Here's Wufei's story, probably the hardest of all of them to write. So much of his development is during the series and Episode Zero, and I didn't really want to touch that, but to explore his original attitude. Again, no nudity, no cussing, no violence, no drug use.
Rated: G
Borrowed Books
1.
"And what happened then?"
I pull off my glasses and rub my eyes before setting the glasses back on my nose. Peering through them at the earnest young man perched on the chair next to my desk, I shake my head and lean over, digging in my bag for several seconds.
"Why ask me?" I pull out a book and drop it on his lap. "That should answer your question." I've got papers to grade, and the semester's a day from ending. My arthritis is kicking in with the chilly weather, and I'm out of tea.
"I'll bring it back tomorrow." His voice is softer now, a little hesitant.
"You don't need to rush."
"Unlike you, I can read more than a sentence every five minutes," he replies, with just a hint of cheek. "And I remember it five minutes later, too."
I pick up my stapler and pretend to throw it at him, and he scoots from the room quickly. I make a note to remind myself to stop by the university's library tomorrow, and pick up more texts. I suspect that learning about the ancient Indian nation is only going to make him hungry for more information, not less. Besides, word around the teacher's meeting room last night was that the Chang family isn't calling him home for the holidays. Again.
I pull the glasses off, rub them absent-mindedly, and put them back on, pushing Master Chang firmly out of my head. I've got papers to grade.
2.
"I finished," he tells me, poking his head around the door.
Wufei steps in, his bearing dignified despite the fact that at thirteen, he's still shy of five feet. His presence more than makes up for his lack of height; I wonder if the emperors of old Beijing had half his imperious attitude. Would explain a great deal about the Communist take-over, I muse.
"What did you think?" I move some papers from the chair. I'm only halfway through grading the exams.
"I think the British had too much economic stake in the colony to give it up without a fight," he proclaims.
"Was the cost worth it?"
He frowns, and seats himself on the chair. His uniform is clean, and neatly pressed, but I can see the cuff is a little short on his wrist. He's hit another growth spurt, I think, and I'm pleased on his behalf.
"They had to protect their interests," he says.
"Ah," I say, raising my eyebrows. Here we go again. "And is that a good enough reason for war?"
"Of course," Wufei tells me. "You have to protect something that's important to you."
"But you need to measure the cost of such action before you do so," I reply calmly, looking at him over the tops of my glasses. "Some things are not worth the fight."
"Some things are," he says, puzzled.
I nod complacently and bend my head to my papers. "I suppose from the short view, that's true," I concede. Ah, he's already such a Colonial. Those of us born and raised in this culture, we Chinese, don't see the short-term, the prices. We focus on the slow change across generations. "But only for that moment." I slide another sheet off the stack and begin reviewing the next. Five mistakes in the first essay, and I despair of having a single passing student.
Wufei drops his head, studying the book's cover. "The whole idea of fighting does seem..."
"Pointless," I suggest. He nods, then nods again, more firmly. I lean back, pushing away a stack of exams. "For the most part, it is. Looking over history, one could well believe that might truly does make right."
"Does it?" Suddenly he seems quite young, and rather worried.
I scratch my chin, thinking about that. "I suppose there are battles that have made a difference. But when you read enough history...they don't matter, after enough years pass. There are so many who've fallen, and so few whose names we remember."
"Is that what's important? What we remember?"
He fingers the edge of the book, and I wonder what brought on this sudden contemplation. Normally he absorbs the information and simply demands more. Or, perhaps, it's that he's no longer a child, and is starting to suspect there are other reasons his family won't bring him home. Still enough of a child, though, that he doesn't fully know those reasons, and I won't be the one to enlighten him. Let him live in ignorance, even if it means hating his family. Better that, than to fear for them but know he's helpless to assist.
"As a historian, part of me wants to say that remembering is the most important task." I shrug, and pull the stack of exams back towards me. Two more hours before the headmaster comes around, demanding the final grades for the upper terms. "But I think it's all important, even that which we forget."
"Why's that important?"
"Master Chang," I tease him, "do you need to ask me that?"
His lower lip juts for a second, the barest hint of childhood passing him quickly, but it's gone as he considers my question. "The mistakes we forget, we repeat," he announces.
I nod, and glance over the top exam, marking it quickly while he ponders.
"Why do people fight? What's the real reason?"
"Ah, well, you never ask easy questions, do you?" I set another paper on the graded pile, and grimace at the number still to go. Setting the pen down, I turn to face him. "Economics, mostly."
"Money?"
"Resources, of which money is one."
Wufei considers that, and nods. "Every war is like that, isn't it... The Americans wanted control over their own assets, as did India. And the Zulu nation, and Japan, under China's rule, and then back again, a thousand years later."
"Exactly." I skim another paper. A glance at the clock tells me I have an hour and a half, now. "So what's your conclusion, Master Chang?"
"It's all pointless," he says, very quietly. "The price of war is too high for the benefits."
Ah, now you're thinking like you're Chinese, I tell him silently, with just a bit of triumph. Consider your children, your grandchildren, and the generations after them. I think back to the losses when the Clans battled as the colonies were built, and the eviction of entire families. Three generations later, and we're still suffering the damage, with little to show for paying the price.
He's quiet for a long time, and I almost forget he's there. I've just finished the stack of papers when he stands, his shoulders slumped just a little. Wufei sets the book on the edge of my desk, his fingers running across the surface lightly, before withdrawing. I look up in surprise, and he gives me a formal bow.
"I won't bother you again, Zhang Lao-shi," he says.
"Xiao Chang?" I'm too startled by the change in his demeanor to keep myself from using his childhood nickname.
Wufei manages a tentative smile. "If people are going to fight, and there's never an end, then it's better to not get involved, right?"
"That's..." One way to look at it, but I don't say it. Something's changed, and I can't put my finger on it. "Do you think therefore history has no value?" I say instead, pulling out the three books I'd borrowed from the university, the evening before. I set them down next to the book he'd just returned. "Something to read over the break, unless you'd rather die of boredom?"
He rouses himself for a second, his lips curling in a sardonic hint. "Too late. I already did reading about the Holy Roman Empire." The faint smile becomes a smirk, and he's gone before I can find something to pretend to throw.
In the wake of his absence, I settle back in my chair, pondering that strange moment of defeat on the boy's face. There's a tap at the door and I look up at the headmaster's creased face.
"Zhang Lao-shi," he says. He settles himself on the chair Wufei so recently vacated, and looks over the stack of papers. "Progress?"
"What do you think, old man?"
Li laughs, quieting into a grin. "Saw the Chang boy heading down the hallway. You're still feeding his book addiction, I see."
"Who, me?" I give Li an innocent look, and check the clock. "You're a half-hour early."
"I was just passing by," he replies. "Seeing Xiao Chang reminded me of the news."
"What news?" I roll my eyes at him, and pull off my glasses, dropping them on the now-smaller stack of papers. "The Alliance?"
"Yes, but something else, too," Li says, grinning widely. "About the Chang clan. They've set the wedding date for Xiao Chang."
"Oh, dear God," I say, leaning my head back as I rub my temples. "That might explain it..." Unexpectedly, I chortle.
Li shoots me a look.
"I think our Xiao Chang has reached the rather Chinese conclusion that fighting serves no purpose. I'm just wondering if he gave in that easily, as a way to allow himself to accede to the marriage without losing face. Marriage is not a battlefield."
"You haven't met my brother's tai-tai," Li retorts. "Staying out of fights is sometimes the only way to gracefully survive."
I snort and shove the finished papers at Li. " I don't have time to debate marital tactics with you. I still have a class worth of finals."
Li looks smug for a second, but the expression falters. "There's something else," he says, leaning forward as he drops his voice to a whisper. "There're rumors that A0206 is slated for destruction."
"Does Chang know?"
"Don't think so," Li said, "and the other teachers know better than to say anything." He raises an eyebrow at me.
"Good," I tell him. "Let the boy keep his ignorance a little longer."
"You do him a disservice, Yuebin," Li admonishes, using my given name to underline his disapproval. "You realize if the Alliance carries through, the leadership will fall to Xiao Chang, as heir? All your talk of standing by and letting history pass you is the ramblings of a jaded old man. Such talk is not for the young!"
"The young are impetuous, and should mind their elders," I retort, reminding Li obliquely that he's twenty years my junior. Li doesn't take umbrage like I expect, however, but merely regards me with something akin to sadness.
"Very well, Zhang Lao-shi," Li replies softly. He stands, the finished papers in his arms, and gives me another little bow. "I'll be back in twenty minutes for the rest of the exams."
I nod, and don't lift my head as he leaves.
3.
The spring term comes and goes, the winter rains giving way to lighter showers, and Beijing is gray and forlorn under the steel-stroked skies. My office is still chilly, but I suspect that's less a factor of the old building's inefficient heat, and more due to the cold that's sunk into my bones over the years.
There's a tap at the door, and I raise my head to see Wufei Chang step into the office.
"Zhang Lao-shi," he says, and drops several more books on the edge of my desk. "Thank you for the loans."
I push my glasses up my nose and study the spines of the books. "I loaned you these?" Hmph, I think, my memory really is going.
"At some point," Wufei says, his smile genuine, but chagrined. "I don't remember when, but I found them when I was cleaning out my room. I thought I'd gotten them all back to you."
"Did you finish them?" I tap the top book. History of Ancient Greece. "Not exactly the most lively reading."
"But informative," he says.
I nod and lift the first book out of the way, picking up a book of the Second World War, a conflict five hundred years in the past. The pages are turned down at several corners, and the book seems well-thumbed. I seem to recall getting this one for him, back at the beginning of the semester. He'd quickly moved onto something else, and I can't recall ever prompting him to return the book. I'm sure I've already paid the overdue fines several times, and just never remembered long enough to care.
Or perhaps it doesn't matter, I think. I lift the book with both hands, weighing it for a minute before presenting it to Wufei formally.
"Keep it," I tell him.
His face colors, and his shoulders stiffen. "I couldn't, Lao-shi, I'm already remiss for not having return―"
"I insist, Xiao Chang," I tell him, letting a bit of affection seep into my tone. He stares at the book for several seconds before reluctantly accepting it. When he does, though, I notice he holds it tight against his chest.
"I am grateful for your kindness," Wufei tells me, and bows deeply.
"Chang?" Again, the changes catch me off-guard. He hasn't sat down, and we haven't begun our weekly - often daily - debate about some academic point of history. I stand up, my bones creaking with the movement, and he still doesn't say anything. "Xiao Chang?"
"I...won't be coming back to school here," he says, very quietly.
His grades are exemplary, I know that much. I've not had him in my class for two years, but I keep track of these things. So it can't be that...I rack my brains, and then recall Li's words, before the winter session break. Marriage. I sigh, and lean one hand against the desk as I remove my glasses with the other hand, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand before settling my glasses back on my nose.
"Are you worried?" I let him figure out what I mean.
"No," he says, and makes a face. "It's all rather pointless, isn't it? Getting married, dealing with being the heir...I've read all the history books you could loan me. What could possibly happen now that hasn't happened before? What makes this time so different?"
"Doesn't mean you have to like it," I point out.
"I don't," he spits, sudden fury making his body shake. "I don't want to go back home, where they never really wanted me anyway, and I don't want to marry some girl because they say so, and I don't want to be stuck on a colony with no new books!"
The room is silent in the wake of his outburst, and I sigh. Putting one hand on his shoulder, I squeeze gently before letting it fall. Perhaps Li was right; perhaps my ancient, hidebound lack of care for the passing whims of each new fad has been the wrong thing to give this boy. Change is not easy, I know, and while history repeats itself, it never does so in the same way twice. Change is crucial, no matter how much we fear it.
As much as I fear the loneliness of a long semester, with no Wufei Chang gracing my office threshold with impertinent debates about history.
"You are not entirely without means," I say, but he interrupts me uncharacteristically. I realize immediately that he misread my meaning.
"I don't have any resources," he retorts. "No one will listen to me, and they all tell me that marriage is my duty." Wufei says the word like it's a curse, and just as quickly the anger's gone. "At least I go into this knowing that if I'm the one who lacks, that there's no point in fighting it, right, Lao-shi?"
I start to agree, because that's how I feel. And then I see the truth of it: I'm wrong, but it's too late now. I try, anyway.
"Sometimes, there is a good reason to fight," I offer.
"It is better to let it pass you by," Wufei says, and he sounds clear, and confident, as though this decision gives him peace.
I can't take that peace away from him. Let him live a little longer breathing his ignorance, I pray, and so I bow to him formally, watching him walk out the door, his head held high, the book cradled in his arms.
When the door closes behind him, I sink into my chair and rest my head in my hands.
I don't think I have ever failed a child so completely as I have Xiao Chang.