Chapter 29: Lessons

Boluo continued "And he pointed out to the guest lords and ladies that their strength should be their own jewel. That was how Xuan was—by example, and by the grace of his words. So should any real young lord do."1

"I'm not a real young lord. I'm a bastard. I have no need to be gentlemanly righteous." The word came oddly from Wuyi's mouth, a term he had heard so often yet so seldom said.

Boluo sighed softly. "Be true to your blood, boy, and ignore what anyone else thinks of you. Not in power but in manners."

"Sometimes I get tired of doing the hard things," Wuyi replied, feeling exhausted. 

"So do I," Boluo replied.

Boluo, still crouched by the horse, spoke suddenly. "I don't ask any more of you than I ask of myself. You know that's true."

"I know that," Wuyi replied, surprised that Boluo had mentioned it further. Mostly, Boluo would end the conversation when Wuyi started complaining.

"I just want to do my best by you."

This was a whole new realm to Wuyi where Boluo was trying to explain himself. 

After a moment, he asked, "Because if you could make Xuan proud of me, of what you'd made me into, then maybe he would get the Yuanjing clan to offer a better future for you and me?"

Boluo stopped rubbing the medicine on the horse's leg and stayed quiet. He was still kneeling next to the horse. "No, I don't think that. I don't suppose anything would make them accept you unless you are a heaven-blessed holy son, such as Xuan is. And even if they did," 

Boluo spoke more slowly, "even if they did, I wouldn't be your guardian then. I am old and injured. If it were the old me, I would have tried. Now, I just want to have a peaceful life and hope you have the same."

"It's all my fault you had to come to Lujingbao Fortress, isn't it? My birth is half the cause of your suffering," Wuyi asked.

Boluo paused for a long moment, considering his response. "I don't suppose it's any man's fault that he's born..." He sighed, and the words seemed to come more reluctantly. "And there's certainly no way a babe can make itself not a bastard. It's my karma that I had to take on your burden." 3

He heard Wuyi's sigh and felt a pang of empathy.

"But you weren't any happier there in the desert town, either, or here," Wuyi murmured in his own thoughts.

A moment or two later, Boluo muttered, "I do well enough for myself, Wuyi. I do well enough."

He completed treating Suti's leg and walked into the stall. "You're talking a lot today, Wuyi. What's on your mind?"

It was Wuyi's turn to pause and wonder; he thought it was only Boluo who was talkative. Something about Chao, he contemplated. Something about Chao, who wanted him to understand and have a say in what he was learning, had freed up his tongue to finally ask all the questions he'd been carrying about. Chao talked to him as an equal, not as a young boy, even though he called him "boy."

Unable to fully explain, Wuyi simply shrugged and said, "Just stuff I've been curious about for a while."

Boluo made a noise of approval. "It's good you're asking questions, even if I can't always give you answers. Hearing you talk like this eases my concern about you losing your way." With a stern look at Wuyi, he then walked off, limping slightly.

Wuyi watched him go, reflecting on how much Boluo had changed. He remembered that first night he had seen him, and how a look from him had been enough to quell a whole room full of men.

How must Boluo have been before his injury? Before he got the limp? He must have carried himself with the pride of a man, and people might have looked at him differently.

He was still the acknowledged master in the stables, and no one questioned his authority there. But that seemed to be the extent of his destiny.

Other than watching over Wuyi, he had no more goals for himself. He had to return to this fort, a place in this world he did not want to be a part of, as all looked down on the injured old man Boluo, who used to be the prideful Shenfen Boluo.

Now, because of Wuyi, he had to come back and face the shame he did not need to face. Another reason for him to look at Wuyi with resentment. He hadn't sired the bastard that had been enhancing his suffering.

Wuyi had always been careful around Boluo. The man did not know his own strength and he never intended any harm for Wuyi, but he had no qualms about slapping him around or pulling his ears until they turned red if he found fault in Wuyi.

But as he got to know Boluo more, his wariness was changing into pity.

Chao was without doubt more wiser than Bolou. Wuyi grew to look forward to his dark-time encounters with Chao. They never had a schedule, nor any pattern that he could discern. A week, even two, might go by between meetings, or Chao might summon him every night for a week straight, leaving Wuyi staggering about his daytime chores. Sometimes Chao summoned him as soon as the fort was abed; at other times, he called upon him in the wee hours of the morning. It was a strenuous schedule for a growing boy, even if he had the mind of a mature human. Yet Wuyi never thought of complaining to Chao or refusing one of his calls. Nor did he think it ever occurred to Chao that his night lessons presented a difficulty for him. Being nocturnal himself, it must have seemed a perfectly natural time for him to be teaching Wuyi. And the lessons he learned were oddly suited to the darker hours of the world.

There was tremendous scope to Chao's lessons. One evening might be spent in Wuyi's laborious study of the illustrations in a great herbal poison arts that Chao kept, with the requirement that the next day he was to collect six samples that matched those illustrations. Chao didn't give any clues about where to find them, but Wuyi did find them and learned a lot about paying attention to details.