Dearest Akyuu,

Forgive my impropriety, but I seem to have forgotten the appropriate salutation for the month of Satsuki. I would, of course, happily write in circles about the watery tint of sunshine and the blades of kneeling grass, but I'm glad that we ditched those stuffy conventions. Me, you, we're both modern women: we shouldn't be required to write five sentences when one will do. The weather's still terrible, there.

I'm terribly happy that your legs finally had the sense to start working again. I was afraid that I'd have to slap together some Kakkon-ka-jutsu-bu-to, go rambling through the mountain searching for aconite and licorice in this streaming weather. Tastes terrible no matter what, too. That would've been a shoddy present in exchange for all the sweet vinyls you've lent me, and then maybe I'd only stay your friend for a little while. And that would've been a real tragedy, for me at least. I really hope you'll come visit soon, because the Buddhists just gave me some delicious rice crackers that I can't bear to eat through alone.

So, my first act as your candid friend will be to admit that before Reisen, I had never taught a youkai before. Through no fault of my own, of course; it's not that bakedanuki and nekomata come flocking in to learn Kampo. I was groping blindly in the dark with her, so to speak, and I thought I was doing well, until suddenly I wasn't anymore. Also, to answer your question, I've had difficult students before, but Reisen was no ordinary difficult student; you'll judge for yourself later, but while it's true that she had some especial qualities which made her a massive royal pain, it was some of her more endearing traits that got us to where we were - nowhere good. I should've consulted you sooner, or read your Chronicles more carefully. She caused me much avoidable grief.

The music must be getting to me, because I've started all muddled up in the middle. If Reisen was good for anything, she was good for testing out the maxims. I thought the 'teaching' part went well with her, not so much the others. Again, I hope you'll reserve judgement until I've finished my account, and this one takes some telling.

First, I'll unmask a conspiracy: the medicine-people of Gensokyo all talk to one another. Like the Shinto and Buddhists do. You'd expect us to be trying to strangle each other. But no: though it's true that the Continental medicine people are depressing and the Hourai Pharmacy thumb their noses at everyone else, we do try to band together to fix prices and run off charlatans and whatnot. We also get the occasional exchange student, and Reisen was one of those. Ms. Eirin Yagokoro sent me a very formal letter during the middle third of Kisaragi last year, requesting that I tutor her assistant for the spring. I was surprised: Ms. Yagokoro had her pick of the old Kampo houses, but wrote instead that I had some 'novel approaches' which had interested her. I thought she was referring to the fact that my father deviated from the Sho Kan Ron, added in his own Continental learning here and there, but now I'm not so sure. I had agreed, of course: at the time, I hadn't had a student in almost a year, so the stipend was very welcome.

Ms. Yagokoro then forwarded a very lengthy addendum. A catch. In it, she explained that her assistant was an 'agreeable, well-behaved, non-murderous' youkai who sold medicine in the village, incognito. She assured me the village council had decided that her assistant was perfectly harmless, useful even, for the village, so long as she kept to herself. Ms. Yagokoro even went to the trouble of including a fat missive from Ms. Kamishirasawa certifying (in as many words as possible) that yes, this particular youkai wasn't trouble, but if she was then the shrine maiden and Ms. Kamishirasawa herself would come and stomp her flat.

Truth be told, even without the guarantees, I would've accepted - blindly and gladly in fact. I was gripped by this sort of secret curiosity towards the youkai: they had all that forbidden glamor and impossible wisdom after all, and I suppose that everyone in the village goes through a phase of wanting to 'cross over', be friendly with some of them. I had just been through a lean year, and so whenever I trekked out the mountain or the forest, I found myself wishing for an encounter with some strict but mystically wise tengu, like in the Tales of the Handcart Priest or The Palace of the Tengu. I'd imagine spying great black wings unfold behind the trees, or hearing some stern voice call out from a hollow; then a tall figure would step out from the shadows, hand outstretched in somber greeting.

It was all silly nonsense of course, fantasy to take the edge off things; gods know I had wanted some color to invade all those days of root-digging and penny-pinching. That in mind, you can understand just how much the promise of a youkai student had excited me, to an embarrassing degree even. If you later blame me, just for this failing, then I have no choice but to blushingly accept responsibility.

And so, as agreed, Reisen came just after the Higan celebrations wrapped up, sometime during the last third of Yayoi. This was when those strange lights were dashing across Gensokyo, remember? Everyone was going off to the graves, watching those lights, getting back too late then spraining their leg or catching a cold or whatever. Beastly weather back then, too. I did very brisk business and had thought, well, things are looking up.

I remember very distinctly the day Reisen first arrived. It is a curious tale worth telling, and I thought that my conduct demonstrated the first maxim very well, considering. If you've been skimming through the letter, I'll print the maxim here to catch your eye: Dignity.

A teacher should be dignified from the first and she should be dignified until the last. What is dignity? When you treat others and are treated by others as your standing dictates, then you have achieved dignity.

Did it work? I printed that directly from my father's journal. It must sound a little odd, coming from someone who hates hates decorum, but dignity isn't the formal pap: dignity is heart-deep respect. You can't learn anything from someone you don't respect. It's rather abstract, though, so I'll just set you an example.

So, the day Reisen arrived, a spring typhoon was in full bloom. Horizontal rains, thunder echoing off the mountain, gales so strong the house was whistling: the works. I'd been preparing a batch of Maoto for the next day's round of colds when I heard this voice sputter from outside. After you teach for a while, you get an ear for your student's voices, and this one was straining to be heard over the storm but also trying ever so hard to not come off as loud and impolite. It was a sweet voice, too. I could imagine it soothing children as they choked on the more bitter herbs.

Now, I bet that someone as correct as you would've gone straight for the door, probably carrying a few of those heavy towels with you. And you would've been completely in the wrong. Being dignified from the first means letting your student wait until she realizes that she needs a teacher more than you need a student. You can't be too hasty, otherwise she'll think: oh, this one's desperate. There aren't any set waiting times, though: if you feel that your student's being a little rude, you can make her wait for as long as you think fit. And so, I waited for as long as I thought fit.

After a while, the voice took on a more pleading tone, even coughed a few times. It was clearly desperate to be let in, knowing that someone was inside, but not yet. You have to listen for the change in her voice: a good student, when she knows her teacher's in, will adjust her voice modestly. Once Reisen steadied her tone, then I was ready to let her in. That's how you act dignified, Akyuu. And first impressions are the most important.

I'm sure that she's been to your place several times, but Reisen's tall. Not the pretty sort of tall either; she was the gangly, almost-boyish sort of tall, uncomfortable-like. All drenched to the bone like she had been then, she had looked even twiggier, like the wind would bowl her over. She then insisted on doing her introduction in the rain like that, bowing and splattering all over the hall.

"Good afternoon, Lady Miyake. I am Master Eirin Yagokoro's assistant, Reisen Inaba. I am in your care. I hope you will have me for your student in the art of Kampo."

Reisen went on to do a prim little speech about her respect for "traditional approaches" and "the roots of medicine." The effect was a little absurd because her face was dripping rainwater, and she kept pausing her speech to drop me these tense little smiles. I hated florid speeches anyway, so I tried to urge her inside with my eyes.

To no avail. Even after all that she had refused to enter; I eventually realized that she was afraid of tracking mud into the house. She finally settled on rolling her trousers up and leaving her ruined shoes outside. All the time I was thinking, oh, will she get even more polite on me? Oh, yes, she's gotten even more polite. It was off-putting, as if she were challenging me to a competition of manners.

When she finally went inside, Reisen was shivering so hard that I heard her teeth clatter, and so I herded her to a side room and ordered her to get decent. I had somehow expected youkai to be cold, but her arm was as clammy and lukewarm as any other person's. She also smelled loamy, somehow.

Reisen had on the most ridiculous disguise too, though I could see what she was going for. She wore this baggy purple happi coat over momohiki trousers, coupled that with an oversized bamboo hat she had insisted on wearing inside and a ridiculous medicine bag that kept banging about the corners. She had even wrapped puttees on her arms and legs. Puttees! You have to admire the dedication. I supposed she was trying for that full baiyaku-san look - them of the cure-alls, exotic medicine, and world-weary wisdom. It wasn't a bad look, but even then I knew that she was overselling herself.

I lent her some gowns and waited a respectful distance outside. I remember thinking, if she doesn't eat humans, then what does she eat? I kept preparing my Maoto, of course, but snuck out the back for some soggy rice crackers. She had seemed a little tense, so I thought that some snacks would calm her, preventing her next parade of propriety. I was wrong.

When she emerged, Reisen had managed to look even stiffer, despite me lending her the most ratty and casual of my gowns. She had kept her hat, and so it poked the air ridiculously as I introduced myself. It made her seem inconsistent, rude and overly polite at the same time, so I had asked her to take it off.

"I didn't want to startle you, Lady Miyake, or make a bad impression. I'm sure that Master Eirin told you about this, but people still find it shocking. Some people, that is."

What's she going on about this time? I thought.

"Are you balding, Reisen?" I made a futile stab at humor.

"No, Lady Miyake. It's just that I have ears. Maybe it'd be more comfortable if they didn't show." To my surprise, Reisen had flushed slightly and averted her eyes in - self-consciousness, I suppose? I had waved her ridiculous concern away.

Reisen then bowed before reaching out to take off her hat. Two large downy rabbit ears emerged, one after the other, both a little crumpled; then Reisen's hair had spilled out, undone and matted, clinging wetly to her face and slapping onto the floor. I had jumped a little, in my head. A trick of dignity, Akyuu: when you're anticipating a surprise, play it out in your mind first and it'll stop it from becoming such a shock. In this case, I had pictured oni horns. Those ears were even more unnerving though, twitching as they did, swishing to and fro: they were alive, and reminded me of bug antennas. She also had what looked like large earrings on both of them, an uncanny human detail.

"That's better, Reisen. Ms. Yagokoro did inform me, in fact, so there's no need to be embarrassed." I did my best to keep my voice level, but I suppose the reality of her youkai-ness had begun to sink in. I shuddered a little. Do you get the shakes too, Akyuu? I expect you're used to them by now. It's just that everything we've been taught builds them up as powerful and unpredictable, that you're blinded to the reality of a gawky uncomfortable girl about your own age.

"Thank you, Lady Miyake. I must confess, it's my first time being taught by people. I hope you'll forgive my impoliteness." She made another small bow, covering her face with her sodden hair, but her eyes peeked through and her ears perked up. Her eyes, large and rather sallow, had a searching judging look about them. I took it all as a challenge, a question: she was shoving her youkai-ness and seeing how I'd react.

Akyuu, one of the best tools for maintaining dignity is the well-placed question. It's like kicking a chair from underneath someone: they'll look ridiculous scrabbling about, no matter how poised they might have been.

"How old are you, Reisen?"

Her gaze became confused, her ears sullen. Chair: kicked.

"I don't - I'm a youkai, Lady Miyake." She paused, thought better than to answer with an evasion, before sliding away again. "I was born in the year of the Ox."

"I'm twenty-two, Reisen, old enough. And you?" With eel-like persons, you have to make them catch themselves. Of course I knew that youkai are long-lived creatures: she could be a thousand years old, but it didn't matter in this sense. I wanted her to admit her standing, relative to mine, pin it down herself.

"Ah, I suppose, in human—people—terms, I'm the same. A bit older maybe, but less knowledgeable certainly, than you, Lady Miyake."

She still gave a slippery answer, but it would have to do. By underlining her proper standing, I seized the initiative, grounded her. She could be an all-powerful youkai outside, but in this house, she was just a student (albeit an interesting one). And I had the keys.

I wasn't planning on letting them go, either. After that first lesson, Reisen didn't turn up for a week, "owing to a fever," but I suspected that Ms. Yagokoro had had second thoughts about sending her to my practice. I guess she had expected someone a little more yielding, me being quite young for a Kampo practitioner. I had sent Reisen my Maoto preparation, free of charge, just to stress the point that I was the teacher and she the obliging student.

I had hoped that would realize, on her own, that dignity befitting her station did not spring from simpering displays of politeness; dignity for a student comes from quiet unshowy respect for her teacher. I was wrong, of course. Maybe you thought I was being too harsh on her poor little soul, but believe me when I tell you that I was right. Reisen, the true Reisen, is a stuck-up dolt who never pays her dues in respect. Instead she dresses her pride with propriety. Her true intentions were anything but pure.

She was, in short, a youkai through and through; I should have realized that no amount of teaching can change a being's nature.

Still, it'd only be a small exaggeration to say that the 'teaching' part went well on account of that first encounter. I wasn't unflappable—far from that, I made many simple mistakes—but I believe that, given it was my first close encounter with a youkai, it was an experience worthy of being written into my father's journal. That Reisen managed to learn any Kampo at all, despite everything, was due to the prompt show of dignity.

That was the easy part, of course. I hope I'll be able to tell the rest when you come over and share these crackers with me. Please bring your other Yougaku records! We'll have a great evening together.

Your candid friend,
Chiyoko Miyake

A/N: Glossary of terms

Kakkon-ka-jutsu-bu-to: Kampo medicine to soothe nerve pain, frozen limbs, and chills.

Maoto: Kampo medicine for cold and flu symptoms. Among the most commonly prescribed.

Satsuki, Yayoi, Kisaragi: Month names for the old Japanese calendar. Satsuki is roughly May. Yayoi is roughly March. Kisaragi is roughly February. Some Japanese areas also divide the month into two ten-day periods and a third 8-11 day period, which I translated here as 'thirds'. The 'middle third' of Kisaragi would be around the 11th-20th of February, and it would be the equivalent of someone saying 'I did X around the middle of February'.

Happi coat and Momohiki trousers: A cotton coat with baggy sleeves, tied to the the waist, complemented by baggy trousers and leggings. Used by tradespeople to identify their trade; a uniform of sorts. Think Reisen's outfit/disguise in Forbidden Scrollery.

Baiyaku-san: A traveling medicine-vendor/salesperson.