Examiner Luo posted the revised route map on the court wall after the morning medical reviews. It showed three turns, four water bowls, and a stand where each bowl had to be placed before the candidate crossed the finish mark. The path looked straight from the door. Up close, the chalk line curved around a post and tightened beside the drain.
Qinghe checked the faint line on Yan’s upper arm, then asked him to move his shoulder through a full turn. “Does the handle pull at the cut?”
“No. It’s healed. I feel the old line if I press it.”
“Your wrist?”
He lifted the practice tray and turned his palm beneath it. The handle sat in the middle of his hand. “Comfortable.”
“Then I’ll note no limit on the grip.” She wrote his candidate number beside the old injury, then closed the notebook. “You can request your own health notes after the examination.”
Wei stood at the map with his hands behind his back. “The floor slopes toward the drain on the second turn.”
Luo came over. “The map shows a level stone.”
“The map shows where the path was drawn. The stone slopes.”
“That could be a problem,” Yan said. He traced the line without touching the paper. “If a bowl shifts there, the test becomes about the drain.”
Luo compared the map with the court. He asked one of the workers to bring a level. The stone was slightly lower on the drain side. The drain had been added after the original route was drawn; a shallow channel ran under the edge of the second turn.
“Was the slope intentional?” Luo asked the worker.
“For the drain, yes. Not for the trial.”
Luo marked the location with chalk. “We will move the stand away from the slope. The path will use the same stones for every candidate.”
“That’s useful,” Wei said.
Yan nodded. “A contest should test balance, not hidden plumbing.”
The examiner ordered the first stand moved. A worker carried it to the flat space just beyond the drain. He set it down and rocked it with his palm to test the legs. The bowls would be placed there, not on the slanted stone.
Qinghe watched the candidates gather. “You can see your own notes after the examination. I’m not keeping secret scores.”
Wei glanced at the notebook. “Good. I didn’t think you were, but it helps to know.”
“The medical review is separate from the judges’ board.”
“And if I ask to see it?”
“I’ll show you the entry with your name on it.”
“All right.”
Instructor Pei walked the route with an empty bucket. At the first turn, his stride nearly clipped the edge of the post. He stopped and looked at the space between the post and the stand.
“This is too tight,” he said. “A tray corner can strike the post.”
He moved the stand a handspan. Then he asked Wei and Yan to check the turning space from a candidate’s height. Wei crouched and held an empty board across the route. Its corner grazed the post.
“It still catches,” he said.
Yan took the board. He angled it as if carrying a tray and turned his body. The edge passed, but the space left little room for a correction. “If someone’s grip is wider, they’ll hit the post.”
Pei moved the post aside and marked a wider lane. Lin stood near the line with her wrist wrapped. She watched the test from the side and gave a small nod when the board passed without contact.
“That’s better,” she said.
“Does the wrist still bother you?” Yan asked.
“Not with the tray. I’m waiting for Qinghe’s check before I try it.”
“Good.”
“I can still point at a post.”
“That may be the most important skill in the court.”
She laughed. “I’ll add it to my list.”
Qinghe came over and checked the wrap on Lin’s wrist. “Do you want to try the empty tray before the timed run?”
“I’d like to.”
“Only if it stays comfortable.”
Lin lifted the empty board and turned through the widened lane. Her wrist held steady. She returned to the line without lifting it higher than her waist.
“No pain,” she said.
“Good. That is the limit for now. You’ll decide whether to carry the water after you see how the wrist feels.”
“I’ll tell you.”
Wei watched the turn. “That corner is wide enough now.”
“It should be,” Pei said. “The first plan was drawn before anyone checked it with a tray.”
“Then the drawing was not enough,” Yan said.
“A drawing tells us where to start,” Pei replied. “The course tells us what we missed.”
Yan glanced at the post. The empty board cleared it cleanly, even when he took the turn from a low angle. He could see why Pei had widened the lane: a candidate carrying a heavy tray would need more room to correct than someone holding an empty plank.
Pei asked the workers to smooth the edge of the lane and test the stand one more time. The adjustment delayed the first timed route, but gave every candidate the same path and enough room to carry a tray without scraping a post.
Luo called the candidates to the start line. “You will cross three turns, place each bowl on the marked stand, and finish with the tray in both hands. Do not run. A spill under the line earns a mark; a broken bowl ends the attempt. If the course shifts or an object falls, stop and call an examiner.”
“Do we run separately?” Yan asked.
“One candidate at a time,” Luo said. “You will each have the same timing method and the same water level.”
Wei looked down the path. “Then we can compare how much is left at the finish.”
“Separately,” Yan said.
“I know. I meant after.”
“I had no plan to splash you.”
“I hadn’t ruled it out.”
Qinghe moved to the side table, where she could see the route and record any injury. She set out clean cloths and a water jar. Yan checked his grip once more, then flexed the wrist that had been cut by Ma’s knife. The old line did not pull.
The first candidates took their places. The route now had room for a careful turn, and the drain lay outside the path. Yan watched the water in the bowls tremble as the assistant filled them to the same mark. He could see the slant in the stone beyond the chalk, but it no longer mattered to the score.
“Ready?” Wei asked.
“Ready.”
Luo checked the first tray, then raised his hand. “Begin when the bell rings.”