a tiger father will not

beget canine sons

Atop Father's shelf lay an antique box of polished cinnabar, inlaid with white jade, lapis, and soapstone. On the woodwork, the scenery of a water garden could be viewed from the graceful form of a willow tree and the lily pads that stay afloat over the shallow pond; there was a heron, elegantly bent, the light catching its pale withdrawn wings. Wouldn't it have been a lovelier sight if it took flight instead?

The box was an old thing, I knew. A relic of foregone dreams.

It felt more like a reminder now. There was a time Father dreamt of being a painter. How he was closely acquainted with his inkstones and fox-hair brushes, his mineral pigments and his watercolors, and even the gold powder kept on the small porcelain jar. There were always the telltale passions that surfaced beneath the calmness of his voice whenever he imparted his knowledge over this matter; such as the time he shared about the hangings on his walls, the inkwash paintings and calligraphies commissioned from renowned artists. He was an admirer of each and every one.

Father had studies and paintings of landscapes however he never had the heart to finish them. They were abandoned, and for years, forgotten. "But why didn't you become a painter, Father?" I asked at that time. He had the skill for it, and unlike most, he was from an influential background that provided him enough wealth and recognition in aiding him to pursue such dream.

For awhile, it seemed like an unvoiced emotion rippled from him; breath drawn, crease of the lip, shoulders ever so slightly dropping. Father wasn't brooding, but the latent pensiveness rolled off in waves. I pondered then whether he stole a glance at me or the box from the shelf. "I am not meant to be one, my dear," he started in somber contemplation. "There may come a time that you must realize that . . . there are certain paths we must lead, and where I tread is where I must be," and then with slight hesitation in his voice: "even if it means drifting away from another."

I would have protested if the words hadn't struck a chord. How much must I change—or do I change at all, for this lifetime and the destiny of these unknowing people? I'm insignificant, but how am I supposed to say that if my very own existence was an anomaly? I just wanted to be who I knew I am, instead of a little girl's name that I unwillingly had to live through.

It must have been days when I came to the realization that it was expectation that robbed him of that dream and his passivism that killed it. It was raining at that time. The strong gale threatened to terrify me from the window, but even the thunder couldn't reach my ears when I willed myself to speak: "but we have to try . . . we always have to try."

—

From the open veranda of the dining hall was a view of Mother's gardens; a great deal of landscaping could be found by a glance with the shrubs and lawns regularly maintained and the flowers abloom. The white camellias this year were eye-catching, however Mother's peach blossom trees were truly a sight to behold, its rich red-and-pink buds shivering from the spring rain—obstructed partially by the twisted purple maple branch near the porch.

The winds had been gentle in this time around, sweeping in with sweet floral notes among the chaffing dishes prepared for luncheon, that variegate from glazed meats and seafood and vegetables, briny stews and soups, coupled with a medley of sauces and bowls of rice. I'd always been amazed at the variation of each meal made; the amount of effort was ridiculous but the An family was something akin to royalty in Suiko and that meant the best was demanded.

"Lili, you hadn't touched your prawns," spoke Mother, as she graciously held her tea. I took a cursory glance at mine, which was still steaming from its eggshell blue cup. Mother's tea always had a pleasant aroma to it. There were scents of citrus flower and honey, even though there'd been a strong taste of cornelian cherry.

I dipped my head and took a bite on a spiced prawn, the heat from the garlic and red pepper sauce settling on my tongue. I chewed thoughtfully. There were fish cakes in my line of sight, sided with braised tofu. My silver chopsticks snapped in anticipation.

In celadon ceramic, a bottle of wine had been untouched across the table. Father wasn't the sort to consume alcohol, much less indulge in it. Mother preferred her special teas. Sometimes, I simply found its presence a tad too tempting. I wouldn't hold back a drink, even if I were in the body of a child.

Of course, under the jurisdiction of my parents, it was impermissible for a little girl.

"Father," I began, after dabbing my mouth with a napkin, "how was your stay in the capital?"

After having eaten his scallops, Father replied, "It was fine."

"You always say that," I said smilingly in a familiar tone. "Is there nothing of interest?"

"Not quite, I believe," Father considered, musing. He rested his utensils on the table. "Though I thought this might interest you," telling her this, he gestured a servant to my side bearing a present, "it reminded me of you when I went to the capital. I hope it is to your liking."

Once I received it, it felt heavy, flat, and wide with a width larger than my palms. I placed it on my lap, disentangling the knot from the cloth wrapping.

Ever since I'd been younger, Father always gave me gifts whenever he returned from Kuuto. They were thoughtful gifts, practical ones. Perhaps, he'd known that I may have outgrown frivolous presents such as dolls and hairpins; moreover, my mother's choice in trinkets far surpassed his. The sentiment hadn't sounded farfetched with my ever-precocious mind present and active.

Before my eyes was a lacquered box, its surface lustrous in black with inlaid mother-of-pearl. My fingers traced over the sickle silver moon, the latticed twine of ivy and magnolia, and the wisped feathered figures of two cranes with its curved heads stretched up on the lock in the shape of a silver dragon head.

Upon opening the lid, there were three calligraphy brushes lifted and clasped in a rack at the upper half of the box; its heads soft and pointed, fine bristles made from rabbit hair, while the shafts were of smooth ox bone, engraved with motifs of spiraling blue dragons at the handles. The lower portion consisted of a square inkstone and two blocks of ink sticks.

It'd been overmuch, but still. Father said it reminded him of me, and I couldn't tamp the urge to smile.

"It is wonderful, Father," I told him in a grateful tone, closing it with the lock. The dragon head seemed to grin. "I appreciate it very much. Thank you."

Even Mother couldn't disguise the genuine approval of her face. "It is truly an impressive gift," she remarked. "You have outdone yourself."

"I had intended for it to be a birthday gift in the summer," Father admitted.

"I suppose a master should instruct her in the future?"

After taking a sip of his tea, Father nodded. "One day. I'll make certain of it."

Picking up a slice of roasted duck with her chopsticks, Mother mentioned mirthfully, "Lili is praised by her tutors today," taking a delicate bite of the cutlet, she'd been so careful to not let it touch her perfectly painted lips. "She'd been very excellent in her lessons."

Mother, however, left the fact that I hadn't been as equally exceptional in playing the zither.

To be fair, my lessons were quite simple, given that it was made easier for the level of a child. There was basic reading, writing, etiquette, dancing, and playing an instrument. Writing, in particular, proved more difficult to perfect when the subject required time and patience in mastering the Kou alphabet. Studying secretly helped me in that particular area.

Mother often made certain to crow about my accomplishments, whether it be as simple as performing a good deed. Had it been to impress Father or herself? I had always considered the latter.

Father nodded. It was a gesture of approval. "Lili, you realize I commend you for your achievements," he said. "You have done well, of course. However this does not simply condone as an excuse for your mischief-making with your nursemaids, my dear. I regard you as a responsible girl still, despite this,"—for a second, I held a breath— "I hope to not find another replacement for a servant of yours in the future."

His voice remained collected, but there was always something so compelling when he admonished me. He'd been a strict father, and although he forgave me, he would duly scold me in earnest.

Humbled, my head dipped low. "I understand, Father."

"Oh but, darling," Mother cooed smoothly, the gentle lilt in her voice like a balm. Deceptively gentle, I put into thought at first before reconsidering: it'd always been like that. "She is only a child," she said to him, who acknowledged her with stoic attention: "you know how our daughter loves to wander."

Beneath the cushioned layers of matronly reason and endearment was what appeared to be a tacit maneuver to defend me. Mother had never been so blunt to express her disapproval in her words, so much as to openly voice out contentions to Father, due to convention and formality. The subservient wife, the reconciler, who was so eager to please her husband for his favorable disposition. This, and to fend for me still, despite my wrongdoing.

She didn't have to, was my opinion that was safely guarded in my mind. However, instead of pragmatism or guilt in my disagreement, the bitter sentiment that clung onto me—perhaps, for the longest time—was my denial.

Her lashes, long and wing-like, lowered under the calm blues of her eyes; they'd always been round with a glimmer, but in this manner, these very same eyes spoke of poised grace and sensibility. "I believe the problem here lies with the inability of her nursemaids to follow."

"Regardless, it will certainly do no good if our daughter does not give them that opportunity," Father cleared his throat, "relentlessly, might I add."

The discussion about my behavior had been short. Mother always knew better when to cross the line whenever Father had been set with one opinion, so she did comply. The conversation drifted to another when Father spoke: "Anyway," he began, blowing his freshly drawn cup of tea. "How was your meeting with Lady Yong-hi and her son?"

For a beat, I realized there was an expectant tone in his voice. A quiet anticipation—as he sipped on his tea, eyes patient.

Mother was the first to voice out her disappointment of the matter. "Lili hadn't had the opportunity to meet the young lordling," she said, sighing. "I hoped she could make a friend."

I already have one. I bit my tongue before the words slipped out from my lips.

Father looked at my direction. "Is that so?"

Lying through my teeth, I replied, "It was rather unfortunate."

As if to reassure, he imparted kindly to me: "There is always another time."

—

"Eh? Now you're making that up, geezer!"

"Oh, but it's true, it's true," the elder waved his veiny hand; his fingers suspiciously tattooed with foreign characters. "I even had to swim the whole length of Sami River to escape the Kai soldiers, a formidable bunch I should say."

Haru almost appeared like he was at the verge of tearing out his hair with the manner he held it. "What the—you can't prove any of that!"

On the other hand, Old Guo was insouciant about the matter; he was a steam bun vendor from the southern market, whose open stall we often frequented to when we ventured about. With the way Haru bawled out from his seat, I sympathized. If I could recall, Haru demanded—quite brazenly—where he got his tattoos in which the old man sent him an overly tolerant smile, and by some unusual skill, he had also somewhat veered the subject away to an unrelated one. He did have a penchant for blatant misdirection.

Despite our casual chatter, Old Guo was an elusive man. His tattoos still riveted my curiosity as it told a history of its own whenever a snakehead peered from his outstretched wrist. He would wisely conceal them with his robes, knowing it would attract bad attention in his business. It was said tattoos were a social stigma, branded on vile criminals and heretics who'd been shunned from society.

Haru folded his arms to his chest. "Sami's not that huge," he argued, which I should gently remind him later that his bold statement was actually a false fact. With a confident tip of his chin, he went on: "and shouldn't they be using boats or something? Bet you couldn't even stand a chance."

Leaning on his palm, Old Guo lazily flashed him a cocksure grin. He was missing a tooth and his front teeth were crooked, which made his smile more lopsided than it should. "I was fast," he told him, "and the river mermaids helped me."

Throwing his head back, Haru's mouth gave way to a frustrated growl with his palms stamped on his eyes. His tantrums weren't uncommon in Old Guo's stall; in fact, they'd been a predictable occurrence at this point whenever the vendor decided to blithely evade Haru's incessant questions. Of course, all of which remained unanswered.

Blowing out a sigh, he managed to ask again: "If you're escaping Kai soldiers, you must be from Kai then?"

Old Guo shrugged. "Oh sure."

"Where're you from Kai?"

"A village, I think."

Fearing Haru may undergo through another meltdown, I intervened. "Can I have another pork bun, please?"

Bobbing his head, Old Guo complied. "Another pork bun it is."

Haru screeched at my side, which I instinctively moved away by an inch. "Hey!"

I nudged his leg with my knee, careful not to touch his bruised ankle he got from a scuffle a day ago. "Haru, you're being rude," I scolded in a worthy imitation of Father's stoic tone. Once my dish was offered, I placed the fresh steam bun before him. "Here," I started, "have a pork bun."

Haru, being Haru, took an angry bite on the bun without letting himself wince from his busted lip. It was a habit of his, really. To not appear affected by his fresh wounds—at this point, he regarded them as a normal happening, something I and his mother found deeply troubling. Chewing, he still wore his scowl. "Stop treating me like a kid, Li."

The crumbs on his collar almost made me fuss. Haru ate messily.

"But you are."

Haru swallowed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "But I'm older."

"Mhmm," my legs swayed beneath the table. "Right."

Haru rolled his eyes at that one. I would have snickered if I hadn't noticed the light smudge of dried blood on his knuckles. "Hey, Haru," I said in a resigned tone, handing my handkerchief to him, "you're bleeding again."

Haru huffed out a long irritated sigh. "Leave it," was his reply, refusing my offer. He could be stubborn when it came to these things however he should know better that I was stubborn too. Before he could open his mouth for another bite, I cupped his face with my palm and began to dab the handkerchief on his cut. He flinched in reaction. "Li, don't just—!"

"Next time, when Miss Fude applies plaster there," I said sternly, withdrawing my hand from his face. "You don't lick it off."

His brows furrowed. "I didn't lick it off!" and then Haru absentmindedly touched his lip, grumbling under his breath: "besides, I don't need it. And you should really stop fussing over nothing. You nag like Ma."

There were times I found my motivation in smacking some sense in him but I resisted the thought, knowing it wouldn't change his mind and that the boy didn't need anymore bruises to prove a point—he had enough already. I did push him by the arm, and although it hadn't been done from retaliation, I meant to grab his attention. "Just don't do it again," it sounded like an obscure message, but Haru wasn't an idiot and he knew exactly what I meant. "And if you keep staring like that, I'm going to take back that pork bun right under your nose."

Haru took note of the challenge in my tone and shoved the last remnants of his steam bun on his mouth. "See if you could now," he smirked cockily, appearing ridiculous with the manner it puffed up his cheeks. My lips twitched up at the sight.

"Don't choke," I bit back a laugh.

"As if."

Just before we decidedly rose from our chairs and were about to leave, Old Guo went to us in a limp, mentioning: "a word of advice, younglings," his lips crinkled into a half-smile. "Don't just accept drinks from strangers, eh?"

"Oh?" I feigned bemusement, borrowing my friend's coarse tone. An unsuspecting tone, at least. "What about the strangers?"

"A shady bunch," Old Guo said, flicking his tapered beard. "Don't trust 'em," he shook his head, maintaining a sense of vagueness with his wording, "heard 'em juices give bad stomachaches," he patted his hand on his stomach, a snakehead leering from his sleeve. "I don't want my regulars getting into that."

Always in baseless disagreement with the old man, Haru snorted loudly. "You're just saying that 'cause we're your only customers."

Simpering, Old Guo waved his hand. "Sure, sure."

Haru nearly jumped. "Ha! I knew it!"

Small as it was, this admittance was to him a victory of sorts.

I, of course, had to shake my head unfavorably for his behavior. It never occurred to this brash boy that Old Guo had in some way been such a casual liar. I was kind enough to not spoil his moment for him.

Finally leaving the stall, we climbed up the arching bridge on the way and went on a casual stroll in the southern market. Niwa, was what the local residents loved to call it because of the Niwa river built around the district and the assortments of blossoms sold from each stall. It was mid-spring; a time where spring showers and cold damp winds cooled over the province of Suiko with the cloying scent of flowers.

The Ina festival had ended three days ago yet Niwa market still bustled, decked over with garlands of magnolias, white rapeseed, and linen ribbons. There were weave baskets, banquets, hairpins, perfumed pouches, flower necklaces, and even sugary candied flowers. Candied cherry blossoms were a particular favorite. Beneath the flourishing magnolia trees were small shrines of Hiryuu, whose statues were carved from saltstone and carnelian, while beneath its clawed feet were offerings of stick incense, sea salt, and rice.

To the farther south was the wet market; there were all sorts of things you could find in there, whether it be the expensive silks from Southern Kai to the saltwater salmon from the far northern isles. There was exotic shellfish, a variety of meat, vegetable, and fruit, hawked around by vendors. Merchants of foreign origin would saunter the area, displaying their leathers, metals, wares, and rare goods. Father shared to me once that there were more foreign traders from the city-markets of Kuuto, especially to the Water tribe coastal provinces of Kanegōse and Sensui.

Haru was familiar with the market's pathways, evidently as he'd been the sort to move around and blend in the crowd. He liked the noise, the bustle that made Niwa so alive and vibrant than any of the tranquil residential districts from the eastside. Sometimes, I surmised what he wanted being distracted like this as he went farther away from Suiko Castle. Walking together, I was a bit surprised that no one went out of their way to greet him. He wasn't a popular kid, but he knew a lot of people and he'd been a bit infamous for his temper.

On the other hand, Haru didn't seem to mind as he ambled beside me, rubbing his nose while muttering 'damn flowers.' When I assumed he was about to sneeze, I was caught off guard when I was dragged abruptly from an alley. "Wha—wait," I sputtered, sending a confused glance at the boy that led me there. My brow curved. "Haru?"

Haru was observing intensely from his spot, eyes narrowed into suspecting slits. "That's him."

Curious, I stood next to him. "Who exactly is him?" and just before he was about to answer my question, I whispered, "why are we hiding?"

"Ma's new," Haru made a disgusted noise. "lover."

I blinked in realization. "Oh," peering from his side, I searched for the person in question, eventually finding a tall man with tanned skin. From my periphery, I couldn't quite make out the clear features on his face, but from his heavy purse and the fine blue clothing he donned, I understood what piqued Chan-mi's interest. "He seems all right."

"Ew," Haru grimaced. "Li, stop."

Expecting his disgusted response, I shrugged. "Just saying."

Haru grumbled out a string of incoherent sentences, which I'm quite certain there was a curse somewhere there. Craning his neck out, he stepped out of his position. "Okay, now he's gone," he started to bolt forward, hauling me to his stride. "We'll just sneak pass—"

I stopped him just before he could chase after the man. As I dug my heels back at the pavement, I breathed out a sigh. "Haru, really, what's this about?"

Struggling with his words, Haru wasn't looking at me straight in the eye as he kept diverting his attention back at the place where the man had gone. "I think he's," his brows scrunched together and his fist clenched, torn knuckles gaping. "I just don't trust him, all right?"

I would have asked what made him so determined to think this way however the reason behind it seemed simple and sympathetic. This kind of raging behavior wasn't uncommon from him, but there was something that shone in his eyes that appeared there'd been something more than a child starting a tantrum over his mother's love life. "Oh. Okay," I said placidly but still insisted: "we're not going to follow him."

Dissatisfied of my answer, Haru fumed. "Why not?"

"No," I deadpanned. "We're not. His business is not ours. Besides your mother might notice you've been out here for too long."

"Who cares what she thinks," Haru grouched out, crossing his arms.

"I do," I told him, tugging his sleeve. "C'mon, let's go back."

Rankled, Haru fussed out, "You're not my caretaker."

"'Course I am," I smiled irritatingly, hoping to buoy the mood. "I wouldn't be An Lili if I'm not, yes?"

Haru didn't bother returning a retort back at me, but there remained a tolerant look in his eyes. Perhaps, it'd been that rational part of him that consoled him out of his temper. It hadn't been difficult reasoning with him after all, but coaxing him into compliance was a matter that couldn't be earned simply by convincing him with small talk. I thought maybe there had still been something in his mind.

It'd been a minute, maybe, when Haru stood still with a slouch. He was quiet, contemplative perhaps, and some small part of me grew unsettled at the sudden change of his disposition.

"Hey, Lili . . ."

I cocked my head to the side. "Yeah?"

Haru wasn't looking at me. "You think he'll come back?"

He. I closed my eyes, grasping its meaning. Haru rarely spoke about him.

The tone in his voice was quiet and reserved. Soft, I thought. So soft, that disclosing the truth had instinctively felt horrible. I remembered my younger brother from another lifetime, asking a similar question about our mother, and in my reluctance, I lied. Because she's never really going to come home, ever.

"Haru," I began, pursing my lip. "I don't know."

Haru cringed back; it felt like a knife driven on the gut. "I know Ma meets others and all, not like they're going to be together, ah, but you know, Pa could just . . ." he shifted awkwardly, sucking a deep breath once he gave a second of consideration over his words. "Just—forget it."

I tried to approach him, reaching out my hand—only to find myself falter at midway. I couldn't seem to understand where my hesitation stemmed from, but the thought of touching his shoulder felt frightening somehow. Like having an irrational fear of being near fragile objects because of the likely chance you could break them. I was never good with comforting someone and I hated my inability for such a thing.

I stepped forward, thinking maybe I could still console him out of it. Make a bad joke to ease him a little. Anything, really—because Haru wasn't acting like the tough kid I believed he was and I wish I knew what to do. "Haru . . ."

His head was bent low and his hands were pushed sullenly in his pockets. I couldn't help but wonder if he's wringing on the fabric inside, clinging onto something that wasn't there to begin with. "Really, just forget it," he kicked a pebble along the way, moving forward in an attempt to avert the issue. "It's not like it matters anyway."

And then Haru led and I followed. The path to Suiko Palace was a quiet one; and we were, too.

—

Clack. It was strange how there was so much finality in that one sharp sound.

From his old study, Father observed the shogi board thoughtfully. "You have improved."

I stared down at my pieces. "I lost."

"There is always another time," Father took a sip of his tea; a faint scent of spearmint wafting from his cup. "In my youth, your grandfather and I had played this game countless of times," he shared to me in what I believe was an attempt to cheer me up, "I would lose to him as well. If I recall, there were so very few times I won."

"But Grandfather is a strategist, isn't he?"

"Indeed, he is," Father nodded, placing down the teacup on the table. "Do you not have another partner to play shogi with you?"

I gave his words little thought. My shoulders lifted up in an insouciant shrug. "Most of the girls think it's boring."

Father hummed in response. "Then what of other," there was a hint of strain in his tone, "noble boys your mother had introduced?" he asked, cupping his thumb with his chin. "I have heard of Lord Joon-Suh's praise for his son's skill in the game."

"I beat him," I said, recalling how the boy sorely snubbed me when he lost. "Most of them don't play as good as I do."

Instead of a rebuke, Father laughed genuinely at my frankness. My chest swelled at the humor in his voice. It was such a rare instance to hear him laugh. "Is that so? Then, perhaps, you should give considerations for your opponents, Lili," he told me after recomposing himself, adding a quick comment: "you could be as brutal as your grandfather."

My lips couldn't help but grin proudly at the comparison. "That will be a compliment."

Father then sighed softly under his breath. "I want you to make a friend," he admitted.

"But I don't need one," I smoothed the hem of my sleeve, distantly thinking about that mischievous boy and his mischievous grin and misadventures. I really wanted to tell Father about him however disclosing this fact alone made me fear the worst of outcomes: his disapproval. Haru was the kind of child my parents would loathe to let me spend time with for all his reckless daring and rudeness.

I hope he's all right now. I was still planning on visiting him later just to make sure he was.

"None of that, Lili," Father scolded, snapping me from my musings. The moment I met his gaze, I realized this was the gentle look that made him the pillar of my life. "Truthfully, it is not good for your age to bar yourself the opportunity in creating bonds," and then he smiled, "I'm certain someone will appreciate you. After all, once you realize it, there is also truly something special in finding the right companion who may shoulder you in the darkest of days."

Having heard his advice, I was meek and quiet from uttering out a response. I was aware of these things, though I marveled over the manner Father spoke them to me, as if he knew I would listen and understand. It was that level of confidence that he placed on me that made me love him. Of course, this never meant that I didn't love my real father just as much, for the tireless dreamer that he was; they were different and that was fine because I loved them both anyway.

And then what followed: "Of course, this doesn't mean that you cannot come to me or your mother when you are in need as well."

I smiled appreciatively at his words. Despite his reticence, Father always tries, in his own small ways.

However the awareness of such thing, no matter how fond I was, had also made me want to cringe back from my own guilt. His paternal affection and sincerity was supposed to be for his little spoilt daughter. Perhaps, the workings of the cosmos were to blame, but the weight of my undeservingness sunk in tenfold whenever we talked like this in his old study—in these private conversations that were very precious to me.

I felt overwhelmed at the thought. Not knowing how to respond, I determined to end the tender sentiments with my abrupt tasteless humor. I allowed myself to slip, confessing my admiration for my mother's styled hair. He'd been none the wiser until I delicately raised the innocent question of my marriage—of all things. Father was strict however what outshone that quality was his blatant overprotectiveness, disclosing his rather strong opinions of the matter that concluded with a final rebuttal of—"a worthy partner that I shall only approve of," as he claimed, strenuously.

I held a grimace, adverse of the notion of betrothal in the first place.

In reconciliation, I graciously poured him tea in which he accepted. I drank too, as if one was to drown down his own sorrows.

Exposition Corner:

"A tiger father will not beget canine sons": is a Chinese quote that means, "a brave father is unlikely to have cowardly sons."

For this chapter, I'm using it in a different context. That being similar to the saying: "an apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

In that respect, it's a throwback to Lili being similar to her parents in appearance, and despite that, not being similar to them at all, along with the fact that she isn't even their actual daughter. And since we're dealing with the sensitive topic of parents, yes, this also touches the issue with Haru's complicated relationship with his own.

Education:

Literacy is a privilege reserved for nobility and royalty. There are also exceptions for middle-class denizens who could afford instructors to teach them the basics such as reading, writing, and arithmetic.

When it comes to children of nobility, they are taught as young as four. Education varies from the gender of a child; while boys are taught the basics and etiquette, including more advanced subjects such as philosophy, strategy, literature, swordsmanship, archery, equestrianship and history, girls are taught basic reading and writing, along with social requisites such as etiquette, poetry, dancing, singing, painting, sewing, and playing an instrument. However literacy among nobility is treated more like a formal requisite than an educational necessity, unlike scholars and monks.

Koukan alphabet, or commonly known as Kou, is a writing system consisting of borrowed characters from Kai and syllabary. There are two formal scripts: the female script and the male script. My inspiration of the writing system comes from the ancient Japanese writing system, specifically in Heian Japan. There is Onnade and Otokode, the former being women's writing that follows a cursive script and the latter men's writing having a regular script. Though don't expect me to go further into detail with this one. There are many components that make the Japanese writing system—and my version just happens to be a simplified bastardized imitation of it in this story.

On the other hand, Kai-shū, or in Koukan dialect, referred to as Kaisho, is the main writing system of Northern and Southern Kai. However Kou is more expressly favored than Kaisho, which is taught as an elective and is frequently used more in poetry. Kaisho poetry is taught as a subject for both males and females.

Tattoo:

Recalling our last lesson about the Classic of Filial Piety, tattoos are still considered to be a defamation of the body in several cultures. This applies to Kouka, seeing tattoos as social stigmas, which are usually associated with outcasts, deviants, and criminals from society. Different countries in this universe may perceive differently, which I might bring to light in future chapters.

A/N: I might edit this out later so holler around if you found a grammar mistake.

Okay. Before I get railed on, I'd like to say that . . . yeah, this isn't really the promised chapter for Lili and Han-byeol. The reason for that is that I scrapped the whole chapter I've supposedly written here (umm, multiple times) and am intending to place it in a different chapter. Moreover, I changed what I was supposed to do with a few characters, Han-byeol being one of them. There will still be a chapter focused around the two of them but I'd like to develop some things a bit before that. Also, from the looks of things, I might just consider this whole fic AU with the new renditions I've thought out and some changes she'll do here.

Anyway, I find this chapter more or less a transitional chapter of what's to come. That, and maybe a filler chapter? I hope the descriptions don't throw you off because I really want the cultural experience of the Water Tribe to be immersive—at least, before we get into the other tribes. Aside from that I love love love open markets! You meet all sorts of people, see all sorts of things, the good stuff. Yes, I'm guilty for loving food too so expect descriptions for that (points to you if you can notice the differences of each when we jump to different places). And, finally, Joon-gi is back! I've been keeping poor Lili from her father for too long (there'll be more interaction between them as we progress).

Another thing I'd like to point out: Lili is someone that knows about AnY, but is indifferent about the series as a whole in her past life. Meaning—she is familiar with the major events and some bit of info here and there, but that's about it. You won't expect her to be the sort to fangirl over characters or to point out the future events accurately.

I'm very grateful for the feedback and I hope you enjoyed this so far! If you have any questions and opinions, feel free to drop a review. Constructive criticism is also deeply appreciated! Hopefully, the next chapter should be done in a week or two!