The roof groaned before Yan reached the apprentice. A support beam dropped across the central aisle. Its far end struck a shelf, bursting glass and hot splinters over the floor. The blast of air knocked Yan onto one knee. His shoulder hit stone, and pain flashed down his arm.
He rolled away as a second shelf fell. The beam lay between him and the side arch. Behind it, the apprentice stood with his hands at his sides, looking toward the furnace as if he had not heard the collapse.
“Come to me!” Yan called.
The boy did not move.
Smoke thickened above the aisle. Yan pushed himself up, careful of his right arm. The old cut pulled under the bandage, but it had not reopened. His shoulder hurt sharply where it had struck the floor. He took one step and stopped when a ceiling board cracked overhead.
At the threshold, Qinghe took charge of the people outside. “No one comes back alone. Bai, keep the line clear. Fen, take the uninjured toward the yard wall.”
Bai and two older apprentices formed a hand line beneath the arch. They moved the wounded without pressing them against the stone frame. Qinghe checked the junior disciple’s wrapped hand and sent him on with a cloth pressed over the cut.
Yan looked at the apprentice. “Can you hear me?”
The boy blinked. His face had gone pale beneath the soot. Yan did not tell him to look at the fire or the fallen shelf.
“What’s your name?”
A cough came first. Then: “Lin.”
“Lin, can you hear Qinghe at the door?”
The physician called his name. Lin’s eyes shifted toward the voice, but his feet stayed planted.
“There’s a clear space behind you,” Yan said. “I’ll lift the beam. When I raise my hand, crawl toward Qinghe. Don’t stand up until you’re past it.”
Lin swallowed. He clutched the damp sleeve of his robe and nodded once.
A shelf shifted against the beam. The weight settled lower, narrowing the gap between it and the floor. Yan tested the beam with one hand. It moved a finger’s width, then sank back. He could not hold it long with ordinary strength, and the roof was still shedding boards.
He had time to choose one method before the next fall. Ashen Marrow could reinforce his frame; Blood Ignition could give the burst needed to lift the beam. He had practiced both and knew their complete sequences. He had no reason to fear their inner costs, but the beam was real and the smoke was filling his lungs.
“Qinghe, keep the arch clear.”
“I have it.” Her voice was sharp through the smoke. “Lin, listen for me.”
Yan bent his knees and set his left shoulder beneath the beam. It pressed against his work coat. The damaged shoulder flared with pain from the earlier fall. He shifted to take the load through his back and legs instead. The beam scraped his collar as it settled.
He activated Ashen Marrow. The method moved easily through his bones, turning its ordinary strain into a smooth, strengthening warmth. He felt his frame hold steady beneath the weight. The beam did not lift; it remained heavy against him.
Then he began the complete Nine-Death Blood Ignition sequence. The breath drew tight in his chest. Blood-colored qi gathered around his arms and shoulders. The art’s life cost became a rush of vigor that filled him rather than draining him. He planted his boots against the floor and pushed.
The beam shifted, scraping over a broken shelf. A nail caught his coat and tore the seam at his side. Yan pushed again. The timber rose high enough to make a narrow passage, but its weight still drove down through his shoulder and forearm. He held his hand out toward Lin.
“Now.”
Lin dropped to his knees and crawled. His robe snagged on a splinter. He froze again.
“Keep moving,” Yan said. “The cloth can tear.”
The boy pulled hard. The sleeve ripped free and he slid beneath the beam, scraping his elbow against the floor. Qinghe reached through from the safe side and caught his wrists. She pulled him clear and checked him by touch, turning him toward the courtyard.
“Can you stand?”
Lin nodded, coughing. Qinghe kept one hand at his back and guided him to Bai.
“Anyone else?” Yan called.
“Two apprentices behind the east shelf,” Qinghe answered. “They’re out.”
The beam sagged another inch. Yan’s arms shook from the external load, and the floor stones ground under his boots. He could feel the method’s force and the renewed vigor together, but they did not make the timber light. The weight pressed his coat against his chest and shortened each breath.
Qinghe looked back at him through the smoke. “The aisle is empty.”
A burning shelf collapsed behind him. Flame licked across his back and scorched his coat. Pain struck between his shoulder blades. Splinters peppered his cheek. He gritted his teeth and shifted one step sideways to keep the beam from twisting toward the arch.
“Yan!”
“I heard you.”
“That is everyone.”
He held the timber another breath, making sure no hand or foot remained beneath it. Then he stepped clear and released the beam.
It crashed into the empty trench with a boom that shook dust from the roof. Yan moved away from the falling debris. The doorway was open. Qinghe had Lin and the other apprentices in the yard. Bai was guiding the remaining clerks away from the furnace windows.
Yan stopped beyond the arch and felt the burned skin under his coat sting with every breath. The qi’s warmth still moved in his body, but it had not erased the fire’s bite. His shoulder throbbed where it had struck the floor. He remained upright long enough to count the people outside.
“Everyone is here,” Qinghe said. She was already moving toward him. “Take off the coat carefully. Don’t pull it across the burn.”
Yan looked back once. Smoke pushed through the shattered hall windows. The beam lay across the empty trench. “The furnace is gone.”
“The people are out,” Qinghe replied. “Let’s see your back.”