No.”
“A modest celestial stance.”
“Absolutely no.”
Jian checked his breathing and asked about the brief pain. Felix described it accurately. Nothing lingered. His arm remained in its support, and no heat had traveled through the damaged meridians.
He asked for a little water before attempting anything else. Hana’s assistant brought a cup and accepted another thanks. Felix drank, letting his legs stop trembling.
Lyra offered him his coat.
“Your dignity’s in the pocket,” she said.
“Keep it there. Clearly I’m better without it.”
She laughed and laid it beside him, where he could reach it without twisting his sore shoulder.
Jian took out the healer’s recovery instructions. A smallest-thread test in the uninjured left hand was allowed if the earlier pain had settled and the movement check caused no strain.
Felix looked at the page.
“We can leave that until later.”
Jian blinked.
“You just won,” Lyra said. “He’s feeling generous toward limitations.”
They waited through a few quiet breaths. Then Felix rested his left hand flat and drew the smallest thread he could feel toward his fingertips.
It wavered, thin as warmth above a cup.
No sting.
He stopped before anyone asked.
Jian nodded. “That’s enough.”
Felix studied his hand, pleased with it for a reason quite separate from the beam.
Tamsin came through the gate carrying a copper lamp fitting wrapped in cloth.
“Bring the deck,” she said. “I’d like tomorrow’s inspection this afternoon.”
She looked at the white footprints leading out of the court.
“Do I want to know?”
“I won something.”
“Money?”
“An argument.”
Tamsin considered his empty purse hand, the sand on his slippers and Lyra’s face.
“Then I won’t charge you for the explanation. This needs a look.”
She held out the fitting.
Felix unfolded the cloth with his left hand. The copper was warm.
The lamp was unlit.