Ch. 006| The Fifth New Student

On his way down, Lan Yingchen kept thinking about the bell.

His ribs still remembered that sense of "alignment." From the pavilion, down the corridor, down the stairs — at every step he could still feel a trace of it. Like the chill after a mouthful of iced water, before it has quite faded.

Ge Zhiheng walked ahead, not turning, not speaking. The three upperclassmen from the ground-floor courtyard were gone now — the table wiped clean, the chairs pushed in, as if no one had sat there at all. By the well lay a very faint trail of water, as if someone had just drawn from it.

The two of them crossed the college cloister and came to a passage Lan Yingchen had not walked before. It was brighter than the dormitory side, with more lanterns, and the floor had changed to plain stone, not white marble. At the far end of the passage he could see the light of the Main Court.

"Dinner's in the Main Court," Ge Zhiheng said. "People from all five colleges go, but there isn't much talking. The first night is like that."

"Why?"

"…Habit," Ge Zhiheng said. "You'll understand soon."

Lan Yingchen did not ask again. But he noticed Ge Zhiheng tilting his head slightly as he walked along the passage, as if Listening for something. Lan Yingchen tried to listen too — and heard nothing. Only his own footsteps and Ge Zhiheng's.

Perhaps what Ge Zhiheng could hear, Lan Yingchen still could not.

---

At the end of the passage, outside, lay — a circular plaza.

The ground was large stone slabs, irregular, their edges worn smooth by feet. At the center stood a great fire-basin — bronze, with a round base, the mouth perhaps 1.5 meters across. Its surface bore very faint cloud patterns. Lan Yingchen glanced at the design — not the heavy thunder-scrolls of the Shang, more like the swirling cloud-vapor patterns one sees on certain ritual vessels of the Han.

But the details did not quite match the Han either. Lan Yingchen could not place which dynasty it was — perhaps it was simply a mixture.

The fire in the basin burned low and very steady, as though "tuned" by some rule — no flare-ups, no scattering sparks. The tip of the flame stayed at roughly 30 centimeters the whole time.

Around the fire-basin stood five long stone tables, each with about ten seats, their surfaces smooth. Along the edges ran faint reliefs; Lan Yingchen had not gone close enough to make out what they showed, only that the relief style of all five tables differed.

Lan Yingchen took in the placement of the five tables — they were not set at random.

One to the east, one to the west, one to the southeast, one to the south, one to the southwest — matching the bearings of the five colleges. At the center was the fire-basin, the five tables set at equal distances, like the seating order of some rite.

Ge Zhiheng led Lan Yingchen toward the table on the east.

Food was already laid out on it — wooden bowls, plain rice, vegetables, soup. One serving at each place.

Ge Zhiheng stopped before a seat. "This one's yours," he said. Then he sat down in the one beside it.

---

The whole plaza was very quiet. Lan Yingchen looked up at the other four tables — most of the seats were already taken. Each table held about eight or nine people; some looked like upperclassmen, some like new students. Hardly anyone spoke.

There were perhaps forty or fifty students in the plaza altogether. If there were five colleges, each with around ten people, then this was the entire student body of the Academy. Not many.

The western table already had people — the girl with the reddish-brown hair he had seen in the Main Court, Aaliya, sitting with an older Western woman.

The southeastern table — the new student's seat was empty. The senior had taken his place: a grown Indian man in gold-rimmed glasses, his posture upright, his gaze resting lightly on the fire-basin, as if waiting.

The southern table — the Middle-Eastern girl, Nahid, sat with an older Arab woman, talking in low voices in a language Lan Yingchen could not make out.

The southwestern table — the African girl, Amara, sat with an African senior. Amara ate with her hands, naturally, without hurry.

"…" Lan Yingchen asked Ge Zhiheng quietly, "What about the southeastern table?"

Ge Zhiheng glanced over and did not answer. "That's the Indian College," he said then. "He's still on his way."

"…He?"

"The Indian College has only one new student this year," Ge Zhiheng said. "Same as our Eastern College."

Lan Yingchen remembered the bell ringing five times yesterday. Right. Five colleges, five new students. Lan Yingchen, Aaliya, Nahid, Amara, and the Indian student who had not yet arrived.

---

Lan Yingchen began to eat. The rice was a little sticky, the vegetables plain greens, the soup clear with a few slices of mushroom. Simple. No trace of spice.

Ge Zhiheng ate too, slowly, the way one eats every day.

As he ate, Lan Yingchen watched Aaliya's table. She ate very slowly, using both chopsticks and a spoon, her form precise. Her eyes swept over Lan Yingchen once, for only half a second, expressionless, then turned away.

Lan Yingchen shifted his gaze to Nahid's table. Nahid spoke softly with the older woman, in a language that was not modern Arabic, one he could not place. Now and then Nahid's finger traced a small figure on the tabletop, and after the woman had looked at it she wiped it away with a stroke of her palm.

Lan Yingchen looked again at Amara. Amara was talking with her senior, in yet another language he could not place. Amara laughed once — the laugh natural, nothing like the ritual air with which she had "greeted the ground" at the center of the Main Court.

There was a feeling to the meal of "everyone present, but no one disturbing anyone else."

---

Lan Yingchen was halfway through eating when, suddenly — the fire in the basin gave a flick.

Not a blaze. The flame-tip drew upward, as though someone had pulled it, stretching in an instant to the height of a small child, then shrinking back to its low state. The whole motion took under two seconds.

Lan Yingchen glanced at it. Ge Zhiheng glanced too. No surprise.

Lan Yingchen looked at the other tables — Aaliya and Nahid had both raised their heads. Nahid's expression held a touch of surprise, the kind that says, "Oh, here he comes." Only Amara did not look up; she went on eating.

Lan Yingchen asked Ge Zhiheng quietly, "…The fire-basin?"

"Aarav's here," Ge Zhiheng said.

"…Aarav is?"

"The Indian College's new student. He's just walked into the Main Court."

Ge Zhiheng nodded, and pointed with his chopsticks toward the space behind Lan Yingchen.

Lan Yingchen turned to look.

Coming out of the passage that approached from the west was a boy with an Indian face, about Lan Yingchen's age. Black hair, thin, not tall, the hem of his dark-brown robe edged with a very fine thread of gold. As he passed the fire-basin he did not look up, as if he knew that flick just now had to do with him, yet did not need to see it.

Lan Yingchen watched him walk to the southeastern table and sit down. The senior in the gold-rimmed glasses nodded slightly, as if welcoming Aarav.

---

Aarav sat, exchanged a few words with the senior, and then — he turned his head, naturally, and looked at Lan Yingchen.

When Aaliya had looked at him earlier, she had turned away after half a second — that was courtesy. This was different. His eyes settled on Lan Yingchen's face and stayed there for several seconds, as if reading something, not moving away.

Lan Yingchen looked back.

Aarav smiled, very faintly, as if to say, "OK — so it's you."

Then he stood and came over.

Lan Yingchen made no move — he did not know what he was supposed to do.

Aarav came to the far side of Lan Yingchen's table, looked at him, and spoke.

"You are —" he paused, working out how to say it in Chinese. "— the eight-day one?"

He spoke with an Indian accent, his phrasing distinctly broken, as though each word had to be stopped over and confirmed.

Lan Yingchen glanced at Ge Zhiheng. Ge Zhiheng nodded slightly, to say it was all right to speak.

"…I'm Lan Yingchen."

"I am Aarav," Aarav said, pronouncing it "Aah-rrav," with a roll of the tongue.

Lan Yingchen paused a second, then asked, "How… how long have you been able to see?"

Aarav thought for a moment, as though working out how to put it. Then he said:

"I have seen since the day I was born."

Lan Yingchen was taken aback.

"…Since you were born?"

"My family — every generation is like this. My mother, my grandmother, my mother's grandmother — all of them see."

"…"

"So when I say how long — it is not accurate," Aarav said. "As far back as I am aware, I have seen."

Lan Yingchen looked at Aarav.

"…Then you… you're not the same as us?"

Aarav tilted his head slightly, as if thinking how to answer.

"…Not the same. But also the same," he said. "We are all here."

At this point Ge Zhiheng put in a remark — in a flat voice, like an annotation for Lan Yingchen:

"Aarav's family is one of the oldest 'Seeing' bloodlines in India. The family was already at the Academy before he was born."

Lan Yingchen did not reply at once.

Aarav looked at him for another second.

"And you?" Aarav asked. "How did you begin?"

Lan Yingchen thought for a moment.

"…Eight days ago. Outside a convenience store. A ring was floating."

Aarav did not react at once.

He looked at Lan Yingchen, and held still for about three seconds.

Then he glanced at Ge Zhiheng. Ge Zhiheng nodded slightly — as if to confirm: yes, a street corner, he hadn't misspoken.

Aarav drew his gaze back to Lan Yingchen.

He smiled — the smile faint, only a slight movement at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes swept over the whole of Lan Yingchen, as if adding an entry somewhere inside.

"…OK," Aarav said. "Welcome, Lan. Welcome to the Myriad Academy."

He nodded, turned, and went back to the Indian table.

---

Lan Yingchen watched him walk back, sit down, and go on talking with the senior, as if that exchange had never happened.

Lan Yingchen asked Ge Zhiheng quietly, "What did he mean just now?"

Ge Zhiheng did not answer at once. After a while he said:

"He's recording."

"…Recording?"

"The people over in India have a custom — they record every 'one who can see' they meet, like entering names in a register," Ge Zhiheng said. "Aarav has recorded you."

"…Why?"

Ge Zhiheng glanced at him.

"Because you've seen for eight days, yet you're here," Ge Zhiheng said. "I don't know how they'll read that. But he'll record it."

Lan Yingchen did not press further.

But his mind would not stop.

Aarav had seen since the day he was born, his family the same in every generation going back, which came to about seventeen years. Ge Zhiheng, three years. Lan Yingchen himself — eight days.

But he was not newly Seeing. He had begun keeping records at fifteen, and perhaps earlier than that — only the earlier memories were too blurred for him to tell apart "truly seeing" from "a child's imagining."

He was seventeen.

He had "seen" things earlier than the ring eight days ago, only those had drifted for a moment and then dissolved. The one eight days ago was the first that "stayed and would not leave."

How were those seventeen years to be counted? As Seeing, or not?

Lan Yingchen set the question aside and kept eating. But he knew that Aarav's line — "I have seen since the day I was born" — was not only about himself.

That line was also asking Lan Yingchen — and you?

---

Near the end of dinner, the fire in the basin flicked again. But this time it was shorter, lighter, like a "thank you" of some kind.

Aarav nodded slightly. Nahid nodded too. Amara looked up, smiled, and did not stir. Aaliya gave no reaction, as if she had not seen — but Lan Yingchen was sure Aaliya had seen it.

Ge Zhiheng: "Let's go. Back to the college."

Lan Yingchen left the plaza with Ge Zhiheng and walked back to the Eastern College. No one spoke. The Academy's first night of enrollment was as if everyone had been bound by some rule — tonight was only eating, no talking, back to the dorms.

---

Back in the dorm. Around 20:30.

Ge Zhiheng sat at his own desk and began to put his notes in order — with a writing brush, slowly, as if there were something he had to set down. Lan Yingchen glanced at the characters Ge Zhiheng was writing — he could not read them clearly, but the motion of the strokes was very steady, as though he did this every night. To Ge Zhiheng it did not look like tidying up; more like a lesson he sat down to do every night.

Lan Yingchen lay on his own bed, looking at the ceiling.

The ceiling was wood. On the beam ran fine carvings he had not noticed before. What they carved was — the ring. The gap between the three- and four-o'clock marks.

The angle of every ring's gap was the same. Along the whole beam, by Lan Yingchen's count, there were about eight rings, evenly spaced.

He closed his eyes.

---

He thought of home. He thought of his mother.

His mother should be in the living room watching the news now, the same as last night. She did not remember the four words "the Myriad Academy."

The terminal message he had sent her in front of the shrine after school — "Something's come up tonight, I won't be home for dinner, don't wait up" — the signal had dropped the moment he entered the corridor. The "read" mark had not lit. Whether it had gone through, Lan Yingchen did not know.

If it had not gone through, his mother was still in the living room now, waiting for him to come home to dinner.

There was no signal here at the Academy either. He had already tried in the corridor that afternoon — not weak, but absent.

If he opened his bag now, took out his phone, and looked — the result would only be the same "No Signal."

He knew the answer, so there was no need to ask again.

Lan Yingchen's fingers twitched, as if to reach for the bag by the bed. Then he drew his hand back and pressed it to his chest.

He did not want to deal with that question now.

---

After about a minute — a sound came from far off.

Very faint. Slow. Low.

Like a drum.

Lan Yingchen opened his eyes.

"Ge Zhiheng…"

"Amara," Ge Zhiheng said, without looking up. "The African College. Every night at this hour."

"…Every night?"

"Over there they greet the ancestral spirits every night. The drum is the medium."

"…"

"You'll get used to it," Ge Zhiheng said.

Lan Yingchen closed his eyes. The drum went on, very faint and very slow, not loud enough to disturb — one beat, a pause of three seconds, then another. The rhythm was steady, as if someone were counting.

The drum had no audience, and was not meant for anyone to hear — one beat, one beat, as if speaking to something unseen. Lan Yingchen could tell it was a prayer.

It was the first time he had heard the drum.

Lan Yingchen lay listening for about eight beats, then began to attend to the intervals.

The first beat, a pause of three seconds, then another. The second, third, fourth, fifth — all the same.

The sixth beat — the pause ran three and a half seconds.

Lan Yingchen opened his eyes.

The seventh, the eighth — back to three seconds. The ninth, the tenth — three seconds, three seconds. The eleventh beat, again a pause of three and a half seconds.

That half-second came at a fixed point, once every five beats.

Ge Zhiheng's brush paused, then went on writing. Lan Yingchen stole a glance at him — Ge Zhiheng had heard that half-second too.

Lan Yingchen looked at the beam; the eight rings were still in place, the gap between the three- and four-o'clock marks.

【Ch. 006 End · Eastern College → dinner at the Main Court → Eastern College dormitory】