With the conclusion of the day's lesson, Satchiko was finally permitted to inquire about the strange tome that brimmed with fantastical creatures. The scholar's demeanor suggested little interest, he regarded it as mere superstition, a relic of childish imagination.
"What you hold is known as the Classic of Mountains and Seas," Shan remarked, his tone rather dismissive. "I see no merit in this book of obvious fiction. Old men thinking like children, projecting their fantasies onto the world, such absurdity." He poured himself a cup of dark, steaming tea and settled himself onto a stone chair.
Meanwhile, Satchiko turned the pages with reverent curiosity, savoring the intricate illustrations more than the sparse text.
Observing her fascination, Shan indulged in further commentary. "It is something akin to a bestiary, if such an analogy even makes sense. It is said to have been penned by a man named Lao Jun, a sage whose very existence is more enigmatic than instructive."
"Why is that?" the naive student asked.
"He is a figure shrouded in myth and legend, though venerated in folk religion." Shan explained that contemporary scholars remain divided on whether Lao Jun was ever an actual man. Some believe he was an archivist in one of the great kingdoms during the Warring States period. Others claim he encountered the first Grand Earth Sage and profoundly impressed the philosopher in a single session that he retired thereafter into the wilderness, becoming a hermit of unparalleled wisdom. Across all accounts, the myths agree he ultimately ascended to immortal status. Even now, temples depict him as an elderly man with a flowing white beard, revered by citizens throughout the Earth Kingdom.
"We may briefly cover his teachings in another session, if that is deemed even necessary," Shan continued, his enthusiasm on this superstition plainly lacking. As a Legalist scholar, he had little patience for frameworks that contradicted his harsh view of the world. The subtle disdain extended even to his mentor, the museum director Han Fei. "My mentor alas was not immune to the seductive folly of certain superstitions, though nothing so catastrophic as some past monarch who lost a capital city over it."
"You mean he adheres to the concept of Wu Wei?" Satchiko asked impulsively.
"Precisely," Shan confirmed. "Unlike the structured rigor of Legalism or the moralistic doctrines of the Earth Sages, the religious interpretation of Wu Wei, living in harmony with the natural order, is to yours truly rather bewildering. My mentor seems enamored with the notion of inaction, but I have no patience for such beliefs."
The principle in question stood in stark opposition to both the moralist teachings of the Earth Sages and the pragmatic cynicism of Legalist statesmen. Lao Jun's teachings advocated for yielding to the natural flow of the universe, like an idyllic river gliding without resistance. Mortals are to refrain from imposing their will upon reality. Yet for scholars attuned to earthly governance, such abstractions held no weight. Rules, walls, and structures are far more effective than any illusory wisdom about pliancy or yielding.
"This book is a prime example of Lao Jun's absurdity," Shan declared, dismissing it outright. "A sane observer would glance at these pages and conclude that every creature depicted is pure invention."
Yet even in his scorn, Shan's observations contained a kernel of truth. Lao Jun's ancient philosophy had evolved far beyond its modest origins. Initially conceived as a simple doctrine, it absorbed the principles of Yin and Yang, incorporated folk deities, adapted select Air Nomad rituals, and eventually blossomed into a state religion during the Earth Kingdom's greatest golden age. Its superstitions were so potent that one gullible king once lost an entire city by foolishly opening its gates to a nomadic horde, believing that doing so can summon an army of 'heavenly reinforcements' to repel the invaders. What began as a humble philosophy had been transformed into something rather grandiose.
One could scarcely imagine that Lao Jun himself would not approve his philosophy's present form.
Satchiko's gaze lingered on the Classic of Mountains and Seas. The illustrations, though strange, captivated her imagination. One page has a giant serpent with a woman's head and another has a nine-tailed fox, these are merely glimpses of the innumerable fantastical beings awaiting exploration. Here, the student found herself in quiet rebellion against the scholar's authority.
"But Shan," she said, curiosity piqued. "How can you dismiss them as fictitious if you've never went beyond the city walls? Perhaps this book chronicles spirits that few have ever glimpsed."
Both sisters anticipated a familiar, rigid Legalistic reply. Yet to their surprise, Shan's expression hinted at a rare flicker of acquiescence. Moments like these reminded them all that despite the White Scholar's apparent harshness, he can be more open than those supposedly humanistic Earth Sages who espouses harmony.
"Yours truly suppose you have a point," he remarked.
Shan then confirmed Satchiko's suspicion, he had indeed never once ventured beyond the walls of Ba Sing Se, a fact perhaps the cynic felt would incur no consequence in sharing. His acclaimed publications on the myriad cultures of the Earth Kingdom were born not of travel, but of careful observation of the distinct communities that had settled within the city, an explanation for the absence of the Kyoshi Warriors in his published tome. It was also possible that he had overlooked a fleeting visit by a contingent of fighters after the Hundred Years War.
"While yours truly do not personally squander time on temples and statues, I cannot deny the existence of beings that present themselves before my eyes," Shan added. His tone betrayed no trace of spirituality, an unsurprising disposition for a staunch Legalist. To adherents of such a rigid philosophy, all phenomena are filtered through the lens of utility and pragmatism. The Avatar for example, is acknowledged not only as a natural force, but as also a tool of political consequence.
Satchiko began to gather her belongings, preparing for the journey back to the dormitory. Observing her curiosity regarding the Classic of Mountains, the White Scholar decided to 'gift' it to her.
"Yuko, progress is expected," Shan cautioned, his cynicism surfacing once again. "Do not make me regret entrusting you with that childish book of superstition." Reputation weighed heavily on him. Were word to reach the Upper Ring clans that the Zhuangyuan scholar had failed to instruct a peasant girl, the nobles would seize the opportunity to tarnish his standing. Even more egregious would be an Earthbending student unable to lift a modest stone, a scandal that could call into question his ability to teach altogether.
Once Satchiko departed through the courtyard gate, Shan exhaled, taking a contemplative sip of tea. Soon after, the swordswoman appeared nearby, a refilled kettle in hand.
"That book my sister just took, why bother giving it away?"
"I never enjoyed having the Classic of Mountains and Seas cluttering my shelf," Shan replied, pouring himself a cup of steaming tea. "If not for my mentor's insistence, I would have tossed that asinine tome into the kitchen stove long ago."
This decision might appear trivial at first glance, yet Mayumi deemed it a prudent and even necessary gesture. Unlike those tiresome missives dispatched by various clans attempting to barter their future through proposals of political marriage, Shan had no liberty to risk displeasing his mentor, the venerable museum director Han Fei.
The scholar went on to reveal to Mayumi the director's unabashedly superstitious temperament, a trait that man did not bother to veil before the public eye. Though professing lesser-known allegiance to the stern doctrines of philosophical Legalism, Han Fei remained hopelessly enamored with certain superstition, especially the grand cosmological teachings attributed to the mythical sage Lao Jun. Though Shan himself held more restrained views on spirituality, he would never dare slight the man who had shaped his intellect and career. Presenting this book to Satchiko, he reasoned, might cultivate a favorable impression in the director's mind. Provided of course that Han Fei learned of the gesture. And as fate would have it, the day's schedule included a brief visit from the esteemed man himself.
"Regular tea will suffice," Shan remarked without affect, emphasizing he does not actually know his mentor's favorite food or drinks. "No need for extravagance. I will manage the courtyard."
The scholar began tidying the low wooden table, collecting stacks of books that had accumulated haphazardly. Mayumi prepared a kettle of green tea, curious whether Han Fei had ever shared his preferred brew. A messenger from the Royal Palace Museum had arrived the previous day, delivering early notice of the director's imminent visit. Such attention was unusual, as it seemed Han Fei typically allowed Shan considerable latitude, a reflection of the possible fascination with the principle of Wu Wei. But this philosophy's emphasis on effortless action does stood in quiet tension with the rigid control of Legalism, yet the pragmatic director seemed entirely unbothered by the contradiction.
"He is here," Shan's eyes fixed on the courtyard gate.
Even without extraordinary senses, Mayumi could hear the carriage approaching in a measured, respectful arrival. Anyone of higher refinement than Jin Lian would instinctively avoid intruding.
She opened the doors for Han Fei, who entered without the formalities typically observed by one of his rank. In most households, hosts of superior social standing would greet visitors at the compound gates. Yet Shan, disinclined toward superfluous aristocratic etiquette, had made it clear that Han Fei need not wait for an invitation.
"Mentor," Shan bowed, bringing fist and palm together in a gesture of respect. "Thank you for sparing time to visit your student amidst such busy schedules."
"Busy indeed!" the guest replied, his tone brimming with delight.
Han Fei then laughed warmly, motioning for them all, including the retainer, to sit at the courtyard table. Shan poured two cups of tea, the steam curling upward like a gentle wisp of ceremony. Though the White Scholar typically preferred to dive straight into matters of import, today his composure suggested the tidings he bore were less than wholly pleasing. Mayumi noticed a faint edge of wariness in Shan's posture. Had this been a meeting concerning state affairs, or an impending war from another state threatening Ba Sing Se, perhaps the host's response might have been more controlled and manageable.
"Good news!" Han Fei announced with enthusiasm, savoring the first sip of tea. "Lord Te is receptive to my idea."
Shan remained silent, his face betraying neither approval nor displeasure. Both scholar and swordswoman understood the delicate undercurrents of Lady Te's intentions, though only one of them harbored secret aid for the noblewoman.
Han Fei then presented a painting, a portrait capturing Te Gaogui's likeness. Shan regarded it with his customary detachment. Such formalities are standard in arranged marriages, where guardians wielded significant influence and presenting the bride's likeness is merely one step in the ritual. Though Shan and Lady Te had met before, the procedure remained necessary to satisfy the Te patriarch's more traditionalist inclinations.
"This match is ideal," Han Fei pronounced, his friendly demeanor mingled with quiet pride. "Lady Te may not be a princess, but she is clever, accomplished, and possesses respectable social standing, a worthy companion for a young scholar of great talent." His words sought to soothe any latent apprehension, for Shan could not dismiss the noble family's intentions lightly.
"Yes... very cunning." Shan's expression dimmed for an instant, though the guest remained blissfully unaware. Mentor and student harbored divergent views on the proposed match. A man as proud as the Te clan's patriarch would never stoop to initiate such negotiations, not after Shan had humiliated the entire household with that unrivalled Keju essay. Should the White Scholar choose to retaliate with a scathing article, the relationship between them would be irreparably poisoned.
Even so, the arrangement carried a certain political weight. Among the nobility, it would be interpreted as the land of Zigan securing a formidable ally, a safeguard against the ravenous ambitions of neighboring states. However remote the possibility, this city could ill afford the rise of yet another rising state swelling into a force capable of rivaling Omashu and Ba Sing Se itself. At least the Te patriarch lacked the guile or the strategic acumen to exploit Zigan's wealth of scholars and resources to embark on any truly victorious campaign.
It is evident that this marriage alliance was Lady Te's own orchestration. While Shan silently objected, the ritual is nonetheless a sensible maneuver within the labyrinthine world of Upper Ring intrigue, but an act steeped in the patrimonial tradition which he personally scorned.
Authority, however, rested firmly in Han Fei's hands. Though not Shan's parent, his position as mentor allowed him considerable sway, even in matters of matrimony. Lady Te's decision to seek his blessing directly was shrewd, understanding the unspoken hierarchy between student and mentor, and knew Shan could not openly oppose it. Most would have assumed the Royal Palace curator the more likely arbiter, as no member of Shan's family had yet intervened. Mayumi suspected some topics are better left unexplored.
"I expect the arrangement will require a meeting with Lord Te to discuss bride price and dowry," Shan remarked, his voice devoid of warmth. The mere thought stirred distaste as such ostentation is a hallmark of the world's haughty nobility. The prospect of facing the elder once more is equally disagreeable. Yet tradition demanded both families meet at least once before the marriage could proceed. "Forgive my bluntness, but yours truly lack the means to impress a noble household. Presenting a calligraphy might hardly suffice to convey sincere intentions to Lord Te."
"You need not concern yourself," Han Fei said with a generous laugh, reading Shan's unease like an open scroll. "The Te clan seeks more than mere wealth. I will see to that." He deliberately refrained from revealing what the family truly desired from the arrangement, perhaps mindful of Mayumi's presence.
Mayumi continued to observe their interactions with quiet scrutiny. It was intriguing to witness the perspective of a suitor, the very sort of people she had always found irksome back home. Despite Ba Sing Se's reputation as a city of high culture and sophistication, its practice of arranged marriage bore a striking resemblance to what she had experienced in the southern part of the continent. It is also a game of hidden agendas and calculated motives. Yet it would be unfair to brand Te Gaogui as selfish or deceitful, since marriage throughout history had long served as a political instrument, a means to cement alliances and advance diplomacy between states and families.
The Kyoshi Warrior's mind wandered further. Aunt Ayu's outspoken remarks in the Royal Palace's tea garden hinted at troubles brewing in their homeland. Whatever peril threatened it, it must be grave indeed to imperil the citizens under the Te family's care. Mayumi attempted to weave together the fragmentary details, though Lady Te never revealed the specifics of Zigan's predicament. A looming war with a neighboring state seemed inevitable, and Mayumi suspected that the defending forces would be woefully insufficient without the support of a major city-state ally.
"The day of this meeting has been chosen, a most auspicious one, favored by Heaven itself," Han Fei declared with unwavering certainty.
The White Scholar could not help but note the peculiar duality of his mentor. Despite both being disciples of the rare school of philosophical Legalism, Han Fei had long mastered the subtle rituals of the aristocracy, earning the respect of the most eminent noble families. Perhaps it is inevitable that he would adopt some of their superstitions alongside their etiquette.
"May I inquire as to which day it is?" Shan asked, refilling a cup of tea with meticulous care. His compulsive need for order and preparation was well known, yet Han Fei's casual disregard for such niceties seemed almost calculated.
"Today, in fact," Han Fei replied effortlessly.