Kesh’s breathing turned shallow again before the next stretcher arrived. The bridge defender had lost blood, and the bandage at his side was darkening. Qinghe checked the wound and pressed two fingers to his wrist.
“The pressure is slipping,” she said. “Hold the cloth here, Yan. Keep it firm while I check his pulse.”
An assistant placed a folded pad in Yan’s hands. He leaned in and held it against the wound. Kesh’s eyes opened, unfocused at first, then found Yan.
“Don’t try to sit,” Yan said. “We’re keeping the blood in.”
“I can hear you,” Kesh whispered.
“Good. Keep listening.”
Qinghe checked his pulse and watched his chest rise. “Now use the palm. The wound is deep, but his channels still answer.”
Yan moved his hand from the bandage to the point Qinghe indicated. He performed Returning Spring Palm. The art opened the living channels around the damage and steadied the flow beneath his palm. Kesh’s breath stopped catching; the pulse grew firmer under Qinghe’s fingers. Yan felt the cost reverse into years and vigor. Strength flowed through him, and he was glad the improvement in Kesh’s body was real.
