“You’ll be sorry.”
“Is that supposed to scare me?”
I look straight into her face. How unlike her brother she is. The nose is the same; the mouth and the shape of the face are the same; even their builds are the same. However, Hisashi is all dimples and laughing eyes. Perhaps his sister also has dimples and laughing eyes. I have no idea, because you can’t see either of these things on a person who refuses to smile. I turn from her and skate away.
At the assembly, we are told that since our whole first day was taken up with the first wu liu Motivation, we only have architecture, music, and literature classes today.
Our first class is architecture. We’re taught by Supreme Sensei Master Jio himself. We don’t gather on the islet of the Conservatory of Architecture, as that’s for third-years only. We are sent to the open square on one lip of the Principal Island of the academy. It is lined with desks. Supreme Sensei Master Jio hasn’t arrived yet. I don’t see other students with gifts. I wonder if they have different school customs here. The guidebooks said that students at wu liu academies in Pearl aren’t required to attend class. They treat us like university students, because they hold us responsible for our own performances.
As I look around, the basket is clawed out of my hands! Etsuko skates with it to the back and delivers it to Suki. Suki rips off her smoked spectacles and peers into the basket. She unties the reed leaves and takes out the cakes of soap.
“What is this junk?” cries Suki. “Bleached rocks?” All the girls laugh. “No wonder you invaded us for our bamboo if this is what you eat in Shin.”
“Give them back!” I say.
“What are they?”
“They’re opening-of-term gifts for our senseis.”
“Yes, but what. Are. They? Do you understand Pearlian? Does anyone here speak Shinian?” Suki asks. She’s just trying to insult me. I speak perfect Pearlian and, anyway, everyone in Pearl understands Shinian.
“I do!” says Etsuko. “Oink oink oink!” All the vile girls laugh.
“They’re distilled lard soaps,” I say. “Number-one quality-grade artisanal soap.”
“Artisanal soap! Does that mean you made it all by yourself in your little hut in Shin?”
Everyone laughs. What is there to laugh at?
“It’s made from a thousand-year-old recipe!”
“Wah! Is the secret ingredient your grandmother’s petrified bladder stones?”
I lunge for the basket of soaps, but the girls from the House of Flowering Blossoms block me. Someone kicks her skate under mine and I nearly stumble.
The students are silenced by the arrival of Supreme Sensei Master Jio. Suki skates to him. “Sage and venerable Supreme Sensei Master Jio,” she says, bowing. “Chen Peasprout wishes to present to you a gift that she brought all the way from Shin.” She skates back to me, wrapping a cake of soap back up in a reed leaf, and shoves it at my chest.
Everyone is looking at me, but why should I be ashamed of my gift? I skate to Supreme Sensei Master Jio and say, “I beg permission to present to you this worthless opening-of-term gift to express my gratitude for the honor of being your undeserving pupil.” He opens the leaf and holds the cake of soap in his hand.
One of the students cries out, “Don’t touch it. It’s her grandmother’s bladder stone!”
The students erupt in laughter. Only one student isn’t laughing. Doi. Probably gloating because she was right that I would be sorry. Or maybe she was the one to tip off Suki about my soaps, since she’s the only one who saw me bringing them? She must hate that some Shinian girl beat her.
Supreme Sensei Master Jio’s face fills with merriment. “Ahihahaha, how sweet a sound, little embryos! For, as you shall learn when you attain sagehood, children’s laughter, greatly promoting.”
This sensei is a fool.
During architecture class, he doesn’t teach us anything about actual architecture. Instead, he gives us little dexterity puzzles. He asks us to feel our teeth with our tongues and mold scale models of them out of clay. He gives us vision tests with optical illusions. He asks us strange ethical questions about whether we’d choose to save the last surviving copy of the Five Transcendental Classics or the last surviving bamboo seed under heaven. I don’t understand why the Conservatory of Architecture is considered one of the two greater conservatories, equal to the Conservatory of Wu Liu.
As soon as class is over, Suki and her girls race to the next class at the Conservatory of Music with our instructor, Sensei Madame Yao. Suki approaches her with another of my cakes of soap. As she starts to tell Sensei Madame Yao that I have a present for her, someone else skates up.
Doi. She swipes the cake of soap out of Suki’s hands.
“Sage and venerable Sensei Madame Yao,” says Doi. “I played a bad trick on our new friend from Shin. I sold her these cakes of soap when she arrived and told her that it’s Pearlian tradition to give them to our senseis at the start of term.” We’re all too surprised to speak.
Why is she helping me? We’re rivals.
Suddenly, I realize she’s not helping me. She’s only doing this because she hates Suki even more than she hates me. Doi is just using me to get back at Suki.
Sensei Madame Yao’s entire body begins to heave with anger. It is apparent that beneath her robe, she is muscled like a bull. She fumes at Doi from under bangs so severe and perfect that they look like they were cut following the edge of a bowl. “All that you students care about is wu liu, but do you think that because this is only music, you can turn my classroom into a riot? You students…” She assumes a half-crouching position. “… make me…” She looks as if she were about to start a speed race. “… so angry!”
She explodes out
