The Apprentice J. M. Strother You wanted to see me? Mo Shuh looked up over his spectacles at his apprentice, Quan Li. She stood before his desk with head bowed and eyes averted, in sign of respect. Yes Master. She did not look up when she spoke. Mo Shuh set aside the scroll he had been reading and looked at her until slowly, as if against her will, her head rose and their eyes met. What is it child? I must leave, Master. I am a failure. Shan Tzu is right, I will never find my sh xin. There is no place here for me. He could see tears welling up, but she managed to hold them in abeyance. Mo Shuh sighed and sank back in his chair. Shan Tzu again. His most gifted apprentice and constant source of trouble. And if you left here, my little one, where would you go? What would you do? He still called her his little one despite her age. At fourteen she was now his oldest apprentice. But when she had come to him ten years ago, she had been his youngest his little one. Others had come and gone, found their sh xin, learned their skills, and moved on. But not Quan Li. Her powers were as raw now as the day she come through the Dragon Gates. New students came, quickly surpassed her, and left. Quan Li lingered on. I do not know, Master. I could go back to my village. Work in the fields. It was more of a question than a statement. Mo Shuh shook his head at her naivety. She would never make it to her village, not alone on bandit infested roads. She would be captured and sold into slavery, or simply raped and killed. A fate that would no doubt amuse Shan Tzu no end. But not one he was about to let happen. You cannot let Shan Tzu upset you, my child. He waived her silent as she was about to protest. We all find our sh xin in our own time and way, little one. Some find it quickly, like Shan Tzu. Others take a long time, like old master An Wey. He was sixty-two when he found his sh xin. A look of dismay crossed her face. Perhaps An Wey had not been a good example. My point is, you are still young. There is nothing time and patience cannot overcome. Besides, what would it say of me if one of my students left here without attaining mastery? It is, after all, a poor teacher who is not surpassed by his students. It is not the failing of the teacher, Master. I feel I just do not have the gift. And I feel that you do, Mo Shuh said in a firm voice. I feel it in you even though you cannot. The power is in you. You've just to discover it for yourself to set it free. But I have tried! Then quit trying! She looked confused. He went on, You study so hard, little one. You work harder than any of the other apprentices: copying the ancient scrolls, reading the ancient texts, studying the healing herbs and the natural laws of the physical world. And it is good that do well in these studies. They will all serve you well in their own way, in their own time. But you press yourself too hard. Relax a little. Quit trying to draw your sh xin out from the deep well of your soul. Let it flow out, of it's own accord. These things cannot be forced, but come when the spirit is ready. You will have your moment, little one, your point of inspiration. Quit trying so hard. You will not let me go? I will not. Mo Shuh picked up his scroll and began reading again. Knowing he would brook no further argument Quan Li bowed respectfully and backed out of the room. Now the tears flowed. Out in the hall, humiliated in not even being allowed to leave in disgrace, Quan Li ran in despair she knew not and cared not where. But she could not leave the school, for the way was barred to her. The school was in a deep mountain valley with only one way in and out, through the Dragon Gates. And without permission from Mo Shuh, she would not be allowed to pass. She was hailed by Li Na, as she turned down the long corridor towards the dormitories. Quan Li! Ho, Quan Li, wait up! I've been looking for you. Li Na was Quan Li's best friend, but now she was the last person she wanted to see. Quan Li turned abruptly and dashed out one of the many side doors onto the common grounds. She heard a surprised cry from Li Na, cut short by the heavy thud of the oaken doors. She dashed across the open yard and into the orchards, past small knots of students being instructed in the methods of pollination. On she ran, headless of calls for her to stop, past a startled groundsman, pruning deadwood from an apple tree. At last she stopped at the edge of the orchard, her sides aching too much to go on, and fell to the ground weeping. She cried for quite a while before she heard her name being called. They were searching for her. They were off to her left, but getting closer. Close enough that she could pick out individual voices. There was Li Na, calling out plaintively. And that, yes, that was Shan Tzu, feigning concern. She could almost see the smirk on his face. His voice sounded the closest. In a panic she rose and dashed for the woods beyond the clearing. She was not about to give Shan Tzu the satisfaction of finding her like this! She climbed through the woods, scrambling over stony knolls and up ever steeper ravines. The voices behind her grew ever fainter, until at last, the sounds of the forest overwhelmed them completely. Still she climbed. Perhaps the Dragon Gates were not the only way out of the valley after all. Perhaps she could climb high enough to skirt right over the mountains and into the wide world. But that was a silly notion of a silly girl. She knew that in her heart. At length she came out upon a stony crag that overlooked the valley, and she sat down, despondent. She gazed out at her home. The school lay below her like toys on a great table. She could see tiny figures moving about from building to building. Workers toiled in the fields. Someone exercised a horse in the paddock. She could see the bright orange robes of a master surrounded by the bright white robes of his apprentices seated under a chestnut tree. Lessons went on. Life continued. It seemed they had already forgotten her. She could die up here on the mountainside and no one would miss her. Smoke rose from the cook houses and her stomach growled, protesting her current situation. She had missed lunch already, and now dinner time was fast approaching. She watched the shadows from the opposite side of the valley quickly lengthen as the sun sank closer to the horizon. It would get dark quickly. I will not go back, she resolved aloud. Then I will die here, she realized silently. And what would that accomplish? Her sh xin would still evade her. Li Na would be sad. Mo Shuh very disappointed. But Shan Tzu would be pleased. Very pleased. She stood, angered by the thought. He will not have that satisfaction, she decided. Swallowing her pride she began her long slow decent back down into the valley. She was dismayed at how quickly the shadows approached, swallowing all before them. Soon they would swallow up the forest on this side of the valley and she would be lost in the night. She looked up at the sudden sound of the evening gong sounding to call all to their evening meals. She redoubled her pace, tripped, and fell headlong down a steep stony slope. She cried out in pain, but scrambled back up to her feet and hurried on. Her robes were now soiled and torn, her palms and knees scraped and bruised, but she went on without tears. Tears would only serve to blind her further. There was nothing gradual about the coming of darkness. One moment the sunlight streamed through the canopy in almost horizontal shafts of light, and the next moment it was gone, the sun having dipped behind the western slopes. She was forced to stop, unable to see the path before her. Feeling cold, hungry, miserable, and very much alone, Quan Li huddled in the lee of a large tree and at last began to softly cry. She had been so foolish to come up here, alone. The night sounds of the forest frightened her. She imagined a tiger with every snap of a twig. Startled at the sound of every bird call. Something scurried through the branches overhead a monkey? A leopard? She could not know. Despite the darkness she rose and began feeling her way down slope again. Gradually her eyes became accustomed to the dark, and she was able to pick her way down with care. Once she came to an unexpected escarpment and nearly toppled to her death, but caught herself in time. Stepping back she was encouraged. She could see the lights of the dormitories tinkling in tiny windows, so close now. She was almost down! She worked her way around the cliff until she found a narrow path. She scrabbled down, and found the way less steep at the bottom. The trees less dense. With a growing sense of relief she almost ran through the darkness, forgetting to be careful. Suddenly she was out of the woods! She came up short, with a gasp! Tiny flecks of light rose before her, drifting soundlessly on the night air. Tiny lanterns that winked on, then off. A myriad of fireflies was raising from the grass and scrub, floating like a million tiny paper lanterns on new years eve. She stepped out into their delicate beauty. She walked in a dream, held out her arms to them, laughing in wonderment. They were so beautiful, so bright in contrast to the moonless night. She moved her arms gently, like a symphony conductor. The fireflies swarmed about her, began to fly in concert with her. She was indeed directing them, she realized, in a symphony of light. They moved as she moved. They were one. She had found her sh xin.

 
~jon
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