just a loose collection of men and women who went about their own lives with little interaction or day to day concern for one another. It had taken months for his instructors to arrive and take over his training from Boqin. Even now they seemed to have little interest in him. Apart from Xióngmāo. She spent some time every day with him, giving him exercises to do, instructing on the correct scrolls to read in the library.
The library. Hundreds upon hundreds of scrolls stacked high. It had been his only entertainment and company for those first weeks, devouring scroll after scroll during the hours of daylight. Learning a little and not understanding a lot. Many scrolls were accounts of travels long ago. They talked of towns and cities that he did not recognise, of people he had never heard of, of Kings and Emperors that, as far as he knew, never existed.
Then there were the treatise on the nature of the universe, of the stars in the sky and the other planets that ancient astronomers had identified. These scrolls were interesting, even if they told him nothing that he needed to survive.
By far the most plentiful were the scrolls that sought to explain the existence of animals and their relationship with their environment. One had talked of ecosystems; each animal and plant living in harmony with its surrounding and climate. Zhou viewed this mostly as poetic and idealistic. How could a cow or chicken live in harmony with its surroundings when it relied on man for food? A relationship the animal reciprocated without choice.
And none of this gets me up those fucking steps . He threw the drained water skin away.
There was a noise from behind. He cocked his head to one side, listening. There it was again. He closed his eyes and sought to identify it. Again it filtered through the trees. There was a metallic sound about it. Something that the forest did not produce naturally and, as far as he knew, he was the only one this far down the trail today.
He stood and listened again. Sure of the direction, he set off through the trees.
* * *
It was getting louder and Zhou slowed down, placing every foot with great care on the forest floor. There was a clearing ahead, the change in the light falling through the trees and the rustle of leaves were clues he had learned to recognise. Pushing aside the low branches that grew only on trees at the edge of clearings or paths, he gasped.
In centre of a small clearing, bounded on every side by a ring of trees, sat an old lady holding a long metal pole. Zhou stared as she moved the pole back and forth across the large boulder in front of her. By his reckoning, the pole must have measured eight or nine feet in length and be at least as wide as his wrist. Yet the old lady scraped the tip across the stone as if it were no heavier than a feather.
“You might as well come in,” the lady said in a whispered voice. “This is going to take me a while.”
Zhou stayed still, rooted to the spot. She stopped her scraping and placed the pole down on the grass.
“I am not going to hurt you.” She turned to look at him, sweeping her long grey hair out of her face. “Would you like a drink?”
Zhou placed one foot in front of the other as though he had forgotten how to walk and the task took all of his concentration to accomplish.
“I have tea somewhere round here,” she said with a smile. “Ah, here it is.”
From the other side of the boulder she pulled forth a tray with a pot of tea, steam rising from its lid, and two cups. She patted the ground next to her. “Come and sit down. Rest a while. I could do with a chat to break the monotony.”
Zhou followed her instructions automatically, no choice, no chance to refuse. The grass was dry and warm beneath him and the sun shone down on his head. He accepted the offered cup and breathed in the fumes. They swept through his body, dissolving the stress, relaxing his muscles and leaving a delicious, warm ache. He took a sip of the hot,
The library. Hundreds upon hundreds of scrolls stacked high. It had been his only entertainment and company for those first weeks, devouring scroll after scroll during the hours of daylight. Learning a little and not understanding a lot. Many scrolls were accounts of travels long ago. They talked of towns and cities that he did not recognise, of people he had never heard of, of Kings and Emperors that, as far as he knew, never existed.
Then there were the treatise on the nature of the universe, of the stars in the sky and the other planets that ancient astronomers had identified. These scrolls were interesting, even if they told him nothing that he needed to survive.
By far the most plentiful were the scrolls that sought to explain the existence of animals and their relationship with their environment. One had talked of ecosystems; each animal and plant living in harmony with its surrounding and climate. Zhou viewed this mostly as poetic and idealistic. How could a cow or chicken live in harmony with its surroundings when it relied on man for food? A relationship the animal reciprocated without choice.
And none of this gets me up those fucking steps . He threw the drained water skin away.
There was a noise from behind. He cocked his head to one side, listening. There it was again. He closed his eyes and sought to identify it. Again it filtered through the trees. There was a metallic sound about it. Something that the forest did not produce naturally and, as far as he knew, he was the only one this far down the trail today.
He stood and listened again. Sure of the direction, he set off through the trees.
* * *
It was getting louder and Zhou slowed down, placing every foot with great care on the forest floor. There was a clearing ahead, the change in the light falling through the trees and the rustle of leaves were clues he had learned to recognise. Pushing aside the low branches that grew only on trees at the edge of clearings or paths, he gasped.
In centre of a small clearing, bounded on every side by a ring of trees, sat an old lady holding a long metal pole. Zhou stared as she moved the pole back and forth across the large boulder in front of her. By his reckoning, the pole must have measured eight or nine feet in length and be at least as wide as his wrist. Yet the old lady scraped the tip across the stone as if it were no heavier than a feather.
“You might as well come in,” the lady said in a whispered voice. “This is going to take me a while.”
Zhou stayed still, rooted to the spot. She stopped her scraping and placed the pole down on the grass.
“I am not going to hurt you.” She turned to look at him, sweeping her long grey hair out of her face. “Would you like a drink?”
Zhou placed one foot in front of the other as though he had forgotten how to walk and the task took all of his concentration to accomplish.
“I have tea somewhere round here,” she said with a smile. “Ah, here it is.”
From the other side of the boulder she pulled forth a tray with a pot of tea, steam rising from its lid, and two cups. She patted the ground next to her. “Come and sit down. Rest a while. I could do with a chat to break the monotony.”
Zhou followed her instructions automatically, no choice, no chance to refuse. The grass was dry and warm beneath him and the sun shone down on his head. He accepted the offered cup and breathed in the fumes. They swept through his body, dissolving the stress, relaxing his muscles and leaving a delicious, warm ache. He took a sip of the hot,
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