The days had passed swiftly, each one slipping away like sand through her fingers. Mayumi had meticulously arranged everything with Grandma Jin beforehand and now stood before the siheyuan. Even to herself, it seemed almost surreal that this reclusive scholar had entertained her borderline audacious proposal. Whether he had agreed to preserve personal reputation by hiring her or driven by more enigmatic motive, at the very least, it afforded her sister the invaluable opportunity to study under a distinguished scholar.
Curiously, on her journey from the Lower Ring, she had encountered the Te patriarch. Having been provoked into a challenge by Shan, now the city's esteemed Zhuangyuan, it was no surprise that the venerable lord wished to defend his family's honor. The tantalizing incentive of refining Shan's eight-legged essay had proven irresistible. Peasants and noble scions alike vied to showcase their literary acumen, yet this ludicrous gambit from a proud scholar had greatly inconvenienced Lord Te.
Despite his household retainer's frantic attempts to obtain a copy of the essay, publicly displayed and drawing eager crowds, the sheer impeccability of Shan's composition had thus far deterred any contenders from claiming the reward. As overconfident as the White Scholar may be, his undisputed position as the first-ranked scholar in the empire's most grueling examination already placed him among the intellectual elite of the continent.
Yet, Mayumi remained skeptical. She had personally examined a copy of his essay, mounted on a guarded wooden board in the Upper Ring. While acknowledging its masterful rhetoric in addressing the Earth Kingdom's present tribulations, she was unconvinced of its perfection.
Even near perfection is still not perfection.
From personal experience as the village chief's eldest daughter, she understood the nuanced treatment afforded to those of esteemed lineage or position. Whether from the locals of Kyoshi Island or passing merchants, there had always been an unspoken incentive to remain in the good graces of Matron Akahana's household, ensuring that grievances were rarely voiced outright.
The same logic surely applied to a grand city such as this. Shan, now a recognized a Zhuangyuan, would naturally ascend through the ranks, presented with ample opportunities to embed himself among the city's most influential figures. Why would anyone dare to publicly challenge him? Apart from a few ambitious commoners seeking the reward, no noble family in their right mind would risk becoming his adversary. More tellingly, the powerful patriarchs of the Upper Ring had only begun acknowledging this erstwhile calligraphy peddler's existence the moment a political marriage became an enticing prospect.
Lord Te is however different. His pride forbade him from retreating from Shan's brazen challenge, even if doing so might tarnish the Te clan's reputation in the long run. Yet, unlike the sycophantic elders desperately scheming to betroth their expendable daughters to the White Scholar, the old lord's defiance commanded a certain respect.
Mayumi paused, recalling Shan's dismissive attitude toward a father's flawed yet sincere affection for his child. While it was common knowledge that noble families regarded daughters as mere instruments for political leverage, Lord Te's defiance of convention was an unexpected anomaly. He had gone so far as to create a spectacle to safeguard Lady Te's honor.
She clenched all fingers around her belongings, unease creeping into her thoughts. Had she erred in entrusting her sister's future to such an ambitious man? After all, history was rife with tyrannical rulers molded by mentors whose teachings veered perilously from the humane ideals cherished by the common people.
The doors groaned open, their unrestrained creaking grating against her ears. The noise vexed the young woman in the apron, who instinctively wished to tear them down and replace them anew.
Standing in the doorway is the man himself, Shan, the newest Zhuangyuan of the city's most arduous civil service examination, the scholar whom the Upper Ring's aristocratic families is now desperate to claim as one of their own. Having secured both unparalleled prestige and the humiliation of the Te clan, his rise seemed inexorable.
For Mayumi, still grappling with the intricate politics of Ba Sing Se, it was disconcerting to witness firsthand how a mere scholar could amass such influence. It is the kind of power she had only read about in history books. Thus, no one would dare harm him despite the physical frailty.
"I see that you have arrived as scheduled," Shan remarked.
Until now, she had rarely seen anything beyond his carefully composed and impassive visage. Not a flicker of joy adorned his expression, even after achieving a distinction that only a handful in history had attained. Yet, regardless of his muted demeanor, Mayumi's present concern is her transition into this new occupation.
She offered a slight bow, determined not to betray any uncertainty. Fully aware of the importance in guarding her true identity.
She is Takeko, a former traveling theater performer who had ventured across distant lands. In Ba Sing Se, she sought employment to support her younger sister, Yuko, who now studies at the city's prestigious university.
"I do pity your sister," Shan said unexpectedly. "Many covet the chance to study at a renowned institution, believing it a gateway to success merely because they have been told so."
Unsure of how to respond, Mayumi bowed again. Shan turned and walked toward the courtyard, and she followed, stepping carefully over the wooden threshold that separated the residence from the outside world. As always, the oppressive silence of the courtyard unsettled her. But then again, it is in a scholar's best interest to maintain an environment conducive to undisturbed study.
"Young Master Shan, I hope you don't mind me asking, but where is everyone else?" Mayumi inquired genuinely. The eerie solitude was disconcerting. But for a fleeting moment, she caught what seemed to be a cold, scrutinizing glare before the scholar swiftly resumed his usual impassivity.
"There is no need to address me in such a manner," he replied, deftly evading her question.
She followed him in silence until they reached the western chamber. Shan produced an old key and unlatched the door, the lock's rusted hinges protesting as it swung open. The chamber is thick with dust, cobwebs draping its corners and air heavy with neglect. Within lay little more than a broken table and a few chairs, some wooden legs missing. As for the rather dim lighting, further obscured by the towering city walls, it casts long sullen shadows across the space.
"This will be your living quarters," Shan declared. "You may use it as you see fit."
Mayumi surveyed the forsaken room. It had seen better days. The disorder suggested that Shan had not been the original owner of this house. If he had any sentiment for this Upper Ring dwelling, he would have at least made an effort to restore it.
In a corner, she spotted a suitable space to place her belongings. A weathered broom also leaned against the wall, but when she attempted to use it, the shaft snapped in two.
"Apologies, the wood is old," she said calmly. As a trained warrior adept in wielding blades, she had perhaps applied more force than necessary.
After setting down her sack, within which lay her concealed equipment pretending to be mere stage props, Shan beckoned for her attention once more. This time, he led her toward the siheyuan's northern chamber, the grandest structure that lies directly opposite of the entrance. Unlike the western quarters, this is clearly his private domain, distinguished by its ornate double doors and elaborately crafted windows. Even the small stone stairs they ascended served as a subtle elevation of his status within the residence.
Upon entering, she could not help but marvel. His reputation as a scholar extended beyond politics and literature, as shown in his collection of exquisite paper umbrellas displayed along the walls, each one fine enough to stir envy among the elite. Yet, her gaze drifted to something far more compelling.
The room was divided into two sections. On the left, an elegant workspace dominated the space, akin to a scholar's sanctuary.
At its heart stood an antique wooden table and chair, their craftsmanship superior to anything she saw back home. Furniture was fashioned from pure rosewood, a luxury only the affluent could afford. Intricate carvings adorned its surface, each symbol representing one of the four elements. Even the legs bore swirling cloud motifs, curving so masterfully they seemed to float like mist.
It was undeniably the domain of a man who commanded power not with weapons, but with words and ink, which in her eyes are far more important than expensive furniture.
The scholar's craft spans myriad pursuits within high society, and Shan appears to have mastered many. Adorning the walls are exquisite array of inkbrush paintings, poetry, and calligraphy, each an unfinished masterpiece. Amongst the collection, he seems to have a penchant of mountains and other sceneries, untainted by buildings and people. Looking at them, Mayumi tries not to be too engrossed.
"As you are likely already aware, I do not take kindly to my work being defiled," Shan cautioned, walking behind the table. "My clients would be most displeased if their commissions bore an unintended blemish from an untrained hand. Thus, I trust you will have the sense to keep your distance from my projects."
Such territorial possessiveness is well justified, given the sheer skill evident in his work. Mayumi then cast a glance at an unfinished calligraphy piece resting on Shan's desk, making a mental note of the ink container's precarious placement to avoid any unfortunate mishaps. While doing so, her gaze lingered upon the newest inscription, its characters ensnaring her attention. The words were incomplete, yet even their fragmented syllables carried an inherent elegance, each stroke a marked with precision, each curve a flourish of intent. Like ink paintings, the style was succinct yet evocative. A scholar's defining prowess lies in the art of writing, but calligraphy is more than mere script, it is a marriage of visual splendor and literary profundity. Each brushstroke breathes life into paper, capturing motion, rhythm, and the ephemeral passage of time itself. To master this discipline is to command a skill revered across generations, understanding that a single sheet of seemingly worthless parchment could be transformed into a sought-after treasure.
With reluctance, she turned away from this corner of the home, following Shan as he led her toward the right side of the dwelling, his private quarters. This space bore a far more personal character. The bed was positioned in strict adherence to Feng Shui, placed away from the window to preserve harmony. Antique wooden chests stood in solemn rows, their surfaces polished with age. Yet what seized Mayumi's attention was the striking presence of the green silk robe issued by Earth Sage Zhu Xi, meticulously displayed upon a wooden mannequin. Atop its head rested the futou, with design specifically used in Ba Sing Se, serving as a symbol of Shan's esteemed Zhuangyuan status.
She found herself comparing that headpiece to the Kyoshi Warrior's golden headdress, a different yet equally weighty emblem of accomplishment. Although her own sister chose to delay wearing a golden headdress, it does not diminish the journey that Satchiko completed so far.
"If you must tend to this area, I expect nothing more than superficial cleaning. That is all I require of you." Shan stepped forward to inspect the futou, but his expression revealed no satisfaction in his achievement.
Mayumi's attention drifted instead to a lone guzheng resting near the bed, its lacquered surface worn with time. The instrument bore a striking resemblance to those found on Kyoshi Island, save for the differing number of strings.
"I wasn't aware you are a musician as well," she remarked, noting the evident age of the zither, the only object in the room that showed clear signs of use.
Shan offered no response regarding his musical inclinations, merely glancing at the instrument before making it implicitly clear she is not to lay a hand on it.
Without lingering, the White Scholar led her back outside, concluding the tour by gesturing toward the two smaller buildings near the entrance. One is a storage room, the other a kitchen. Yet a question pressed at the back of Mayumi's mind, one she did not voice.
Why wasn't she assigned to live there?
A traditional siheyuan usually followed a strict hierarchical arrangement in its living quarters. According to the conservative customs of the Earth Kingdom, the northern chamber, which receives the most sunlight, is reserved for the head of the household and their spouse. The eastern and western wings, slightly dimmer, are designated for lower-ranking family members or esteemed guests. Servants on the other hand, are relegated to the small southern chambers, nearest the entrance where sunlight are scant. If Shan occupied the northern chamber, that could only mean one thing, his parents are absent. No siblings, no extended family. He is the sole master of this household.
Yet, even more strangely, there had been no other servants or retainers here. A residence of this scale demands maintenance, yet the algae-coated pond and the slightly overgrown grass spoke for themselves.
Shan came to a halt, his tone firm. "There is one rule, one bottom line that you must remember."
Mayumi met his gaze, noting the uncharacteristic gravity in his voice.
"You may clumsily spill ink upon my projects. You may, through carelessness, damage my possessions beyond repair. But under no circumstances are you to set foot inside that room." He gestured toward the eastern chamber, the building directly opposite the living quarters he had assigned to her. There is nothing outwardly remarkable about it. Just another structure, another part of the siheyuan.
For the sake of her sister's scholarly prospects, it would be unwise to test his patience.
"I understand, Shan," Mayumi replied, hoping her compliance would serve as a foundation of trust between them. "I assure you, I will not intrude upon that space. As for my sister—"
"Your sister's education will not be neglected. If you fulfill your role accordingly, I will honor my word." His assurance, though clipped, brought some measure of relief.
And so, it began.
In the most unceremonious of ways, it felt surreal to Mayumi that while the noble clans and wealthy merchants of the Upper Ring were turned away, a girl of meager birth had managed to secure what she sought. Albeit it was at the cost of servitude. The tasks ahead would be menial, and yet she had gained something others could not.
"Now, Takeko," Shan addressed her by the false name. "Your first task of the day is simple, gift sorting."
"Eh?"
At the storage room and stacked within are countless wrapped parcels, trinkets in various states of organization. Among them, she immediately recognized the gift from the two Ganjinese brothers.
It seemed the anticipated drudgery of household labor would have to wait.
...
She wasn't entirely certain what Shan meant by 'sorting out' the gifts. Ordinarily, when one received presents, it is considered uncouth to relegate them to a dusty old storage room. Yet here lay a mound of offerings, tokens of esteem from Ba Sing Se's Upper Ring aristocracy, each a silent entreaty for favor from a future government official.
To put it bluntly, it is bribery.
Whenever a new Zhuangyuan or officials emerged from the civil service examination, the noble families of the Upper Ring lavished them with such gifts, eager to secure goodwill. As the daughter of a modest village chief, Mayumi is all too familiar with this practice. It preyed upon human nature, exploiting the reluctance to offend potential benefactors. By securing another's gratitude with lavish offerings, which ensnared them in an unspoken debt, it could only be repaid in kind lest the recipient wishes to be viewed as dishonorable. As she sifted through the pile, memories of her village's dockside disputes surfaced, squabbles over the price of fish or petty scuffles with a blacksmith over the most trivial matters. A fisherman might curry favor with her father by offering a fresh salmon as a gesture of goodwill, hoping to tilt a judgment in his favor. Yet her father, adept at navigating these subtle manipulations, would simply refuse such gifts while maintaining an air of courtesy.
Shan had demonstrated no such restraint, or rather, in this realm a Zhuangyuan refusing gifts is a cultural absurdity. It would be naive to apply the rudimentary politics of a fishing village to the former capital of a once-unified realm, but some principles remained universal. Every political marriage Shan declined severed a potential tie with an Upper Ring patriarch. Unless he had some grand design to exclude them from his future dealings without consequence, dismantling such connections is a bold and perhaps reckless move.
The reorganization continued. The pile dwindled as most items were relegated to the storage shelves. Mayumi made several short trips between the musty storeroom and the northern chamber, for Shan deemed only the most useful gifts as worthy of display. Many are exquisite porcelain vases, adorned with intricate depictions of nature and wildlife, a safe yet ostentatious choice.
Preoccupied with the meticulous strokes of calligraphy, he barely acknowledged the options she presented. "Choose the best one and place it on the shelf. The rest go back into the closet," he instructed, never once diverting attention. The brush glided across the parchment with practiced elegance. His right hand moved fluidly, weaving each stroke into an intricate dance. Sometimes, Mayumi found herself stealing glances at his work, mesmerized by the sharp, deliberate precision of calligraphy.
"These aristocrats are too predictable," he remarked idly. "Most of these pots were likely made by the same artisan. The more abundant something is, the less value it holds."
She studied the vases more closely. Each bore its own charm, its own silent testament to the skill of its creator. Despite her doubts about Shan's claim, she thought better than to voice them. What she is certain of is that dropping even one of them would spell its immediate and catastrophic demise, each broken piece worth more than a month's rent in the Lower Ring.
Yet in this instance, such masterful craftsmanship is reduced to mere ornamentation. After perusing dozens of extravagant porcelains, one particular piece caught her eye. It is a white porcelain gourd bottle, adorned with delicate blue tree motifs. It exuded an air of antiquity, the kind of item that would fetch a fortune at an Upper Ring auction, if such a thing even existed. Carefully, she lifted it and approached the White Scholar, who remained engrossed in his work. It took a considerable pause before he finally raised his impassive gaze.
"What's this?" His tone is marred with the faintest trace of impatience.
She wasted no words, explaining concisely that it was a gift from the two Ganjinese brothers, that eccentric duo obsessed with cleanliness. If nothing else, this vase is distinct from the others.
It is unnaturally polished, excessively so.
Shan's eyes flicked between the bottle and the remaining vases before posing a simple question. "Why this one?"
"I did not choose it purely for its vanity," Mayumi replied evenly. "Its smaller size fits perfectly in the empty compartment near the door. The colors offer a refreshing contrast to the rest of the room, making it a striking decoration. Guests will notice it instantly, what greater delight for a sender than to see their gift prominently displayed?" Of course, she suspected Shan cared little for such trivialities. Yet in Ba Sing Se, few ever revealed their true selves, that is the nature of life here.
There was another reason. She sniffed the air to confirm her suspicion. A sharp, unmistakable scent of fermented sorghum. The bottle contained liquor, potent enough to rival even a nomad's fermented milk. The finest wines often commanded exorbitant prices. "There is also wine inside," she added with a small smile. "Storing it here will prevent spoilage."
It's a stroke of luck that Mayumi refrained from rambling on about Feng Shui, that mystical Earth Kingdom art of geomancy that supposedly governs interior design. To her, the porcelain's placement was no more than an instinctive choice, its beauty simply belonged in that spot, and that was enough.
For a fleeting moment, Shan looked mildly surprised that a former stage performer would consider such nuances. But he did not dwell on it long. His brush resumed its quiet dance over the parchment. "Very well then. It may prove useful should the Ganjinese Patriarch make an unannounced visit."
The Gan Jin Patriarch, a name that commanded respect even beyond the bounds of his own people, is no ordinary figure. Within the intricate hierarchy of Ba Sing Se, he stood tall, a man whose influence rippled through the Upper Ring like a steady undercurrent. Whoever he is, Mayumi mused, is likely an elder obsessed with cleanliness, not unlike the persnickety brothers who gifted the porcelain gourd bottle.
Having tucked the artifact where she deemed most appropriate, Mayumi resumed her meticulous rearrangement of the storage room, making the most of what minuscule space remained. The deeper she delved, the more valuable the items became. Trinkets gave way to treasures, resplendent silk robes, rare infusions of herbal tea, and a multitude of lavish gifts bestowed by Upper Ring families.
She stumbled upon a chest brimming with unpolished gold coins and gleaming silver sycees, nearly succumbing to dishonorable temptation before quickly shutting the lid. Its sender, a mere merchant of no distinction, had not even attempted to veil his bribery as generosity. A note lay atop the hoard, unabashedly proclaiming that once Shan attained a bureaucratic post, he is expected to secure political favors in return. The audacity was laughable, if not outright foolish. All Shan had to do is to deny the chest's existence and repurpose its contents as he saw fit.
Mayumi sighed. The grandeur of the gifts was a testament to how thoroughly she had underestimated the scholar's worth in the eyes of the city's elite. In Ba Sing Se, intellect is currency, and the most intelligent ascended through the ranks like fish swimming upstream, becoming admired, feared, and coveted. Shan, with his scholarly renown, had clearly attracted the attention of many aristocrats eager to invest in his future success. Some of their offerings might be displayed in his quarters, though only if utility outweighed ornamentation.
But the strangeness of these solicitations extended beyond material gifts. Towering beside them is a mountain of unopened letters, marriage proposals from clan leaders seeking to forge alliances through matrimony. Mayumi wiped her brow, reading even one of these florid proclamations felt like wading through syrup. Each was an advertisement of bloodline and benefit, penned with boastful flourish.
One patriarch likened his daughter's complexion to the blush of spring and her heart to the crystalline purity of a mountain stream. The prose was so cloyingly poetic that Mayumi suspected it had been ghostwritten by a budget scholar rather than the father himself.
Shan had tasked her with sorting the letters after inspection, ensuring none bore uniquely consequential contents. Rather than consign them to the table, he insisted they be stacked neatly in here, waiting to be inspected.
It was nothing short of comedic. This heap of intimate correspondences now lay in the hands of a countryside girl, hired for menial tasks unworthy of a scholar's station. Seizing the opportunity, Mayumi skimmed a few of the betrothal pleas herself, curious whether any had been written by the daughters. In aristocratic circles, marriage is more duty than desire, heiresses often had no voice in their own unions.
As she sorted the growing stack, she noted certain names with an air of familiarity. Ba Sing Se, the grand throne of the now divided Earth Kingdom, housed dynasties whose roots stretched across thousands of years. Among the prestigious families include the venerable Ji, Ying, and Liu clans, descendants of monarchs in very ancient past. The more recent but no less prestigious Li, Zhao, and Zhu families also vied for Shan's attention. Even a nomadic khanate had extended an offer, hoping to anchor themselves to the city's social aristocracy.
Yet conspicuously absent is the Te family, unsurprising given their patriarch's refusal to forgive Shan's past insult. Like the poems and court tales Mayumi had read, this is a game of veiled maneuvering, but one she had no desire to play.
After allocating the remaining tributes onto the crowded shelves, Mayumi turned at the sound of Shan's approaching footsteps. He entered, eyes briefly scanning the room before offering a single approving nod.
She presented a green silk wrapping, the same elegant cloth once draping the Ganjinese brothers' porcelain container. Surely, he would want it inventoried as well.
"No need, simply dispose of it," Shan said flatly, barely glancing at it. "It has served its purpose."
Mayumi blinked. The fabric is exquisite, its texture and weave are unmistakably the work of a master tailor. She didn't voice her disapproval but silently slid the wrapping into her robe's pocket when he wasn't looking. Wastefulness, she decided, need not be obeyed.
"By the way, what should I do with these?" she asked, gesturing toward the mountainous stack of letters. There is simply too many to count, each one brimming with aspirations to secure Shan's favor through family ties. If she tried to fill a barrel, the parchment would overflow. "And how do you intend to respond to them?" she inquired, knowing that the task will require herself trudging across Ba Sing Se, hand-delivering replies. A personal messenger is customary amongst Earth Kingdom affluence, far more respectful than entrusting the city's overworked post office.
How would the White Scholar, Zhuangyuan of this year's civil service exam, navigate the courtship of powerful families? These are not mere merchants or fishmongers that could be turned away with a scoff. These are wolves in silk, and they would persist until he made a choice that would inevitably offend the rest. Surely a man of his station had experience with such matters. Perhaps Mayumi could glean a few tricks to deflect future suitors of her own.
Shan snapped open a white paper fan, fanning himself as though combating invisible heat. "Like dry leaves that fall when winter strikes, so too shall I cut the cost of firewood."
Mayumi grimaced as Shan strolled out of the dimly lit storage room, his fan snapping shut with a finality that made her uneasy. His poetic remark, likening the flood of letters to dry leaves fit only for kindling, left her uncertain whether he was being brilliantly ironic or recklessly dismissive. Any scholar worth their ink would know that severing ties with the powerful is a dangerous game. These correspondents weren't mere socialites with idle whims, they are potential patrons, wealthy elites who commissioned art, calligraphy, and influence alike. In such circles, goodwill is currency. By outright ignoring their proposals, Shan risked not only appearing aloof but insulting. His silence could be construed as scorn, a gesture that might echo far beyond the Te clan's bruised pride.
Surely there are more diplomatic ways to dismantle these arranged marriage overtures, especially when many of these prestigious families lived just few stone's throw away. In her village, her father had been a master of soft refusal, weaving half-truths and gentle evasions to spare feelings and maintain peace. And if the message still failed to land, there is always the matron, a figure both revered and feared. Her mere presence ensured no romantic overture lingered beyond its welcome.
Although fully aware that he shared quarters with the influential families of the Upper Ring, Shan knowingly violated the unspoken boundary, courting potential adversaries who might pose an inconvenience once he assumes official office.
"Don't you feel compelled to at least acknowledge them?" Mayumi suggested, halting Shan's steps. "A simple written response to the numerous clans would suffice. Not replying is... irresponsible."
Regret washed over almost immediately after those words left her lips. She had failed to consider his temperament. The White Scholar was unwavering in his rigor, both toward others and himself. She had seen the contents of his Keju examination, which revealed it all. A philosophy of a harsh meritocracy, unrelenting and uncompromising with a profound disdain for those with inherited power, whose incompetence often rendered their titles meaningless.
"Is it your place to question?" Shan inquired, devoid of a glance, subtly reminding Mayumi's position.
The remark lacked malice, yet it held an implicit truth. A mere village girl, unschooled in the intricate dance of Upper Ring politics, could hardly presume to lecture a local scholar on such matters.
Mayumi cautioned her words, carefully choosing her next response. Under different circumstances, she might have easily overpowered any non-bender in a confrontation, compelling them into submission. But not here. Not now. For her, the choice was either to swallow her pride or jeopardize her sister's education.
"My apologies," she offered with a bow, voice softening. "I spoke too hastily. What I meant to say was—"
"It's fine," Shan interrupted. "Yours truly do not believe it is proper to expect someone of my station to respond to every letter sent by the nepotists. Why should a towering mountain humble itself before wildflowers born of spoiled soil? No matter how exquisite they may seem, they are but thieves, feeding off the very earth they scorn."
His disdain for the prestigious households of the Upper Ring, those who inherited wealth rather than earned it, was clear. Therefore, Mayumi have even more reasons to keep her identity as a daughter of a chief hidden, for fear of such contempt being directed her way.
"Aside from this trivial matter, is there anything else you wish to discuss?" Shan asked. Though spoken casually for a man of eloquence, it did hinted impatience.
At that moment, Mayumi recalled something, a rather peculiar gift, one she feared is wholly inappropriate. Yet, it was too late to retract her thoughts. The White Scholar had already noticed the purple box in the corner of the storage room, its contents concealed within. Before she could intervene, he crossed the room and retrieved it.
"Why didn't you inform me that we had something like this in the house?" he asked, turning the package over in his hands.
What he held is a gift from the Ximen clan, currently the most powerful family in the Upper Ring. Based on the letters affixed to the parcel, it had come from the main branch, which contended with its relatives for the favor of the Zhuangyuan.
At least, that was Mayumi's initial assumption.
The object was crafted entirely from wood, its design unmistakably foreign to the Earth Kingdom's traditional style. Far removed from their customary art, it suggests an influence from that great state in the west, a stolen region considered by many here to be an incoherent blend of disparate cultures. The rhythmic ticking and the circle of numbers indicated one thing unmistakably, an antique clock. While it is remarkably beautiful, its presentation as a gift is fraught with implications.
According to her father, both Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation superstitions forbade clocks as gifts, as their very nature is associated with death. In the most common dialect used by Earth Kingdom mandarins, the word for clock and end shared the same sound, an omen of finality. Thus, gifting such an object conveyed a desire for the recipient's life to end. Much like offering white flowers or a coffin, presenting objects linked to death is a profound insult, one that could spark grave consequences. She feared the White Scholar would be deeply offended.
Shan handed her the clock, and she braced herself for an outburst. To her surprise, none came. Despite his earlier disdain for the Te clan, Shan offered no such venom toward the Ximen family. Not yet at least.
"This one, I will keep," he instructed. "Place it in my room, where I can see it clearly."
Mayumi nodded, still surprised by his calmness. It seemed too simple, too effortless. Shan should have at least voiced some scorn for the Ximen clan's insolence. She knew well, and he likely did too, that the sender was none other than Ximen Qing. That playful scion epitomized the societal decay Shan so despised. An indulgent aristocrat, given to excess and entitled to his birthright. Just the kind of person Shan had railed against in his eight-legged essay.
It's highly probable that the third-place victor, disgruntled by their standing, seeks to amuse themselves by mocking the first-place graduate. However, the labyrinthine thoughts of the aristocracy are a realm she has no intention of delving into. One scandal, one slip-up, could be enough to unravel a reputation painstakingly cultivated over decades. And yet, the young scion of the Ximen family carries himself with the audacity of a seasoned general marching boldly across a battlefield.
Both she and the man beside her have already ventured several paces into this treacherous world, and retreat seems as improbable as escaping the grasp of fate itself.
...
"There, that should suffice," Mayumi murmured.
The clock is now positioned on a small table in the scholar's bedroom. Despite its outwardly innocent appearance, a part of Mayumi remained suspicious of the device. If the man behind it, Ximen Qing, was truly as her colleagues at Jin's restaurant had described, a spoiled and depraved noble shielded by birthright, then caution is warranted in interpreting his actions.
As Shan finished his calligraphy, Mayumi approached with a small tray of tea, placing it gently on his desk. She reached for the teapot, intent on serving him, but he stopped the act with a gesture.
"It's fine, I will pour it myself. Inside my home, such actions matter little, but in public, you will pour the tea for appearances." Shan took the teapot, filling his own cup. It was a curious deviation from the norms of aristocratic etiquette, where subordinates traditionally served their superiors. It spoke volumes about his approach, one that contrasted starkly with the formal expectations of those who bore nobility.
But upon tasting the tea, Shan's brows furrowed slightly in surprise. "This isn't Gongfu tea," he remarked.
His eyes narrowed as he observed the scarlet and white petals that floated within. "It seems I've let my guard slip. How... careless of me." Those words were laced with a subtle self-reproach.
Mayumi's pulse quickened. It didn't matter whom he referred to. She is acutely aware of the misstep yet carefully concealed her unease. The intention was to enhance the flavor with a few White Dragon Bush leaves from her personal supply, thinking it might please him. It was a small gesture of kindness, meant to cultivate his favor and perhaps ensure enthusiasm in teaching Satchiko in the ways of literary arts. But as the disapproval simmered in Shan's eyes, it was clear that good intentions had only backfired.
"Though I understand your gesture was not ill-meaning," Shan's tone grew sharper. "What is in this teapot is not what I specifically requested." He fixed her with a steady gaze. "Had you been aware of a shortage of tea leaves, you ought to have informed me beforehand. I hold in contempt to those who cannot fulfill a task to its fullest."
As expected of a scholar who prided himself on history and examples that supported his ideals, Shan began citing a case from the annals of Earth Kingdom history, one used many previous philosophers who are scornful rivals to the Earth Sages.
Strangely, his words didn't carry the sternness of an Earth Sage lecturing a lowly peasant. Instead, his tone was imbued with a cynicism that bordered on something far colder than mere self-righteousness.
"Long ago, a ruler had two attendants, one was entrusted with the crown, and the other with the robe. If the keeper of the crown draped the robe over the sleeping monarch, both attendants must be executed."
Mayumi's eyes widened in confusion. "Death? Is that not an extreme punishment for such a minor mistake?"
The analogy was grim, the kind of harsh wisdom that Shan espoused without a second thought. All she had done was add a few extra tea petals to enhance the flavor. Rather than appreciate the gesture, he saw only failure.
"It was no mere mistake," Shan corrected, devoid of compassion for the two attendants, who had been brutally executed according to the historical record. "It wasn't about disregarding kindness, but about maintaining order, something many take for granted even in this era of constant warring. The keeper of the crown overstepped his station, while the keeper of the robe neglected his duty. Both failed in their designated tasks."
Mayumi tensed. She hadn't anticipated that such a trivial mistake would elicit greater scorn from the stern scholar, who holds no love to the humanistic philosophy of the Earth Sages.
He continued.
"When a ruler rewards unlawful conduct, they sow the seeds of greater transgressions. Such indulgence fuels ambition, leading those under their rule to craft devious schemes that could ultimately threaten the very system they are meant to uphold. In such a scenario, where is the semblance of order and stability? Can individuals simply act with impunity, bending their actions to gain favor with the ruler? If an administrator is swayed by extravagant gifts and hollow flattery, he becomes vulnerable to the manipulations of those around them, at the mercy of self-serving tactics. Thus, elevating those who act beyond their rightful station erodes the foundations of societal harmony. It invites the specter of usurpation by ambitious ministers. In a true meritocratic system, the goal should be to transcend selfish desires and dedicate oneself to the unwavering preservation of public order."
Mayumi pondered his words, understanding all too well the consequences that had led to the fall of many esteemed figures in Earth Kingdom history. In battle, a general might fall to a stray boulder or a misfired arrow. But within the fortified walls of great cities, it only took a vial of poison to send a life to an early grave, no matter how virtuous or beloved a victim may be.
It's… exhausting. Such anxieties were never a concern on Kyoshi Island, where respect flowed effortlessly toward those seasoned by time, such as the elders and the senior warriors who stood guard over their homeland. Though she shares the same age as this white-robed scholar, their positions in the world are worlds apart, each separated by the deep chasm between egalitarian upbringing and the rigid hierarchies of this city. Her longing for a life distinct from her own has begun to reveal its true cost, and the weight of that realization is finally sinking in.
She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead, careful to maintain composure as she sought to mend the situation with a diplomatic tone. "I apologize. This was my mistake, and I assure you it will not happen again."
"Very well, Takeko," Shan replied, standing from the chair to inspect his calligraphy. "However, there will be consequences for your actions. Your pay will be reduced, but only for today."
The punitive decision was accepted in silence, a concession that carries little weight. Yet, there remains one detail that the Kyoshi Warrior hopes the scholar might clarify.
"I thought there would be no pay for this," she reminded him gently. "I'm working for you in exchange for your tutoring of my sister."
Shan looked at her, almost offended by the suggestion. "Do you honestly think I would accept your service without recompense? The laws of this city no longer allow uncompensated household servants. Greed, I find, is a useful motivator, a great tool that can be applied even among the noblest of people."
The scholar never made an effort to sway the newly hired to his beliefs. In kind, Mayumi refrained from openly challenging his misguided view of humanity, particularly the skepticism toward the honor of a Kyoshi Warrior and the casual dismissal of a sibling's unconditional love.
Choosing to ignore the steady gaze fixed by her, Shan began carefully packing the rolled-up scrolls into a bamboo frame backpack. This particular accessory, a hallmark of Earth Kingdom scholars, is especially common among less privileged students who lacked the luxury of servants to carry their books and scrolls. Within the backpack's compartments, the White Scholar's latest paintings, poems, and calligraphies are protected from the threat of rain, signaling his intention to leave the comfort of his residence.
"All I expect from you is that you fulfill your role without stepping beyond your bounds. In turn, I will do the same." He paused for a moment, pondering before continuing. "You were once a stage actor, weren't you?"
It was a challenge, a subtle test of both her capabilities and truthfulness. Mayumi glanced at the bamboo backpack, understanding that he expects her to carry it. They would soon be traveling to meet clients who had contracted a scholar's services. The gesture would solidify their professional relationship, shielding them from any grotesque misinterpretations by the aristocracy. Yet, the assumption that she valued money more than family stung.
While Mayumi understood that even the kindest of folks often choose to reveal only parts of the truth to their friends and family, she never had any qualms about it. If adopting a certain role could help those she held dear, then it was always worth the time and effort.