The Scholar, The Swordsman and The Sorcerer

Chapter 4: Settling In

Learnédness classes for Zhihao were different than he'd expected. He'd thought they'd put him with the other students to learn with them. Instead, Instructor Han set him in front of a group of unlearnéd youngsters. "At your level, you should be well prepared to instruct and tutor these children."

Zhihao froze solid, staring blankly at the others. They were all around his age and class. Some he even recognized as farmers from back home near Bai Shui forest. None had friendly expressions and he remembered a few felt he'd had ideas above his station because he wanted to read.

Still, he'd been given a task and he meant to do it. He was about to start when the door slid open and a familiar figure sauntered in. Mi Zhein's fan flicked between his fingers, setting his white hair drifting in the breeze. "Oh. Am I late?"

A real instructor would punish a student like Mi Zhein without hesitation. Zhihao almost ignored the other boy, almost began the lesson without paying Mi Zhein any mind at all. Yet he could see the real instructor's eyes on him and knew he couldn't.

"You are five minutes late, Young Master Mi. I'll allow it this time, since you may have had trouble finding this room. Don't let it happen again."

Mi Zhein's steps as he headed for the only empty desk were light and nonchalant. He ignored the stares and muttered confusion around him, dropping into place with a smug smile. "I'll try not to, Perfect Zhihao. Do please take care of me."

Not said, thankfully, was that Zhihao had promised to tutor him if Mi Zhein won their bet. Zhihao hesitated. Took a deep breath and started again. "Let's start with the sixty-four word poem."

Someone muttered something about being treated like babies, even as Mi Zhein raised a hand. "I don't have that memorized. Could you repeat it, please?"

That set everyone staring at him. Anyone who'd learned to read and write learned the word poem first. Eight lines of eight characters long, it was a memorization tool small children used to practice their writing. Proudly, Rahuel - the girl Mi Zhein had beaten in weapons testing - repeated it perfectly.

Zhihao wasn't sure if Mi Zhein had asked for the reminder because he really needed it or because it would distract the class. Either way, it took the pressure off Zhihao and he was grateful. "Well done, Rahuel. I do realize many of you already know this. But I don't know how well you can write the words. So please, if you will, do so now."

Already Mi Zhein was busy grinding his ink and selecting his bamboo slips. He didn't look cheerful at all, but he did look determined to at least try. Given his performance at testing, Zhihao had half-expected more of the same, once the lesson got started.

If nothing else, it seemed Mi Zhein really did mean to learn properly, no matter how much he hated it.

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Zhihao's martial class had to be moved to an indoor practice room thanks to another storm. It was a small class; fewer students had trouble with such skills than they did with learnedness. Most were younger than Zhihao and the majority were sorcerers who'd found their focus early and had no time to spend on anything but controlling their magic.

No surprise Mi Zhein was brought in to teach the class. Zhihao had overheard someone talking about the sorcery class Meng Ma had taught earlier. No one had mentioned it, but apparently one of the requirements of a Perfect was assisting in instructing their area of expertise.

Pale hair braided and tied down as tight as it could be, dressed in the same plain black tunic and leggings as everyone else, Mi Zhein's manners took a sudden shift. Here in the practice room he was all business and not at all disturbed by the way the wind rattled the windows or lightning cracked overhead.