Wei entered the medical room while Yan sat with Qinghe’s pulse stone against his wrist. He stopped at the table and eyed the instrument.
“Has the examination become a clinic contest?”
“No,” Qinghe said. “These readings are not scored.”
“Then I’ll offer mine. I’m curious whether his channels are as unusual as they look.”
Qinghe checked Wei’s hands and asked whether he had any current injury. He mentioned an old strain in his shoulder that troubled him after long practice, but no fresh pain. She checked the joint and found it stable.
“I can compare the readings,” she said. “It will show a difference, not give us a diagnosis.”
“That’s fine.”
Yan lifted his wrist from the stone. “You want to compare against me?”
