Qinghe led Yan to the far side of the courtyard, away from the broken windows. She had him sit on a low water trough and asked Bai to bring a clean basin and scissors.
“Don’t pull the coat over your head,” she said. “The back is burned through.”
Yan reached for the hem. The scorched cloth stuck to his shirt. He stopped when the movement pulled at his shoulder.
“Scissors,” Qinghe said when Bai returned. She cut the fabric from the collar down the side seam, then eased the coat away from the skin. The burn crossed the upper part of Yan’s back in a red, blistered patch. One smaller blister had opened where a splinter had stuck. His cheek held three shallow cuts, and his shoulder was swelling from the floor strike.
“Can you move your arm?”
Yan raised his left arm slowly. His shoulder hurt, but the joint held. His right arm moved less before the healing cut began to pull. “That one still needs the stitch line.”
“I know. Keep it still.” Qinghe washed the cheek cuts first, picking out two splinters with clean tweezers. Each stung sharply. The System had not taken the pain from the external wounds. She covered them with thin strips of cloth and turned to the burn.
Bai held the basin while she laid a wet dressing across the blistered skin. Yan sucked in a breath when the cool cloth touched him.
“Too cold?” Qinghe asked.
“No. It just hurts.”
“Good. I’d worry if you couldn’t feel it.” She pressed the edge of the dressing gently into place. “The heat reached the skin, but it doesn’t look deep. Keep it covered. No furnace shifts until I check it tomorrow.”
Steward Lu came over with his inspection tablet tucked beneath one arm. Dust covered his hair and the tablet’s leather case. “I have the names of everyone who entered,” Lu said. “I want a second count before anyone leaves the yard.”
“Some are in the infirmary line,” Bai said. “I’ll check against the apprentice list.”
Lu looked toward the broken hall and tightened his grip on the tablet. “I ordered the demonstration to continue.”
Qinghe tied the dressing around Yan’s back. “You ordered people away from the furnace once the seam was visible.”
“I should have ordered it earlier.” Lu’s mouth tightened. “The gauge was due for replacement. Zhao said the sound was stable.”
Yan shifted against the trough. Pain pulled across his shoulder. “The needle was past the line before the crowd came in.”
“I saw the service mark.” Lu looked down at his tablet. “The replacement was in the storehouse. The clerk had marked it received.”
“Was it installed?”
“No.” Lu’s gaze went to the blackened hall. “I’ll find out why.”
Qinghe finished the dressing and checked the stitches under Yan’s sleeve. The right-arm cut had not opened, though the skin around it was irritated. She washed the dust from its edge and replaced the bandage.
“You’ll rest the arm and back,” she said. “No Ashen Marrow practice until the burn has closed. This is tissue damage, not the cost of your art.”
Yan nodded. He felt the methods’ warmth moving under his skin, a clean current that left him stronger and more alive. The heat on his back remained a separate fact. It hurt when he breathed deeply, and it would need time to heal.
“Can you walk?”
“Yes.”
“Then walk with Bai to the infirmary. Slowly. I’ll bring the basin and meet you there.”
Bai offered his arm, but Yan took the wall rail instead. His legs felt steady. His back stung beneath the dressing, and one cheek cut tugged when he smiled.
“You look pleased,” Bai said.
“I’m pleased the apprentices are alive.”
“And the furnace?”
“I’d have preferred it not explode.”
Bai gave a short laugh, then stopped when Yan winced. They walked at an even pace. Outside the hall, the apprentices sat in a row against the courtyard wall. Lin had a blanket around his shoulders. Qinghe examined his scraped elbow while the junior disciple held his wrapped palm above his heart.
Yan stopped beside them. “You both made it out.”
Lin glanced down at his torn sleeve. “I couldn’t move.”
“You moved when you heard Qinghe.”
“I thought the beam would fall.”
“It might have.” Yan touched the dressing on his back. “That’s why we left the hall.”
Lin looked at the scorched coat hanging over Bai’s arm. “You went back in.”
“I was already inside.”
Qinghe glanced up. “That doesn’t make the choice easy.”
Yan lowered his eyes to the boy. “Next time, listen when someone tells you to leave. You don’t need to be brave to get through an arch.”
Lin nodded. Qinghe returned to the elbow and checked that it was only scraped. The younger disciple’s palm needed a proper wash and wrap, but the bleeding had stopped.
Steward Lu gathered the clerks in the courtyard and asked them to stay clear of the broken hall. He sent a runner for the outer furnace crew and ordered the gate guards to close the public route. The demonstration would not resume. The apprentices began to count the tools they had left behind, but Qinghe stopped them from going back inside.
“Nothing is worth entering that hall before the structure is checked,” she said. “The clinic herbs by the side arch can be moved once the roof is stable.”
Ning arrived from the infirmary with a clean apron and saw Yan’s torn sleeve. Her face tightened. “Your stitches?”
“Still closed.”
“And your back?”
“Burned. Qinghe’s dressing it.”
Ning took in his cheek strips and the swelling at his shoulder. She did not scold him in front of the apprentices. Instead she picked up his abandoned coat and checked that no hot fragment remained in its folds. “I’ll keep this for the seamstress. The shoulder can be repaired.”
“The coat might not be worth it.”
“It was worth it yesterday.” She folded it over her arm. “You can decide when it’s clean.”
At the infirmary, Qinghe had Yan lie on his stomach while she checked the burn again. The cool dressing eased the sting. She warned him that the blisters would remain tender and that he should return at once if the redness spread or fever came. He listened, then repeated the instructions back to her without turning them into a joke.
“Tomorrow morning,” she said. “I’ll review the burn and the stitches. Until then, no lifting.”
“Can I at least help with the count?”
“You can help by staying where I put you.”
Bai leaned against the doorframe. “I can count the delivery box and jars. They’re all still outside.”
“Good,” Qinghe said. “Keep those records out of the hall until the crew clears it.”
Yan rested his cheek on his folded arms. The methods had left his body strong and strangely full of life. The burn still stung. He closed his eyes for a moment, heard the apprentices talking in the next room, and let the two truths sit side by side.