The Student
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Recommended audio ambience: "Magical Tearoom ASMR Ambience," by Miracle Forest on YouTube.
Era: Spring of 100 A.G.
You exit the royal library to find the streets flooded with rain.
A flash of lightning splits up the sky, illuminating roiling clouds and positive sheets of rainwater just a few inches from your nose beyond the overhang. Wind gusts erratically, blowing a spray of droplets into your face; it's cold, even for spring. As a member of one of the noble families of the city and a student of law, your parents would be scandalized to ever see you in a peasant's rain hat, and you are absolutely not about to send for a palanquin with their money. With a sinking feeling, you realize that it's going to be a long, long walk home.
Shit.
You close your eyes, count to three, and then step out into the downpour—and immediately cringe. It's cold, alright, and heavy. You can feel it soaking through your over-jacket as you duck under another overhang and start to walk through the flooded streets. The road which leads to the royal library is wide, well-kept—and empty. Dark university buildings or government offices line either side, occasionally illuminated by a single window aglow for some late-working professor, but otherwise the area is deserted this late at night. You're not nervous per se, but the emptiness of the usually busy street is eerie. You quicken your step.
Splash.
"Dammit!"
You stumble ahead and skitter to a stop on the other side of the puddle, looking in dismay down at your shoe—your stupid, stupid silk shoe. It's soaked through. You've had it. You don't know whether to laugh or cry. Your eyes hurt from squinting at tiny lines of text and your back hurts from hunching over the writing desk and your hands are covered in ink and your shoe is wet and you've got to go home, to face your parents, who will ask you oh, how is the studying going, do you think you're prepared, do you think you'll pass, and it's so terribly important that you pass, you do understand that, don't you–?
Oh, spirits. You can't do this. You can't go home yet, you can't face them. If only you had somewhere else to go but home, somewhere warm and quiet and you can get a drink–
And then it hits you. Why not go somewhere else? Send a message to your parents telling them you'll be studying later than you thought, find a quiet bar and get pleasantly drunk. Yes. Now that's an idea.
You somehow manage to find a rickshaw in the rain and flag down the bedraggled driver. "I need transportation to the Upper Ring, and then I need you to carry a message…"
The driver listens to you, nods, and helps you into the back, although you notice he looks confused to see an Upper Ring denizen taking an open-air rickshaw rather than a palanquin. He offers you his rain hat, and you hesitate longingly for a moment before declining. With grateful speed he sets off. At the gates you flash your passport to get you both through, and suddenly you find yourself surrounded by luxurious tea shops, bars, and family homes.
"Stop, here." The rickshaw rolls to a stop; you get out and pay the man from your own meager stipend, and pass along your family seal as proof of your identity. "Go to the third courtyard-house on the Hepin Road and deliver this to the doorman."
You watch him speed away, and then look around the street. There's an elegant tavern not far away; you dismiss the option as you recognize it as somewhere your parents or their friends might go drinking. Best not to be recognized tonight. You start to walk again, at this point resigned to the rain (the water is still sloshing around inside your stupid silk shoes). Soon you've reached a place of newer businesses, places where you're less likely to be recognized. There's a quiet tavern off to the right…yes, that could work…drown your sorrows at the bottom of a saucer…
"Have a good night! Be careful with the rain!"
The sound of an old man's voice startles you and stops you in your path, and you turn as yellow light floods out into the rain; the front doors of a large tea house taking up one side of a courtyard have just been opened. Another old man waves and grins his toothy goodbye and heads off in search of a palanquin or rickshaw. The first old man disappears back inside, the door swings shut behind him, and you again are left alone in the rain. You cast a hesitant look back at the bar, with its promise of endless saucers of rice wine…and then you turn back, and find your feet carrying you, slosh-sloshing, towards the tea-shop.
As you push the door open, a gust of warm air breathes past you, and you realize just how cold you've gotten in the rain. Shivering and dripping far more than any member of a respectable family has a right to do, you step inside and shut the door behind you.
Immediately the sound of the rain is cut off, and the sounds of quiet conversation, clinking porcelain and the quiet hiss of teapot-warmers glowing with their little blue flames replaces it. Without realizing it, you exhale a sigh of relief.
"Welcome to the Jasmine Dragon; will you be dining in with us today or out?"
You blink, startled, and realize that there's a hostess beside you, smiling. "Um." You blink again—this time to get the rainwater dripping down your forehead out of your eyes. "Yes, please."
"High or low table?"
"Low, thank you."
"Right this way." She leads you past the high tables to the back of the shop, where low tables have been set with cushions against the back wall, and you're about to relax into them before she coughs. "Ehm, excuse me, but could I take your jacket?"
"Oh." Right. You can't help but be embarrassed; compared to this pretty and well-put-together young woman, with tasteful makeup and flowers in her hair, you definitely look a mess. "Yes. Thank you." You undo the fastenings on your over-jacket with rain-numbed fingers and pass it off to her. It's sopping, but she thankfully doesn't wrinkle her nose and instead carries it away politely. You sink down into the cushions and let out a sigh, releasing the tension in your back as you lean against the cushion-lined wall. You pass several minutes in blessed, merciful silence, eyes closed, until a voice disturbs you:
"Leizu, Uncle says your shift's over; you can go home." It's a teenage boy's voice, and you open your eyes.
"Does he need my help cleaning up?"
"No, he says we can handle it."
"Thanks," the hostess sighs gratefully. "Goodnight, Lee."
"'Night." You watch her leave, and then turn your eyes to the teenager as he approaches you.
"Welcome to the Jasmine Dragon; how can we serve you today?" the teenager asks, sounding bored, but you almost don't notice the words—your eyes have fixed themselves on the boy's left eye. Spirits above. What happened to this kid? You've never seen a scar like that before; it stretches like a blast of flame around the left side of his face, mottling the skin red and pink.
"Uh…hello?" The boy is frowning at you, and you quickly realize you've been staring.
"S-Sorry. I-I've been studying– very tired–"
"It's fine. What do you want?"
"U-Um, w-whatever the house recommends, I guess…"
"Right." He writes down something on his notepad. "Any food?"
"No, thank you…"
"Uh-huh. Hey, Uncle!" You see the same old man from before look over from where he's serving a table. "Table eight wants a house special!" You wonder if he noticed your rudeness as he walks away, and feebly hope he didn't before your exhaustion swallows up your anxiety again. That's been happening a lot, lately. I guess you could call it a perk…
You go back to drowsing against the cushions until you hear movement in front of you again and open your eyes. For a moment you're confused by the sudden appearance of green cloth on the other side of the table, before the old man kneels down to deliver your tea. "Here you are," he says with a smile, setting down a lacquered wood tray with a porcelain tea set atop it. He looks younger up close and in the light. "Dragon pearl jasmine tea. House special, and a personal favorite."
"Thank you." You wait as he pours your first cup from and accept the saucer as he hands it to you. The delicate, comforting scent of jasmine petals rises on the steam as you bring it to your mouth, and your muscles relax. You hadn't even realized you'd been tensing them until now.
You take a sip of the tea, and then look down at it in surprise. The liquid is clear with only a hint of jade, but the taste is as rich and as full as any tea you've ever had at the finest noble houses. "This is delicious!"
"Ah, thank you. I've spent years perfecting it."
"Really, i-it's the best tea I've ever tasted. What's your secret?"
"No secret," he chuckles. "Just the right ingredients, the right brewing time—and lots of patience!"
"Well, either way, thank you." You take another sip of the tea. The heat seems to fill you up from the inside, melting away the chill from the rain like a warm fire. "Really, I've had a long day and this— this really is helping."
"You know, I hope I'm not being rude," the man says with a mild frown, "and please, feel free to ignore an old man's questions—but you did not look like a very happy customer when you first walked in."
"Didn't I?" you say, with wry humor.
"No. Actually, you looked like a wet cat. You're a student, aren't you?" You nod, conscious of your scholar's cap and robes. "You must have come from the university. That's a long way to go through the rain."
"I've been studying all day—the royal exams are coming up…"
"Ah, I see," he says with a sympathetic nod. "Yes, I've heard of the famous Ba Sing Se legal exams before…"
"You talk like you're from outside the city," you note with surprise.
"My nephew and I only moved here a few months ago."
"Oh." You understand now; they must be refugees. Your eyes flicker sympathetically to the crabby teenager in the corner. Nephew, huh? And with that burn scar… His parents must have died in the war. Although official discussion of the war is not permitted, it's more or less an open secret that at least some of the outer territories are seeing conflict with the Fire Nation. Poor kid. "I'm sorry," you add quietly, feeling bad for worrying about your own problems in the face of these strangers' sufferings.
But the old man waves a hand. "No need to be sorry. Life is much better for us now. And Ba Sing Se is truly a beautiful city; I always wanted to visit when I was younger, you know. So much culture, so much learning…a true flower of Earth Kingdom civilization."
"I suppose so," you say curiously. What a strange way to put it. "Though I've never been anywhere else, so I guess I can't say for sure." You shiver suddenly, your body still adjusting to the warm air, and, noting this, the tea maker seems to check himself.
"Well, I can see you're tired; I won't bother you with an old man's conversation!" He begins to rise, but to your own surprise you say:
"I-I don't mind. Actually I'd be grateful for the company—if you have time, I don't mean to keep you."
"Oh?" He looks surprised, but pleased. "No, no, we're not too busy. I didn't want to trouble you, but I don't often get the chance to talk to young students of the law." You look away at this, and he adds: "Although perhaps you'd rather not talk about school after so much studying?" You chuckle bitterly despite yourself, to the tea maker's confusion. "Did I say something wrong?"
"No—I just wish my parents were so considerate."
"Ahh." The old man nods, as if he understands, and strangely you get the sense that he does. "Overbearing parents can be… a challenge."
"I just wish they'd leave me alone. I'm stressed enough without them reminding me how much shame I'll bring the family if I fail!" The outburst has left your mouth before you realize you've said it, but the tea maker merely nods.
"I find that many people treat failure that way. I'm not so sure it's healthy."
"What do you mean?"
"With many things, one failure is not the end of the road. But I find that even when failure closes some doors for us, it opens others," he explains. "Your parents may not realize that if they have only ever had success in their life, or never had the courage to acknowledge their own failures."
"So what, should we try to fail, then?" you argue, feeling somehow attacked on their behalf. "Shouldn't we try to succeed?
"Of course we should. But if failure comes, I think we should try to accept it without anger, or self-recrimination—to see it as a chance to grow. Too much success is just as bad for a person, I think, as failure. Never allowing ourselves to accept failure can lead to being paralyzed by fear."
"But these are the royal examinations," you say, somewhat helplessly, and angrily. "If I fail them, then– then–" you stammer off.
"Then?" he prompts.
"Well– my parents would be upset," you finish lamely. "I'd bring shame to my family… and the Court might not let me test again next year. I'll never be a legal scholar if that happens…"
"May I ask you something?" You shrug, feeling a little disoriented. "Do you want to be a legal scholar?"
"...I don't know," you say with surprise, after a long moment. "Nobody's ever asked me that before. It's what my family does—has always done."
"You know, my father wanted me to be a great warrior," the tea maker says. Your surprise must be evident on your face, for he laughs. "I know! But I was a pretty good soldier once, oh, many years ago…"
"You fought in the war?"
"Mm." He nods, looking a bit distant. "I was once in a great battle between the Earth Kingdom and the Fire Nation. My father was my commander, and I was in charge of many men. He entrusted me the duty to capture an important position."
"What happened?" you ask in a hushed voice. Speaking so openly of the war is taboo, even in the Upper Circle, and you can hardly contain your interest.
"I failed," he says simply, shrugging. "And, I might say, quite spectacularly. But then, I think I was never really meant to be a soldier. So much destruction of culture, so much loss of life…ahh…" He shakes his head, lowering it somewhat, and you think, maybe, that you spy grief in his expression. "War is a terrible thing, even if it is sometimes necessary. I was never suited to it."
"What did your family say?" you ask tentatively, almost afraid to know the answer.
"Oh, they were most unhappy with me," the tea maker says with a small chuckle, much to your surprise. "I had let down my nation, and brought shame to my household. But looking back, that failure was so important for me. It changed my whole life!" He extends his hands to gesture to the tea shop around you. "At the time I felt so humiliated and ashamed of myself, but look at where I am now!"
"Running a tea shop?" You know it's rude to say, but you're so bewildered that you can't help it; how could anyone be proud of going from being a great warrior to working in a restaurant?
"Yes—running a tea shop," he smiles. "I know it must not seem like much, but to me, this is happiness. Making tea and talking to interesting strangers is my destiny, and I would not trade it for anyone else's—not even the king's, if I could have it!" You laugh quietly, not sure if you believe him.
"But what about your family? Didn't it hurt you, that they felt you'd embarrassed them?"
"Of course! But in time, I came to realize that that was not important. Honor and shame are not things that come from outside of us—they come from within, from our character. Nothing else can give you honor, no matter how much you achieve in life. And if achievements can't give us honor," he adds with a shrug, "I don't see why we shouldn't do what makes us happy."
"Isn't that selfish?" you point out. "Doesn't sound very honorable to me. And besides, I don't want to embarrass my family…"
"There is a difference between being selfish and loving yourself," the tea maker points out sagely. "I'm not saying you shouldn't be a legal scholar, if that is what you want to do. But you can't live your whole life trying to impress or bring honor to other people. They have to find their honor for themselves."
They have to find their honor for themselves. It's a liberating thought. A dangerous thought. You can't help but feel afraid by how big of a thought it is… but it's strangely appealing, too. "But I still don't want to fail the exams," you say, self-consciously. "I've studied so hard…"
"Of course," the tea maker agrees. "But being ashamed of failure is a dangerous thing. It's the first step towards stagnation and despair. Acceptance and love of yourself is the best way to move forward."
You find yourself silent at this, unsure what else to say. It's a difficult thing to understand; accepting yourself, flaws and all, sounds rather… well, impossible. But sitting there, in the peaceful lantern-lit tea shop, on the soft cushions and with the warm cup of tea emitting the faint scent of flowers in front of you, it feels just a little less impossible than usual.
"Ah, it looks like your tea has gone cold!" You're brought out of your reverie by the sound of the tea maker's exclamation. "My sincerest apologies; I have diverted your attention for too long."
"Oh. I'm sorry, I should have been drinking it…"
"No, no, I have been distracting you. Please, let me get you another, on the house. It will be well worth the price for such excellent conversation."
"Thank you, that's very kind…"
The tea maker stands and heads off to the kitchen. As he does so, you settle back against the cushions, feeling surprisingly much more at ease than you had been when you came in. To your surprise, when you pick up the apparently "cooling" teacup, it's still piping hot. You raise it to your lips, inhale the rich scent of the jasmine blossoms, and sip deeply from the cup. As you set it down, you look around the room, warm with its green-and-gold glow and soft chatter, and realize that you're smiling.
After all, this seems like a remarkably good place to study.