Excellent. "Very good," He Ming says, half to himself, and releases Ilima. "Now I need your starting weight. Turn over on your stomach." He pats the bench. It's quite narrow and short, on closer inspection, the padded surface just wide enough to support someone's torso from their shoulders to their lower stomach.

Like most medical tables, it's raised rather high off the floor. On it in the position He Ming is suggesting, his feet will barely brush the floor.