The market awning rattled under a brief shower. Bai Jiu had arranged his salvage goods along one end of the stall and set a steaming tray of dumplings on the other. The smell of ginger and pork filled the lane.
“Your hands are clean,” he said to Yan. “Your sleeve is not.”
A smear of dust crossed Yan’s cuff. He brushed at it, only to make it wider.
“Leave it,” Sun said. She had walked from the examination ground with Qinghe at her side. Her wrapped knee was stiff, but she had managed without leaning on anyone. “It looks like you did something.”
“I did. I fell into a very small piece of stone.”
“You caught me,” she said. “The stone caught you.”
Wei set coins on the counter. “Three portions. Equal dumplings for a tied result.”
“Your race wasn’t tied,” Bai said. “You won the water run.”
