Ch. 007| The First Lesson of Enrollment

Lan Yingchen had not slept well.

He had dreamed, but on waking he remembered only a voice — someone calling his name. The voice belonged to no one he knew, very faint, as though heard through a layer of water. He had not retained its timbre, yet he had retained the feeling of being called.

It was not yet fully light. The drumming had stopped — Amara had probably fallen asleep. The dormitory was very quiet.

Lan Yingchen lay looking at the beam. The eight rings carved into it showed more clearly in the morning light. The light came in through the window and fell across the wood, and at the place where each ring broke — between the three- and four-o'clock marks — there seemed to be a very faint shadow.

Ge Zhiheng was already up. He stood at the desk changing his clothes — folding away yesterday's Eastern robe and putting on another of the same color, as though he did this every day.

"Seven o'clock," Ge Zhiheng said. "Morning class is at eight. Eat first."

Lan Yingchen rose.

---

Breakfast was taken in the courtyard of the Eastern College. Plain rice porridge, a small dish of greens. When Lan Yingchen had finished, Ge Zhiheng led him out of the college toward the Main Court.

On the way they saw Aaliya — together with the Western upperclasswoman from the night before, coming from the direction of the Western College. Aaliya glanced at Lan Yingchen, half a second, and did not greet him.

Nahid came from the direction of the desert archway, walking beside an upperclasswoman. When Nahid saw Lan Yingchen she gave a slight nod, the kind that meant "oh, you're here too." Lan Yingchen nodded back.

Amara came down the stone steps with an upperclassman. Amara smiled at Lan Yingchen — that same easy smile from dinner the night before.

Aarav arrived last, together with an Indian upperclassman. When he saw Lan Yingchen he made a very small gesture with one hand, like the Indian gesture of joined palms but with only one. Lan Yingchen did not return it — he did not know how. Aarav did not seem to mind, and walked on.

Ge Zhiheng exchanged greetings with the other four upperclassmen and women — all faint nods, no conversation.

"Who are they?" Lan Yingchen asked quietly.

"Same lineage, different year," Ge Zhiheng said. "Every college has one senior who guides a new student. The first week, you're with me. From the second week, I fall back to the rear, and you go with them."

"…From the second week?"

"The first week the Acharya teaches," Ge Zhiheng said. "He takes the opening week every year, so new students learn Seeing first."

"Who is the Acharya?"

Ge Zhiheng did not answer. He pointed ahead, at the entrance to the classroom. "You'll see him soon enough."

---

The classroom was the gray stone-walled, square-roofed building he had looked down on from the pavilion the day before. Only up close did he see it clearly — larger than he had imagined, with five windows set into the stone, each facing one of the directions.

They went in.

Inside was a great circular hall. At the center stood a low stone dais bearing a small censer and a small drum. Around the dais were five low tables, smaller than the long stone tables of the dinner square, and arranged according to the five directions.

Before each table lay a cushion. On each table a small nameplate had already been placed — Lan Yingchen saw that his read East · Lan Yingchen.

Aaliya's read West · Aaliya. Nahid's, South · Nahid. Amara's, Southwest · Amara. Aarav's, Southeast · Aarav.

The five of them sat down in silence. The seniors stood along the wall at the back — not teaching, only watching. Ge Zhiheng stood by the wall as well.

Lan Yingchen settled onto his cushion. It was coarse cloth, firm, somewhat heavy. The floor was stone, and cold. The censer at the center was already lit, a very faint smoke rising — like ink in water spreading slowly, never forming a line.

Lan Yingchen stole a glance at the other four. Aaliya sat perfectly upright, as though trained in ritual. Nahid had her hands folded in her lap, her gaze slightly lowered. Amara held her palms flat against her own knees. Aarav had his eyes closed, his breathing very steady, as though he sat like this every day.

Lan Yingchen did not know how he was meant to sit. He copied Nahid — folded his hands, sat straight.

---

Eight o'clock came.

There was no bell outside — yet Lan Yingchen felt that the hour had arrived. The air of the whole room shifted ever so slightly, as if someone had drawn a curtain one notch tighter.

From the far side of the front entrance, an old man came in.

An Indian face, perhaps in his mid-fifties. His grizzled hair was tied behind his head and held with a single silver ring. An orange-and-white robe, bare feet.

He walked neither fast nor slow. He stopped before the central dais, faced the five new students, stood for perhaps five seconds, then bowed slightly with joined palms.

The five returned the bow by instinct — even Aaliya inclined her head a little.

"I am Acharya Devraj," the old man said.

His Chinese carried an Indian accent, but it was more precise than Aarav's — as if he had taught at the Academy for many years and had grown accustomed to speaking it.

"The opening week for all five colleges is taught by me," he said. "Not because I stand higher than the other four lineages. Because the Indian lineage's introductory lesson is the simplest."

Lan Yingchen noted it inwardly: five lineages, the Indian lineage, the four lineages — Devraj used these words quite naturally, as if they were the everyday speech of the Academy.

"You five," Devraj said. "You are not of one lineage. East, India, West, Middle East, Africa. One lineage each."

"Each lineage sees in a different way. But the first thing you must learn is the same for all five."

He paused.

"It is called — Seeing."

He paused again.

"But this Seeing is not done with the eyes alone. It includes hearing, includes touch, includes sensing, includes dreaming, includes omens. Anything that perceives what should not exist — all five lineages call it Seeing."

"The Seeing of all five lineages is one and the same thing."

Lan Yingchen was taken aback. He wanted to say, I can already see — he had already watched the ring for eight days. But he held it in.

Devraj looked at him, as though he had read what was in his mind, but made no reply.

---

"I will ask five questions," Devraj said. "Each of you answers one."

"This morning, the first thing you perceived that should not exist — what was it?"

Devraj looked at Aaliya.

"Aaliya."

Aaliya answered calmly. "In the mirror. I woke and looked into the mirror, and there were two figures in it. One was me. The other — was not."

"Did the posture of that other figure match yours?"

"It did not," Aaliya said. "I raised my hand; she did not."

Devraj nodded slightly. "Thank you."

He turned to Nahid.

"Nahid."

"In my room there is a sand pouch I set by the window each day. This morning the sand inside it — had heaped itself into a shape. The shape I dreamed last night."

"What was the shape?"

Nahid paused. "…A ring. A ring with a gap in it."

Lan Yingchen was taken aback. He did not look up, but he knew Devraj had marked it too. Nahid had not mentioned the angle of the gap. Devraj did not press her on it.

"Thank you."

---

He turned to Amara.

"Amara."

Amara spoke a passage in her own language. Devraj nodded as he listened to the original, seeming to need no Chinese version. Then Amara rendered it into Chinese: "…a drumbeat followed me, from the dormitory to this classroom. The drum I played stopped last night. But the drumming did not stop."

"Was the rhythm of the drumming the same as what you played last night?"

"It was not," Amara said. "What I played was 'one beat, pause three seconds.' What followed me this morning was 'two beats, pause one second.'"

"Thank you."

Devraj turned to Aarav.

"Aarav."

Aarav gave a faint smile. "…There was nothing that should not have been seen. Everything I saw was meant to be seen."

Devraj raised an eyebrow slightly, as though neither surprised by this answer nor satisfied with it.

"Aarav. Answer again tomorrow."

Aarav nodded, as if he knew why he had been turned down.

---

At last — Devraj looked at Lan Yingchen.

"Lan."

Lan Yingchen drew a deep breath.

"On the beam of my dormitory ceiling, there are eight rings carved. I only noticed them last night. This morning I saw them more clearly — the gap in each one falls between the three- and four-o'clock marks."

Devraj did not react at once. He looked at Lan Yingchen, paused for perhaps three seconds.

Then he stepped down from the dais — passed the Indian table beside Aarav, came to Lan Yingchen's table, bent low, and looked at Lan Yingchen from close to.

By instinct Lan Yingchen flinched back a little, then sat down again. Devraj did not touch him. Only looked.

The distance was perhaps two fists. Devraj's eyes were not focused on Lan Yingchen's face — they were focused on a small stretch of air beside it, as though looking at something nearer than skin and at the same time farther.

Sweat began to seep through the back of Lan Yingchen's shirt. He was not afraid of Devraj. He was afraid that the thing Devraj was looking at might really be there — and that he himself could not see it.

The seniors at the back did not stir. No one in the room coughed, no one shifted position.

Lan Yingchen could hear his own breathing.

Then Devraj asked:

"When you slept, did you dream of anything?"

Lan Yingchen paused.

"…I dreamed. But I remember only a voice."

"What voice?"

"Someone was calling me."

Devraj looked at Lan Yingchen for perhaps five seconds.

Then he stood and returned to the central dais.

---

He addressed the five of them:

"All five of you. Listen well."

"From tomorrow, every morning, the first thing — do not look, do not listen, do not think."

"Stop for five minutes."

"Then begin your day."

He paused for half a second.

"We call it the Void."

By instinct Lan Yingchen went to note the word down — he noticed Aarav beside him tilt his head slightly, a small "ah" of recognition. At the back, Ge Zhiheng straightened a little. None of the seniors moved, but the mood shifted by a beat.

Devraj did not explain.

"Today's lesson is over. Tomorrow at eight o'clock, the same place."

He bowed slightly with joined palms. The five returned the bow.

---

Lan Yingchen walked out of the classroom with Ge Zhiheng.

Beyond the Main Court, as Aarav passed Lan Yingchen, he made the one-handed gesture of joined palms again, and Lan Yingchen returned it, trying. As Aaliya passed she glanced at Lan Yingchen, half a second, expressionless; but Lan Yingchen noticed that as she passed Nahid, the index finger of her right hand traced lightly through the air, as if calculating something. As Amara passed, she reached out and touched Lan Yingchen's shoulder — not heavily, as though lifting a little water with a small ladle and brushing it past — then walked on without looking at him.

Lan Yingchen turned back to Ge Zhiheng. "What is she doing?"

"…Marking your position," Ge Zhiheng said. "People of the Ancestral-Spirit Pacts use touch to mark. Perhaps it's because of those five seconds when Devraj came down from the dais to look at you — Amara noticed."

"…Will I be followed by ancestral spirits?"

"No. She only lets the ancestral spirits know — 'there is one called Lan Yingchen, here.' If you meet danger later, Amara's side may come to know of it."

---

When they had walked some way, Lan Yingchen asked again, quietly, "Who is Acharya Devraj?"

"The teacher of the shared course for all five lineages. He teaches only the opening week each year, and then he vanishes — not at the Academy, not in any college, and he does not go to the Forbidden Library. In my three years here I have seen him three times, each time the opening week. The rest I cannot confirm."

Lan Yingchen asked nothing further.

---

On the way back to the Eastern College, Lan Yingchen thought about the question Devraj had asked him — "When you slept, did you dream of anything?"

He had answered, "Someone was calling me."

But he had not answered fully.

He had not said — that the voice was very faint, as though through a layer of water. He had not said — that the feeling of being called was not the first time today. He had not said — that he had first had this feeling at fifteen, and had written it down as the very first entry in his notebook.

That entry — he had come to understand it only in these last eight days. Reading it back now, it was, in truth, the same thing as the voice in his dream this morning.

Which meant that this matter of "seeing" had perhaps not begun only eight days ago. Perhaps earlier. Perhaps far longer.

Lan Yingchen repeated it once to himself, under his breath.

Someone is saying my name.

---

Back in the dormitory, the light outside had risen fully. Lan Yingchen put away yesterday's student robe, then took the bronze mirror from the bottom of the bedside cabinet and looked at it — the ring on the back of the mirror, its gap between the three- and four-o'clock marks.

The angle was exactly the same as the eight on the beam.

Lan Yingchen put the bronze mirror back in the cabinet.

Ge Zhiheng had already returned to his own desk, going on with the daily work he did. Lan Yingchen did not ask what the work was. Ge Zhiheng did not mention it.

Lan Yingchen sat on his bed, thinking about Nahid's answer.

"A ring. A ring with a gap in it."

That was not some shape Nahid had idly dreamed. Nahid's sand had heaped into the very ring on the back of Lan Yingchen's bronze mirror — Nahid herself might not know it, Devraj had not let her go on, and Lan Yingchen had not looked up.

But four people had seen that answer.

Lan Yingchen turned it over — Devraj had not let Nahid give the details, perhaps to protect the two of them, perhaps to give Lan Yingchen time.

Or perhaps Devraj was only watching to see who would react to whom.

---

Tomorrow at eight o'clock, the first lesson. Tomorrow morning, five minutes of the Void.

Do not look. Do not listen. Do not think.

Lan Yingchen considered this matter of "do not think."

A person cannot tell himself "do not think." To tell yourself not to think is itself a thought.

And besides — what he had thought about most these eight days was precisely "the things that should not exist." The ring, the bronze mirror, the letter, his mother, the shrine, the corridor, Ge Zhiheng, Aarav, the voice in the dream that called his name.

To empty all of that for five minutes tomorrow morning.

He tried it once now. Eyes closed, no movement, no sound.

The first second, the second second — nothing.
The third second — the voice came back. Very faint, through a layer of water.
The fourth second — the positions of the eight rings on the beam arranged themselves into his mind on their own.
The fifth second — he opened his eyes.

Not even five seconds.

Lan Yingchen looked at his own hand. The palm was faintly damp.

Tomorrow morning, he would have to hold out for five minutes.

He did not know what he would run into in those five minutes. The one thing he could be sure of now was this — from today on, every morning of his, he would have to practice.

【Ch. 007 End · Eastern College dormitory → Main Court classroom → Eastern College dormitory】