The Agrarian Zone of Ba Sing Se remains an unexpected marvel, a tranquil expanse outside the stone bastions of the city's Lower Ring. Beyond its sweeping farmlands which sustain the appetites of millions within the walls, this outer district harbors untouched land, territory unmarred by urban sprawl. Towering mountains rise solemnly in the distance, veils of mist clinging to their forested flanks. Rivers meander like silver ribbons through valleys, feeding glassy lakes that mirror the sky. All things here is a serenity, ancient and unbothered. And fittingly so. For where Ba Sing Se cultivates its grain and rice, even the waters teem with life in generous abundance.
In one such lake, a lone carp drifted lazily beneath the surface. Its fins slicing through the water in gentle, deliberate strokes as it searched for its next meal. That quiet grace was abruptly disturbed. A crude spear hurled from the shoreline cleaved the water beside it, sending the fish darting into the darker depths.
"Almost had it!" Satchiko exclaimed as she waded in after her makeshift spear, soaking her boots in the process.
Nearby, Mayumi sat with patience. She held a crooked fishing rod fashioned from a bent reed and fraying string, eying the still water and awaiting the faintest tug of a curious fish. Yet their efforts, clumsy and improvised, yielded no bounty.
One might ask, what compelled these two to undertake such an odd errand?
The answer lay in Satchiko's impending lesson. Remarkably, she had secured tutelage under none other than the White Scholar himself, a figure of rising repute in Ba Sing Se. However improbable his agreement may have seemed, Mayumi insisted certain formalities still be observed, particularly those rooted in the venerable customs of the Earth Kingdom literati.
Tracing its origins to the era when the Earth Kingdom remained a patchwork of feuding petty states, a venerable tradition emerged from the teachings of the very first Earth Sage. As he began to share his wisdom with earnest disciples, they in turn offered tokens of reverence and filial devotion, which are often goats. These humble yet valuable creatures, prized then as now, became emblematic of scholarly virtue and auspicious intent. Though the symbolism is lauded among the learned, such a custom often strikes those from remote regions or folks with lesser-known traditions as peculiar. Still, Mayumi remarked that upholding the rite might not be such a foolish gesture after all. Though Shan holds open contempt for the Earth Sages, the gesture of a new pupil offering goats to their tutor transcends sectarian lines. It is a tradition observed across all philosophical schools within the Earth Kingdom, including the ones now extinct.
Alas, reality has again proved a disappointing steward of ideals.
Goats, as it turned out, is a pricy livestock, even more expensive than the tusked animals that ploughed the fields of this city's farmlands. Moreover, a kindly but candid farmer warned them that unlike their ancient counterparts, some scholars today are less to appreciate a bleating animal wandering across their scroll-strewn study halls. And so, the sisters pivoted.
Carp, as it happens, are also revered in the Earth Kingdom. They are symbols of perseverance, strength and transformation. Thus, an excellent comparison to aspiring students who wishes to pass exceedingly difficult exams. They are also plentiful in these lakes and rivers, so procuring one is both practical and auspicious.
Yet here too, they faltered. Despite their heritage as people nourished by the sea, the act of catching a single fish proved more elusive than wielding a blade or bow. They had spent hours under the sun, their weapons now spears of bamboo and their patience stretched taut.
In truth, they both silently wished Kazuki were with them, who at least had the uncanny talent of spearing fish as easily as one might pluck fruit from a low-hanging branch.
"You caught anything yet?" Satchiko grumbled, trudging back onto shore, her soaked hems clinging to the ankles. Her hopes promptly deflated when she saw Mayumi's line still slack, unmoved by even the faintest nibble. Evidently, the fish in this lake are more cunning than their vacant stares suggested. "Do we really have to keep this up? He already agreed to take a new student. Isn't this just a waste of time?"
But the White Scholar was not known for offering his services freely, least of all as a private tutor, a role for which no small number of Upper Ring households would cheerfully part with a small fortune. The fact that he had chosen to mentor a lowborn peasant girl was not merely an affront to those highborn circles, but a calculated provocation. It was in itself a challenge, one that Satchiko had to meet with every scrap of diligence she could muster. If she is to seize this second golden opportunity, the very least they could do is honor the traditional rites of scholarly etiquette.
As the two sisters floundered with their meager efforts, a solitary fisherman drifted into view. Unlike the coastal folk of Kyoshi Island, who relied on heavy nets and sharpened spears, this elderly man bore none of the typical accoutrements. Dressed in a straw cape and wide-brimmed hat, he stood atop a raft of lashed bamboo that is accompanied by three black-feathered birds, each bound at the neck with a slender cord. The sight gave both sisters pause.
"Looking for fish?" the old man called out. His voice was hoarse, but not unkind. "We Earth Kingdom folk may not be as good as those Waterbenders up north, but we've our own ways. One copper coin per catch, fair and honest."
As always, it was Mayumi who stepped forward. She offered a polite bow, her doubts concealed behind the practiced courtesy of an older sibling. "Respectable elder, my sister and I are in need of a live carp. Might you have one available?"
The fisherman chuckled, though his mirth rang with genuine assurance. Mayumi tossed a coin into his outstretched palm. No sooner had it landed, the old man made a curious gesture, a silent command to his feathered companions.
With a sudden splash, the dark-colored great cormorants dove into the lake in near-perfect unison. Satchiko rushed to the water's edge, trying to track them beneath the surface. But they were gone, mere shadows swallowed by the blue.
Moments later, they burst forth with their beaks clenched tight around glistening, writhing carps, all too large to swallow. Yet they are precisely the kind their master desired.
With care and routine, the fisherman retrieved the catch, rewarding his birds with smaller fishes from a wooden bowl stashed beside him. Then turning to Mayumi, he handed her a live carp, which she quickly transferred to a shallow basket half-filled with water.
"Quite convenient," Mayumi remarked.
After expressing their gratitude to both man and birds, the sisters began to take their leave. But the fisherman gestured for them to wait, offering to ferry them across the lake to avoid the path they just took. He claimed that recent developments around these parts might cause them certain inconvenience.
Instinctively, Mayumi agreed for both herself and Satchiko. They boarded the thin yet sturdy raft, and the old fisherman maneuvered the raft with nothing but a long wooden stick.
"I assume you two youngsters are new around here," the old fisherman began, his voice carrying a rough, weather-worn edge. "In these parts, it's rare to see outsiders bold enough to venture out and fish."
"What do you mean?" Satchiko asked, a note of innocent confusion in her tone. "I thought anyone could just come to the lake and catch something to eat."
"Not here," the fisherman warned, lowering his voice slightly. "There's talk that the city intends to carve new canals for even larger farms. Naturally, that plan would affect this lake. Laogai, they call it. The family that governs this place within the Agrarian Zone isn't too happy about the construction drawing so near. That's why strangers who don't live here are likely to raise suspicion."
The old fisherman engaged in idle chatter, casually noting that the family who governs this particular region often carries themselves as though they outrank the city itself. His own son and daughter, he mentioned, serve under their banner. Though he claimed to be unsure what role they occupy.
Their small vessel drifted toward the center of the vast lake. In the hazy distance, Mayumi caught sight of a heavy cavalry squadron tearing across the shoreline path. Even from afar, the glint of their armor was unmistakable, as were the distinctive purple banners they bore which is clearly not the insignia of the city's official soldiers. Whoever they are, they are armed for war just like all the warring states beyond Ba Sing Se's borders.
…
The wooden doors of the siheyuan groaned open. No sooner had the White Scholar stepped past the threshold, he was greeted with a bucket sloshing of a carp.
He paused, recognizing this as a deliberate imitation of the custom practiced by disciples seeking tutelage, a gesture immortalized in tales of ancient philosophers and their most illustrious students. Yet, if one were to judge by the White Scholar's face, he deemed the offering as charmingly excessive at best, wholly unnecessary at worst.
"I see Zhu Xi remains as tediously pedantic as ever," Shan remarked, his countenance as unreadable as always. It seemed Satchiko, likely heeding her sister's counsel, had adorned herself in the austere student robes mandated by the Earth Sage. Perhaps in that old man's unyielding quest to rival Omashu's loftier repute as a sanctuary for sagely minds, even trivial formalities such as attire were rigidly enforced.
"It's not too bad," Satchiko said, tugging at the stiff hem of her tunic. "But it does make it harder to run and jump."
Mayumi, who stood nearby, cleared her throat. A genteel but pointed cough. It was enough to remind the younger girl of her manners. With a slight bow, the student introduced herself not by her true name, but by the alias her sister had prepared.
Yuko.
With the gravity of a courtier presenting tribute, Satchiko offered the bucket of carp. Though an unconventional replacement for the traditional goat, the gesture was symbolically sound, even tasteful. The White Scholar accepted it with minimal ceremony, though not before subtly holding his breath. A precaution perhaps, before the scent of river-slime and scales could reach his nose.
"There is no need for further formalities," Shan said, lightly stopping Satchiko just as she is about to perform the customary bow when a student is accepted. "The lesson begins now."
Without ceremony, they stepped into the courtyard. Much like the ancient philosophers of bygone eras, who refined their doctrines and ideals long before the invention of paper, the tradition of sitting on the bare ground accompanied only by low tables is faithfully replicated here.
Or perhaps more practically, the White Scholar simply had no spare furniture to accommodate a formal class.
Satchiko seated herself on the grass, careful not to crease her already cumbersome student garb. Before her stood a low wooden table, modestly laid out with brushes and heavy tomes of uncertain age. She eyed them warily. Zhu Xi's lectures had promised the secrets of Earthbending could be grasped without practice, which is a dubious claim. She wondered now if Shan's instruction would prove just as frustrating. But the Scholar's presence, unlike the dusty halls of Ba Sing Se University, did not permit slouching or daydreams. Here, inattentiveness of the sole student would be seen, and remembered.
"Before we begin," Shan said. "It has reached the ears of yours truly that Earth Sage Zhu Xi is somewhat indifferent to philosophies and histories that do not emerge from his own lineage of thought. I find this… unhelpful. Tell me, pupil. What lessons have his teachings impressed upon you? In particular, how do they reconcile the doctrines of the first Earth Sage with rulership?"
Though hesitant at first, Satchiko began to recount what she had absorbed from Zhu Xi's curriculum. There were the ritual recitations from the Analects, of course, and the study of chronicles mostly authored, edited or endorsed by the Earth Sages themselves. Kings, lords, and even generals were exalted not for their personal brilliance, but for heeding their sagely counselors and embodying virtues the sages deemed commendable.
As always, Filial Piety is treated as the cornerstone of all moral instruction, no matter how dry or disjointed the lecture. Even the arcane discussions of Earthbending's role in bureaucratic governance somehow circled back to honoring one's elders.
Yet one segment of the lecture undeniably stood apart. It seemed even Avatars were enjoined to heed the counsel of Earth Sages, particularly in matters of governance and how to engage with the populace in the manner of a benevolent sovereign. Naturally, they are encouraged to enlist sages as trusted ministers and advisors, appointing them to key positions.
There is an unmistakable insinuation that other spiritual traditions, such as Water Tribe shamanism and Air Nomad sutras, were relegated to mere superstition, deemed irrelevant to Avatars who required only the sagacity of Earth Sages to prevail. Zhu Xi himself made no effort to conceal his disdain for certain Air Nomad doctrines, especially those at odds with the prevailing Earth Kingdom philosophy that emphasize the importance of familial matters.
"Most Earth Sages delight in donning the mantle of advisors," Shan remarked icily. "It comes as no surprise that Zhu Xi harbors such contempt for monastic practices, given that the Air Nomads' conception of emptiness runs counter to the rigid demands of nepotistic duty."
Though Shan is also a scholar steeped in Earth Kingdom philosophies, the orthodox Earth Sages regarded men of his ilk as far greater ideological adversaries than distant monks or shamans. With views on governance and morality near polar opposites to the Earth Sages, all legalistic scholars are a pernicious threat to the sagely vision of how the world ought to be governed.
Yet, regardless of Shan's intellectual prowess, it would take more than his celebrated Zhuangyuan distinction to reform this particular student.
"Very well then, we shall commence with an appraisal of your scholarly aptitude," Shan directed. "But unlike Zhu Xi, I shall also impart the intricacies of Earthbending. Though no master, I shall attempt to tread a rare yet legitimate path, one forged by those who once mentored the elemental arts regardless of their origin."
This subtle allusion intimated Shan's embrace of a teaching tradition exceedingly uncommon. History recalled few who had taught benders to manipulate nature's very fabric as rare mentors who themselves are non-benders. It is a notion so extraordinary it bordered on incredulity even now. Unlike the Earth Sages, enamored with eloquence and interminable lectures on pedantic morals, the mere presence of an Earthbending scroll upon Shan's table at least suggested a pragmatic utility surpassing that of these so-called sages.
For now, one of the most essential measures of a scholar's aptitude requires Shan's discerning evaluation. The White Scholar had tasked Satchiko with practicing her handwriting using the traditional inkbrush. Given her unimpressive performance in Earth Sage Zhu Xi's lectures, owing largely to her habitual idleness and tendency to skip lessons back in her home village, it came as no surprise that her penmanship bore the scars of both neglect and ignorance.
From the very first stroke, Shan could already form a clear judgment. The characters she etched onto the parchment were marred by slurred lines and misshapen curves, devoid of rhythm or discipline. Most damning of all, the prescribed stroke order in proper calligraphy, was not merely forgotten, but flagrantly ignored. It was not writing so much as mimicry, as though the girl were merely copying forms without understanding their construction. The inkbrush, once an instrument of elegance and precision became a clumsy tool, barely fit to replicate the characters she was meant to master.
"A valiant effort," Shan remarked. "Yet candidly, it is evident there remains much for you to refine."
Undeterred, Satchiko resumed her practice with the ink brush, inscribing syllable after syllable. Shan, ever the exacting mentor, corrected each misstep, underscoring that true calligraphy demands more than mere legibility. It must also embody elegance and aesthetic grace, which are also factors that determine whether a scholar can be inducted as a civil servant. To deepen her understanding, he chose idioms composed of four characters, ensuring his pupil grasped not only their meaning but also the rich origins that birthed them.
Satchiko's eyes lingered on two particular idioms. Though barely literate, Satchiko intuitively understood one as 'pulling shoots to aid growth' and the other as a cautionary tale of a kingdom inflated by hubris. Anticipating her confusion, Shan offered a concise explanation.
"Pulling shoots upward," he elucidated. "Only stunts a crop's growth, an error born of a foolish farmer convinced that forceful haste could accelerate the harvest. It is a lesson extolling diligence over reckless shortcuts." Shan then turned to the other idiom. "Its roots trace back to the Earth Kingdom's first golden age, when the dominant dynasty reigned amidst numerous smaller states. One such state, Ye Lang, waged war against Ba Sing Se but was swiftly vanquished. Its king, blinded by arrogance, presumed his domain rivaled, if not surpassed the mighty dynasty of that time. Hence, this phrase serves as a timeless admonition against self-delusion and overweening pride."
The White Scholar turned back to the student.
"Pupil," Shan intoned gravely, fanning himself with the delicate paper fan. "May these tales inspire you to abhor incompetence in all its forms. No matter your future station, remember that neither nobles nor kings shall escape your scrutiny."
Satchiko nodded readily, though the full weight of his words had yet to settle. The latter part hinted at a future where she might engage with those in power, the very path Shan now walks. Whichever state or kingdom she chose to serve, there would surely be those eager to employ the wisdom of the White Scholar's foremost student. This is especially true in a realm now embroiled in war, where sovereigns seek ministers and generals capable not merely of ensuring their domain's survival, but also potentially securing the Mandate of Heaven itself.
Yet such prospects seemed distant. Even Mayumi, observing quietly from the shadows would understand this whole ordeal was very just meant to help her sister acquire both Earthbending and scholarly discipline. The mere notion of Satchiko sharing the same hall as powerful ministers and untouchable kings is simply perilous. For in courts rife with intrigue, a courtier who incites the ruler's wrath risks losing far more than favor.
Them and their families risk their very lives.
Nevertheless, such lofty visions must be set aside for a future still shrouded in mist. For now, it is the small, attainable goals that bring comfort, anchoring the heart with purpose. Realistic aspirations, for someone like Satchiko, would involve simply mastering the rudiments of Earthbending while seizing the near-miraculous chance of self-improvement here in Ba Sing Se. The notion that a simple-minded girl, obsessed with becoming a Kyoshi Warrior and dreaming only of earning her own golden headdress, might one day bent the knees of kings or alter the course of history seems laughably remote. Even the White Scholar, for all his measured generosity, likely believes the esteemed title of Jinshi to be the highest station she might feasibly attain, provided she dares to undertake the city's notoriously brutal Civil Service Examination.
And so, the lesson in calligraphy commenced. Slow, painstaking, and marked by the White Scholar's exacting standards. With deliberate strokes and pointed corrections, he guided his wayward student through the fundamentals of brushwork, every flaw scrutinized, every slip addressed. Such rigor had been notably absent in her younger days, when her father merely allowed the young Kyoshi Warrior to shirk her studies with little consequence, unlike the sterner Matron who had always demanded more. Though wholly lacking in scholarly inclination, Satchiko's prowess in arms and unarmed combat was by contrast impressive, perhaps even exceptional. Yet such abilities must remain hidden in a city where strength of mind, not muscle, opens doors.
Still, the girl strives. She applies herself with renewed resolve, aware of the disparities that surround her. In the periphery of her vision, her elder sister toils through daily chores, a quiet shadow whose innate aptitude for scholarly things is obvious to any observer. It is a cruel imbalance, where opportunities are dispensed not according to merit, but according to the superficial accidents of birth and station. It is indeed unfair that some are granted the chance to ascend while others, perhaps more deserving, are left to serve in silence.
...
Mayumi pushed open the delicate paper window, a cloud of dust billowing toward her face. She coughed sharply, then bent down to scrub the window frames with relentless determination. Surprisingly, despite Shan's chamber gleaming with the trappings of opulence, elegantly carved furniture and lacquered surfaces, the corners concealed a far grimmer reality. Beneath the table and behind the towering shelves, layers of neglect lay thick and undisturbed. Dust had amassed like silent sentinels in the shadows, invisible to any casual visitor, transforming the scholar's abode into a gilded facade. It is not beyond reason to suspect that Shan's lavish gifts are but a veneer, artfully masking the woeful dereliction beneath. The absence of a cleaner is glaringly apparent, and the myriad subtle maladies of disrepair whispered of years, perhaps decades of neglect.
With a single sweep, the broomstick she wielded turned gray, prompting a grimace to flicker across Mayumi's features. For a scholar famed for conquering the realm's most grueling examination, Shan seem to have allowed the problems to fester under his roof. No one seem to have taken the time to truly cleanse this house.
Dust stirred once more as she resumed dusting the windowsills, prompting another bout of coughing. Resigned, she wrapped a scrap of cloth over her mouth, pondering whether Shan genuinely required such assistance. It's quite possible this menial labor was merely a distraction, a task designed to keep her busy in this quiet compound.
Despite the tedium, a persistent worry gnawed at her mind. Each time she passed through the courtyard, Mayumi found herself stealing furtive glances toward the lesson unfolding there. For now, the small and secluded compound lay cloaked in an uneasy peace, but calamity could strike without warning, shattering the fragile calm.
Ba Sing Se's serene veneer can indeed be deceptive at times. Vigilance is of course a necessity amid the countless adversaries lurking in the shadows. This delicate peace, hemmed in by the enigmatic Acolytes of San Bao on one flank and the insidious Dai Li secret police on the other. Having witnessed the ruthless resolve of the former and understanding the fanatical reach of their cultish agenda, it is not unreasonable to regard the Dai Li as the lesser of two evils. Yet to confront a Dai Li unarmed and unsupported by her sisters is to court death. Above all, those guardians of culture and secrecy wielded knowledge far too unsettling for Mayumi's comfort.
She cast a sidelong glance at Shan, a weary sigh escaping her lips. It was a quiet admission of betraying him even though her ordeal with the Dai Li might appear trivial to this stubborn gentleman of philosophy. The scholar, newly crowned Zhuangyuan of this year's Civil Service Examination, is destined for prominence within the city's administration. But recalling the relentless grip of that one Dai Li the previous night chilled her. Even the erudite and sharp-tongued Shan seemed ill-equipped to outmaneuver the shadowy tendrils of those cultural enforcers. The thought of the White Scholar attempting to parley with a Dai Li is almost jarring, perhaps the only solace lay in the apparent absence of exploitable desires or ambitions in Shan, the very vulnerabilities that the Dai Li so expertly sought.
Now that Mayumi thought about it, there are a few quirks she deemed somewhat peculiar. Unlike her, Shan appeared unburdened by any immediate kin, at least none who wandered his humble residence and could be wielded as leverage to undermine his career as a civil servant. The harshest fate those Dai Li enforcers might inflict upon this distinguished and obstinate scholar is little more than a rough handling, with their earthen gauntlets certain to soil the immaculate and pale changshan he wore with quiet dignity.
Mayumi dismissed such thoughts for the moment, turning her attention instead to the stone floor by each doorway. She swept gently, striving to suppress every creak and scrape lest her sister's lesson be disturbed. Surrounded by towering stacks of books that nearly swallowed the diminutive table, it was clear the White Scholar harbored no intention of offering a gentle or lenient tutelage.
In the meantime, Satchiko wrestled with cryptic syllables and tangled philosophies that seemed to defy reason. She fought not to let the dizzying words overwhelm her vision, already feeling more illiterate than ever. The looming piles of texts threatened to bury her whole, should a mere breeze ruffle their precarious spines.
Devoid of armor or face paint, Satchiko pressed onward. A simpleminded girl who could once fend off a band of pirates now struggles to decipher the written word alongside her peers. Though fortune had smiled kindlier upon her than most, her determination to attain even modest scholarly competence never wavered, especially with Mayumi's extraordinary feat in securing a tutor of such rare caliber. It seemed as if the very universe demands against failure.
The tutor wielded his signature foldable fan, methodically pacing before the blackboard. Occasionally, he snapped it shut and pointed it sharply at her, a silent summons to focus. Though stern and exacting, his demeanor strangely softened at times, revealing a rare flexibility that distinguished him from the rigid Earth Sage lecturers of Ba Sing Se's famed university.
The White Scholar emphasized a particularly elusive philosophical concept, one that left Satchiko grasping at shadows in Zhu Xi's austere classroom. For Shan, this notion was the key to unlocking the Earth Kingdom's tangled history, its intricate tapestry of cultural and historical norms that underpinned governance.
"The course of millennia in the Earth Kingdom traces a familiar rhythm of fracture and reunification," Shan said, his fan gesturing sharply toward the woefully unprepared pupil. "Time and again, discourse and disunion have been fanned by incompetence, borne from the innate flaws that fester within the bloodlines of ruling lineages." He fixed her with a pointed gaze. "Tell me, what is the fundamental structural affliction that haunts the provinces of the Earth Kingdom? Beyond the realm's unforgiving geography, what drives its political fragmentation?"
Satchiko swallowed hard, her mind a barren void. She had spent these many hours trying to catch up with Shan's intricate teachings. Poems, historical annals, cultural rites, details upon details whirled in a chaotic storm. Each fragment slipping through the cracks of her memory. To her, the entire endeavor felt tangled, labyrinthine and maddeningly elusive.
"Natural disasters and bandits," Satchiko replied nervously, aware that her answer fell short of the expectations. Yet, it was the best a simple-minded soul like herself could muster.
Shan regarded her thoughtfully. Though his expression remained strict, there was a measure of leniency in his gaze. He had openly acknowledged that recognizing the symptoms of a fractured realm is a far more serviceable response than those offered by many Earth Sage students, who often defaulted to vague condemnations of moral decay or leaders straying from the sacred tenets of the sagely tradition.
"A commendable effort," he remarked. "But yours truly demands deeper insight."
He once again urged the pupil to contemplate the structural maladies that had long plagued the realm, dragging it into endless cycles of war and ruin.
"Your sister informed me that you both have traveled far and wide," Shan said calmly, fanning himself with measured grace. "Surely, unlike a certain so-called paragon, you would have gleaned at least a few observations on your journeys."
After a prolonged pause of serious reflection, Satchiko offered a more considered reply. She is no accomplished scholar of the Earth Kingdom, incapable of parsing the intricate roots that had entangled the realm across dynasties. But she could at least recount the suffering and harsh realities endured by its people, who are now divided.
Wars, famine, and diseases. There is no shortage of afflictions burdening the people of the Earth Kingdom. Fragmented into countless petty states, this once-unified realm now exists as a hollow echo of its former glory. What remains is a land scarred by unrelenting turmoil, its grandeur eroded by the weight of misrule and ceaseless strife. The scale of its collapse is such that even a mind of moderate understanding would struggle to describe, let alone comprehend the sheer extent of its decay.
She recalled two cities she had passed through, their stark contrasts etched vividly in her mind. One such place have soon-to-be corpses littered the streets, a grim testament to the uncontrolled plague that fester in chaos and despair. The other, festooned with an enormous pool of wine, where excess and indulgence masked the rot beneath. Clearly, the rulers of these settlements bore scant resemblance to the exemplary stewards their people desperately needed.
Her eyes met Shan's, noticing his expression reserved, yet not entirely disappointed.
"Simple-minded answers," he said, a trace of sternness coloring his tone. "Though you have yet to grasp the root cause of the Earth Kingdom's disunity, your efforts will not go unnoticed. In the humble opinion of yours truly, your very acknowledgment of the manifold sufferings afflicting this fractured realm already places you above a certain Avatar, whom some among the populace accuse of preoccupation with profligate indulgences rather than the welfare of the common people."
The ordinary peasants of the Earth Kingdom bore little kindness for the legacy of the previous Avatar, and they eagerly perpetuate the harshest judgments. For a scholar of Shan's stature to voice such sentiments was surprising indeed. Yet, given the White Scholar's stubborn pragmatism, it was doubtful he truly believed in divine retribution. Satchiko suppressed a grimace as this is hardly the first time she had witnessed disrespect toward the Avatar beyond their island. Although Shan's critique was, by comparison to other sacrilegious mockeries, pretty mild.
With that, the scholar launched into a lengthy discourse, unfurling before Satchiko the latest map of the fractured realm. It is crisscrossed with messy borders that defined the numerous petty entities locked in brutal and savage warfare. While fragile unity had been the norm throughout much of the Earth Kingdom's history, the present era is marked by unprecedented turmoil and rife with relentless conflict and instability.
"The Earth Kingdom is vast and diverse, resilient yet unyielding. Like the soil itself, it can be rich and life-giving, or parched and impenetrable. Its very geography, rugged and unforgiving, impedes not only travel but the transmission of knowledge and governance. Yet beyond such natural challenges lies a deeper, far older malaise, one woven into the very fabric of Earth Kingdom culture." Shan paused, setting aside his poetic musings. The tone in his voice shifted, sharpening into that of a political scholar ready to dissect thousands of years' worth of dysfunction. "Of all the great nations, none struggle with unity so profoundly as the Earth Kingdom. The sheer scale of the land breeds disconnection. Indeed, there are regions where the notion of a single, unified state under one banner is not merely alien, it is wholly incomprehensible. Granted, the heart of our troubles lies in a fundamental flaw of human nature. As reductive as that sounds, it holds particular weight here. The Earth Kingdom has always been plagued by the enduring presence of patrimonialism, the rule of lineage over law. Across the continent, within and beyond the great walls, regional aristocratic clans entrench themselves deeply. They are the true governors in territories where the capital's influence wanes or disappears entirely. These families pursue their own ambitions, often at odds with neighboring states or even against the mandates of the capital." His words grew heavier with disdain. "Is it any wonder that our ancestors, shortsighted and complacent, heeded the early Earth Sages and permitted the ludicrous notion of multiple kings within a supposedly united nation? And predictably, when the central government proves unable or unwilling to assert authority, these entrenched lineages transform into petty warlords. Their hunger for power knows no singular form, manifesting through feudal levies, trade monopolies, marriage alliances or outright warfare. Furthermore, each warring state bears its own strengths and weaknesses in managing rebellion, banditry, famine, or foreign invasion. Yet across them all, there remains a shared rot. Positions of authority are too often granted through bloodline rather than merit. Without centralization, without a single unifying standard that unifies them, nothing can practically compel these regional rulers to a lasting peace. Not even the supposed authority and the power of the Avatar can truly sate such turmoil." He paused to sip his tea, letting the silence settle between them. It aims to both to rest his voice and to spare his pupil from being entirely drowned in concepts likely unfamiliar to her mere moments ago. "In short," he resumed. "The plague of patrimonialism has haunted this continent for thousands of years. It has wormed its way into the customs, values and political instincts of those who rule and those who will rule. No matter how noble the intentions of the Earth King or the Avatar, no matter how sweeping the reforms, the same entrenchment will return time and again, merely under different names and banners." He finally concluded this lengthy yet simple explanation by lightly commenting on the events that led to their present predicament. At least unlike the vulgar people with heavy wine, the scholar at least demonstrates a sense of restraint when critiquing the previous incarnate. "To assume that a system, no matter how idealistic, can simply be imposed wholesale upon a people with different histories, priorities and social fabric is not only naive. It is dangerous. Entrusting the livelihoods of millions to a starry-eyed monarch and a globe-trotting child is not governance. It is lunacy. It is the tragic misadventure of a well-meaning fool and an irresponsible infant, both flailing about with tools far beyond their comprehension."
It was a very long explanation, but unfortunately still oversimplified.
The scholar further underscored the inherent pitfalls of nepotism, a pernicious custom deeply ingrained not only in history but throughout the realm itself. By bequeathing the most exalted and important offices of state to one's progeny, even the most capable officials and generals find their capabilities blunted, rendered impotent beneath the shadow of ineptitude. At worst, such folly invites ruin to the kingdom, dragging both virtuous souls and the realm itself into oblivion.
Ironically, Satchiko's upbringing on a remote island governed by unrefined and unsophisticated laws of succession gave her a somewhat early receptiveness for merit above lineage. Though her family traced its roots to a modestly prestigious line, she had long understood that power was seldom inherited like an heirloom. Indeed, as she now reflected, her father's role as chief and mediator among quarrelsome fishmongers isn't even a paid position.
Perhaps in contrast to certain Earth Sages who stress the supposed reliability of familial bonds that can foster loyalty to the nation, Shan's teachings sought to illuminate the virtue of elevating those truly deserving rather than those merely born into privilege. The greatest barrier to such envisioned ideal is thus the entrenched grip of hereditary lineages, patrimonial bastions that pursued narrow self-interest over the cohesion of the entire realm. This fracturing inevitably birthed the ceaseless conflicts that rent the Earth Kingdom into the current warring states, devoid of any unifying central power.
A flicker of curiosity sparked within the pupil. From all she had heard, the kingdom's descent into this maelstrom of internecine strife and bloodshed could be traced even to its loftiest rulers. While Earth Sages such as Zhu Xi laid blame on moral decay and the abandonment of sagely principles of harmonious governance, these explanations felt insufficient. Above the petty rulers of fractured domains stood kings, and beyond them is the most formidable of all.
The Avatars.
When she voiced this inquiry, the White Scholar nodded with approval, commending her initiative. He cautioned that the tangled web of failures and follies which ushered the Earth Kingdom into this chaotic epoch could not be unraveled in a single lesson.
"Compared to those steeped solely in the artifice of eloquence, you at least exhibit a commendable skepticism," Shan remarked, turning toward Satchiko with a promise of further discourse in future lessons. "The saga of this realm's descent is no simple tale, especially for one yet to master the rudiments of reading and writing. This is after all your first lesson. Moreover, I must yet assess the true measure of your Earthbending, whether the problem is as serious as your sister described."
Though seemingly mundane, the scholar's final words tightened Satchiko's chest with apprehension. For her whole life, she fought as if Earthbending was a forgotten gift, an embarrassment long overdue. Her only comfort lay in the knowledge that Shan, despite likely lacking the bending himself, is even willing to impart the art of Earthbending at all.
At the heart of the courtyard lay a modest stack of small earthen discs, meticulously shaped to resemble the famed coins of the Earth Kingdom's currency. These miniature training tokens stood in stark contrast to the colossal projectiles that had thundered across battlefields for millennia under the command of Earth Kingdom armies.
Satchiko lingered nearby, her gaze fixed on Shan as he deftly unfurled an Earthbending scroll, its fragile parchment sourced from the most secretive alcoves of Ba Sing Se's university library. After a brief inspection, the scholar issued a simple directive. She must emulate the most rudimentary technique, the foundational form employed by neophytes to coax the most commonplace substance into motion.
"Lift this disc and send it forward," Shan instructed, his tone crisp yet patient. He granted his pupil a moment to mimic the gestures illustrated within the scroll, particularly a posture where the figure appears to hoist a small boulder from the ground before punching it outward with force.
"N-now?" Satchiko stammered, hesitation thick in her voice. The task is seemingly trivial to seasoned Earthbenders, but it loomed like an insurmountable peak to her.
"Is there a problem?" Shan's eyes narrowed.
"No, not at all," she lied without a flicker of conviction. Accustomed more to the graceful wielding of metal fans, the act of manipulating raw earth left her feeling adrift, an awkward interloper in a realm foreign and unyielding.
She lifted her arms tentatively, envisioning the disc rising to shoulder height. Yet, what should have unfolded as a natural motion for any Earthbender, even for a child half her age, have transformed into a series of frustrating failures. The earthen disc stubbornly clung to the ground, immobile for agonizing minutes. She wondered if Shan is beginning to regret accepting her as a pupil.
"Halt," the White Scholar commanded, cutting short the fruitless repetition.
"Forgive me, but no matter how I try, I have never once bent earth of this scale," Satchiko confessed, swallowing the sting of shame. "The largest I have ever managed is a pebble."
She barely suppressed a sharp intake of breath, fearful that this admission might prompt Shan to rescind his tutelage. After all, she saw children in this city using Earthbending as a game, their skill far eclipsing her meager attempts.
"The art of moving earth is not easily mastered, it is a recalcitrant substance, resistant and unyielding," Shan stated, folding his paper fan with measured grace as he approached the stack of discs. "Yet, if I am to be candid, your disposition is... highly irregular."
Though Shan is a scholar well-versed in calligraphy and the intricacies of political theory, even he concedes his limits when it comes to unverifiable matters such as heredity or the more outlandish assertions of spiritual corruption. But no matter the style or regional nuance he employed to test her, Satchiko's Earthbending fell beneath the threshold of even the most untrained novices. The scholar hinted at some hidden impediment, subtle and unseen, that hindered her connection to the earth.
Shan plucked a pebble from the ground and placed it on a nearby table. He gestured for Satchiko to levitate it from a distance. She obeyed, struggling to forge even the faintest link with the stubborn earth. Shan's expression darkened, critical yet concealing the burden of his expectations. Upon moving the pebble closer, it quivered ever so slightly under her influence.
"At least I can be certain you are an Earthbender," Shan conceded, masking his disappointment behind a facade of scholarly resolve. The arduous path ahead is now even more evident. Failure to elevate this pupil to a respectable standard could imperil his own impeccable reputation as a masterful scholar.
The experiment progressed as Shan instructed Satchiko to replicate the basic Earthbending form, this time wielding a pebble. Tentatively, she mimicked the motion, raising the diminutive stone and thrusting it outward. The tiny projectile tapped against the papered window of the eastern chamber, failing to pierce even the fragile frame.
Though the effort drained Satchiko's stamina significantly, this modest feat marked the most impressive display of Earthbending she had yet achieved.
"I expect great things from you," Shan said.
Satchiko met Shan's gaze, recognizing that his words were laced not merely with hope but with a silent plea to temper her failures. If a Zhuangyuan ranked scholar has an underperforming student, it may not reflect too well in the eyes of Upper Ring circles.
Shortly thereafter, Shan presented her with an Earthbending scroll. The silken parchment caught Satchiko by surprise, as its delicate texture is a far cry from the coarse materials she is accustomed to. Yet, the meticulously drawn figures demonstrating various Earthbending techniques offered her a tangible guide. Shan counseled her to follow the instructions to the letter, though he remained skeptical she could manipulate anything larger than a pebble for the time being.
Despite the daunting path ahead and the voluminous scrolls and treatises she is tasked to study, the sight of her sister diligently working nearby stirred more than mere motivation within her. To squander such a rare privilege, the tutelage of a distinguished scholar, would be sheer folly, one Satchiko is determined to avoid.
As the lesson veered once again into philosophical discourse, this time with the White Scholar reluctantly imparting the core tenets of the First Earth Sage's doctrine to prepare for Zhu Xi's class, a sudden interruption shattered the solemnity.
Three heavy knocks thundered against the door. Mayumi heard them immediately, sensing an intention far more forceful than the customary, deferential summons of household servants bearing invitations or betrothal letters.
The gate reverberated again. Shan paid no heed to the commotion, while both sisters turned toward the yard's entrance. Unlike the vigilant Kyoshi Warriors, trained to discern danger at a glance, the scholar persisted as if undisturbed. He admonished Satchiko once more for her distraction, compelling her to return her gaze to the text.
"It is not your place to concern yourself with matters beyond your station," Shan declared, underscoring a fundamental tenet of scholarship and to permit no distraction in impeding one's progress. His words also served as tacit permission for Mayumi to receive the unbidden visitor. Carrying the air of a regular Earth Kingdom gentlemen, Shan addressed Mayumi by the alias she had provided. "Takeko, inform whoever waits outside that I am unavailable to receive guests at this time."
Though Shan revered the primacy of education, it seemed doubtful that such conviction would deter the persistent intruders. As he resumed expounding on the causes and consequences of aristocratic excess and the decadent rot heralding a dynasty's decline, Mayumi approached the gate. Before her hands could grasp the cold metal rings, the clangor of armored footsteps resounded beyond the threshold.
The Dai Li, ever cunning, could just as easily summon local soldiers for routine arrests. Even the most fervent Acolytes of San Bao, who rail against the veneration of spirits and Avatars would refrain from acting in daylight, for all their deranged conviction, they remain creatures of shadows.
Mayumi hesitated, fingers brushing reluctantly against the cold handle before cautiously easing open the door just enough to peer outside. Standing just beyond the threshold is a soldier, not a palace guard nor a nomad aligned with the masked general's unit. His armor bore the universal design worn by Earth Kingdom soldiers across nearly all states. A conical helmet resting atop broad shoulders clad in malachite green uniform. Yet, some details distinguished this visitor from the usual Ba Sing Se sentinels.
Where the standard-issue chest bore the gilded coin emblem synonymous with the city's legions, this soldier's armor was instead adorned with a striking purple plum blossom. During her days at Jin's eatery, Mayumi had grown familiar with the myriad regiments passing through the city's streets. But none bore even a trace of violet on their uniforms.