Meandering River, Ardent Flame

  ***

  His father had received the gift as graciously as was proper― coolly, at the banquet held in his honour, and again afterwards. It was well, he said, that Xiang could remember sections from one of the Five Classics required for imperial examinations, but he would still need to study the Four Books now, if he wanted a post before he was twenty. Xiang respectfully kept himself from reminding his father that he had already memorized all four books, as his father had demanded of him, a year ago. He watched as his father's eyes appraised the strokes of the characters closely for the first time.

  “These are the bold, clear strokes of a swordsman,” commented his father. “But the swordsman needs a more discerning cut. A feint is sometimes desirable over an outright stab.” He put the scroll down and looked severely at Xiang.

  “You will practise calligraphy under a new calligrapher, of highest ability, from now on.” Xiang nodded his head in acquiescence. “No more drunken strokes.” He dismissed Xiang.

  Several weeks later, Xiang found himself practising calligraphy under a master, whose lessons cost enormous sums. His calligraphy looked as clear and blocky as before, but there was no comment from either his father or the master about it looking drunken. Lang had disappeared.

  It would be seven years before Xiang would meet him again on the road, with staff in hand and arrayed as a bandit.