The next evening, Yan returned a borrowed tool to the infirmary store. The soot had washed from his hands, but his back dressing still pulled when he lifted his arm. His right wrist was wrapped in clean cloth. The burns hurt less when he kept his sleeve loose.
By the time he crossed the dining hall, three versions of the Furnace Two rescue had spread through Ashfall. In one, he had lifted the entire roof. In another, an ancestor’s talisman had held the beam in place. The overseers’ favorite version said he had used a forbidden art and would collapse before the week ended.
Yan heard the stories from the end of the line. He did not correct them. He had already told Lu what happened, and Qinghe’s report would carry the truth. Besides, he liked the way senior disciples moved aside when they saw him coming.
For most of his life, the dining line had been a place where people looked through him. Now a pair of novices shifted their baskets and made room. One of them whispered, “That’s the laborer from the furnace.”
Yan smiled. He had never been first in anything. A little room at the table felt good.
A novice with a clean sleeve glanced at the bandage on Yan’s wrist. “Do they let laborers eat with us now?”
“They let hungry people eat where there is a seat,” Yan said.
The novice looked as if he wanted to object, but an older student shifted a bench away from the wall. “Sit before the rice runs out.”
Yan took the place. His back stung as he lowered himself, so he moved slowly and kept his shoulders forward. The gesture drew no comment. That helped more than a speech would have. He was not there as an example; he was there because the food was hot and he was hungry.
Lin sat at a narrow table with her sleeve pinned to her shoulder. The robe had been mended with a strip of blue cloth, and her elbow was wrapped. A group of apprentices listened as she described what had happened inside the hall.
“He held one beam,” she said. “Not the roof. I was behind the shelf, and I could hear Qinghe directing people through the arch.”
A boy leaned closer. “How did he reach you?”
“I followed his hand. I couldn’t make my legs move until he told me to crawl.” She looked toward the door. “Bai pulled the robe free. Yan held the shelf up.”
“That version is less exciting than an ancestor’s talisman,” someone said.
“It was more useful,” Lin answered. “The talisman wasn’t there.”
Yan stopped beside the table. “Your elbow still hurts?”
“Only when I reach for sweet rice.”
“Then you should let someone else pass it.”
She grinned. “That’s what I’ve been doing.”
The apprentices made room for Yan. One asked whether the beam had been heavy. He described its weight plainly: the timber had pressed on his shoulders, the stone floor had shifted under his boots, and he had held it only long enough for Lin to pass.
“How did you know you could lift it?” the boy asked.
“I didn’t know how long I could hold it. I knew I could lift it once.”
“Did you feel the art burn your lifespan?”
Yan chose his words. “The warning is accurate for ordinary cultivators. It didn’t leave me weak. The fire still burned me.” He lifted his wrist slightly to show the wrap.
An older apprentice leaned in. “So the overseers’ version is wrong too?”
“I don’t know what they think happened. I know what I did.”
A girl at the end of the table asked whether Lin had been trapped beneath the beam. Lin answered that the shelf had held her robe, not her body. She showed the pinned sleeve and the thin tear near the shoulder. “If Yan had lifted the whole roof, I would be buried under it.”
The table laughed, including Yan. Lin set down her cup and described how the noise had swallowed Qinghe’s first call. She had heard Yan only after he crouched low beside the shelf. It had been the hand he held out, not his strength, that got her moving. Yan felt a small heat rise in his face. He was glad the story named the hand and the line at the exit, not only the beam.
Lin tapped the table. “He lifted the beam. Qinghe got us out. Bai kept the line moving. That’s the story.”
The listeners began repeating her version as Yan stepped away. It did not stop the rumor about the talisman, but it gave people the names of those who had actually acted.
Bai Jiu arrived late with a delivery box. He looked at the line opening for Yan, then at the apprentices who had shifted to make room.
“Is this a new benefit of the courier business?” he asked. “Deliver one box and get a place near the front?”
“I can hold a beam,” Yan said. “I can’t hold a place in line.”
Bai lifted the box. “I have the receipt for the rescue meal. I should be allowed through before the rice cools.”
The novices laughed and let him pass. Bai had actually brought the clean delivery box to return to the infirmary, but he set it beside his foot while he chose a bowl.
Yan took a full serving of rice. The worker behind him reached for the broth pot, then hesitated. “Want the last ladle?”
“I want a whole bowl.”
“After the day you had, take two.”
Yan accepted the extra broth. The food was plain and hot. His hunger had not faded after the rescue. Blood Ignition had returned vigor; it had not left a delayed weakness waiting to arrive. His back and wrist hurt from the furnace, but the meal tasted good.
Lin came to the table with a small cup of sweet rice. “You helped me out. I’m giving you the part I saved.”
“I thought your hand hurt when you reached for it.”
“I asked someone else to pass it.” She set the cup down. “I can still give it away.”
Yan broke the serving in half and passed one portion to Bai. “He carried the box.”
“I delivered a box to the infirmary,” Bai said. “I did not deliver this.”
“You did the evacuation.”
“That was unpaid work.”
Lin pushed the other half toward him. “Then call it a tip.”
Bai accepted it with a bow. Yan ate the rest of his rice and asked for another ladle of broth. No one made him explain the hunger. They only slid the pot within reach.
A senior disciple at the next table nodded to Yan as he stood.
The novice who had questioned his place in the line asked if Yan planned to join the coming examination. “If I’m allowed to sit it,” Yan said.
“You have the rescue on your record.”
“I still have to pass.”
The older student nodded toward the board by the entrance, where the next candidate notice would be posted. “Then we’ll see you there.”
It was not an invitation into the novice’s family. It was only a fair expectation that Yan would stand among the other candidates. He liked that too.
The gesture was small, but it was not a mistake. Yan carried his empty bowl back and placed it on the rack. His shirt tugged at the dressing. He moved carefully, then returned to the table where Lin and Bai were talking.
The room at the line had been temporary, perhaps only a courtesy to the rescue. Yan still enjoyed it. He had done something difficult and people had seen it. They were alive to tell the story themselves, and he had enough strength to ask for another bowl.