“Master Gyasho seems to find in you an extremely promising pupil,” the grandmaster interrupted, and she blushed. “Besides, between you and me, I could not care less how ugly Master Nán claims your calligraphy to be. Now I’d like you to show me the most important thing you have learned in these past few days.”
That was easy. She thought to the Chamber of Waterfall Thoughts, to Master Gyasho’s kindly smile, his face lifted skyward and his lips parted as he sensed the parts of her Seal coming together.
Lan closed her eyes and opened her senses to the flow of qì around them. She traced the strokes liberally: a thick arc of earth structured by ramparts of wood, the fortifying weave ofstone, and since they were high on a mountain, the mighty gusting of wind. Picking out the strands of qì, she thought, was akin to finding notes from the strings of a zither or a lute, creating the Seal equivalent to composing song.
She closed the circle, and her Defensive Seal sprung from the ground: a solid shield made of the elements around them, curving between her and Dé’zi.
“Not bad,” the grandmaster said, yet she had the impression she had somehow failed a test. “Tell me why this is the most important thing you have learned.”
Lan cut through her Seal, and her protective wall collapsed in a cloud of dust and rock. “Because I wished to use my power to protect those I loved,” she said quietly.
The grandmaster was silent for a while, studying her face. She fidgeted under his scrutiny. “You bring up exactly what I wished to discuss today,” he said at last.“Power.Is that not the reason most who are able would pursue the arts of practitioning?”
She thought of the songgirls, the Teahouse, the silent vow she had made, and nodded.
“Everything you learn here, Lan, will be focused on training your power. Making you stronger, better, and more invincible. Archery, Swords, Fists, the Light Arts, Seals, and all forms of knowledge. Yet none of it matters if you do not knowto what endyou are using that power.”
“I do know. I would use it so that no one need ever be hurt again when they are vulnerable.”
“And what would you give in exchange for this power?”
The answer came to her from the morning her world had ended, from watching her mother’s life bleed out before her eyes. “Everything,” Lan whispered.
“And that,” Dé’zisaid, “is the first desire that puts one in the danger of falling Wayward.”
The words hit like a gut punch. Lan had come to understand Wayward as bad, as somehow associated with yin and demonic practitioners and the evils in the world. Not something as innocent as seeking power for protection. She spluttered, “I don’t—I wouldn’t—”
“Wayward,” the grandmaster said, “has less to do with the type of qì one wields…and everything to do with how and why one wields it.”
Lan hesitated, Master Nán’s furious drillings of theClassic of Societywarring with her desire to express herself. “But, Grandmaster,” she said, “I was under the impression that Wayward had to do with, well, demonic qì.”
The grandmaster hummed thoughtfully. Then, instead ofanswering her, he said, “Tell me what you have learned of the Way.”
She was immensely grateful for the hours Zen had spent by her side, copying the classics. “I continue to study the classics, Grandmaster,” she said quickly, afraid she had offended him. “If you wish, I can recite—”
Dé’ziwaved a hand. “My ancestors would turn over in their graves, but I have always had little patience for the Hin methods of rote education and strict customs. All surface-level nonsense stipulated by some boring old farts hundreds of cycles ago and still carried out by boring young farts at our school to this day.”
“Grandmaster,”she exclaimed, unable to hold back a startled laugh.
Dé’zigave her a conspiratorial grin, then tapped at his chest. “I want to know what you think of the Way in here.”
Lan thought through all the principles she had studied in the past few days. “I think the Way speaks of balance,” she said carefully, “and control. There is always a give and take—an equivalent exchange. Especially as practitioners, the more power we wield, the more restraint we must have.”
The grandmaster looked pleased. “Precisely,” he said, and she felt a warm glow in her stomach. “The Way is naught more than a path of balance. It is written into everything we study, into the blood and bones of this very world.” He tipped his cup, and liquid fell in a thin stream, darkening the surface of the rock.
With the tea, Dé’zidrew a circle, using the liquid to color half of it but for a small dot. The other side remained untouched but for a small drop diagonally across from the first pale dot.
Lan knew the symbol; it was a common motif used in decor.
“Yin,” the grandmaster said, pointing to the wet, darkened half. “And yáng.” A gesture to the dry, lighter side. “The fundamental principle that governs not only qì but our world. Our Way.”
Lan asked a question that had been at the front of her mind all these days. “Isn’t yin bad? I heard…well, I heard it was the only type of energy that demons feed on.”
“Ah,” Dé’zisaid with a crooked smile. “You’ve been listening to Zen and the fishwives. You are correct, that all types of supernatural qì are classified within and composed solely of yin, because such creatures belong in death, not life. Of course, that includes demonic qì. But does that make yin bad?” A tip of his head, a slight lift to his brows. “Yin is as bad as shadows are bad. Or darkness, or cold, or death. Such concepts are normally dreaded or given negative connotations compared to light and warmth and life…and yet, can you think of a world without them?”
Lan could not.
“The fundamental concept of the Way is balance. See the two dots in the midst of each half. One cannot be without the other. The world is constantly shifting, yin changing to yáng, yáng changing to yin, in a perpetual cycle ofbalance.Life results in death, and death gives way to life; day turns to night, and night will always yield to day. Sun and moon, summer and winter—both are eternally present in this world.
