After Anjing Zhen's reminder, Kitasan Black lay on the crash mat for a while, staring blankly at the sky for quite some time before suddenly rolling to her feet. Rubbing her wrist guard, she looked Anjing Zhen up and down.
"...What is it?"
Asking instinctively, Anjing Zhen tensed up. "Are you hurt? Let me see..."
Before Kitasan Black could react, he stepped closer, grabbed her wrist, and undid the Velcro on her wrist guard.
In the morning light, the skin of the girl's wrist glowed with a pearly sheen beneath the sweat.
There were no scrapes or bruises. The faint pink marks left by the wrist guard's Velcro were gradually fading as her blood circulated.
When his finger pad touched it, he could clearly feel the resilient texture through her skin.
This was the fascial elasticity forged through long-term training of all kinds, containing immense power like the string of a fully drawn compound bow.
Tracing along the fascia, he felt the pale blue veins toward her wrist joint. The overlapping curves of the ulna and radius were smooth, and there was nothing unusual about the feel of her metacarpals and phalanges or their joints.
He then felt around the base of her palm.
This was the part that usually touched the ground instinctively when someone fell. If the angle it formed with the ground was not aligned with the body's center of gravity, injury was still possible.
So if she had been hurt in that fall, it would probably have been there.
Yet beneath his fingers, the calluses built up through strength training were as thick as ever, their hardness comparable to the rubber granules on anti-slip spike shoes.
There was nothing wrong with her muscles or bones either. Pressing down slightly even made his fingers ache a little.