THE SYSTEM IS NOT MINE

Clang!

Clang!

Clang!

The sounds of steel clashing against steel echoed through the courtyard.

The men in black confronted Chu Feng's guards while Yan observed the fight. Then his eyes shifted to the inner door of the manor.

The door was pushed open as a muscled man wielding a heavy giant axe walked out.

Right then, a black-clothed man shot an arrow towards the muscled man.

The muscular man lifted his right hand and caught the arrow. He examined it closely. A piece of paper was wrapped around it, and the ink stains on the paper were still fresh.

Then he threw the arrow to the balcony.

"Fall back!" the man who had fired the arrow screamed from the street.

But it was too late. The heavy axe was already swinging toward two black-clothed men, cleaving through their heads.

The muscled man, with a jump, leapt into the air and lunged towards two more black men who were fleeing.

Chu Feng’s private guards also surged forward, blades levelled for the kill.

The muscled man's axe moved, and was just a few inches away from cutting heads off the fleeing men.

“Stop.”

But a voice like a needle piercing through a cloth came from the upper balcony of the manor.

The man wielding the axe froze mid-stride.

“The people are hungry,” the voice continued, calm and rhythmic. “Distribute the grain first.”

Immediately, the guards put their weapons away and gathered the scattered poor people and assured them that everything was fine.

Moments later, the blood was cleaned up, and the bodies were removed from in front of the manor. The line of poor people formed again, and Yan rejoined it.

The same axe-carrying man came forward and picked grain from the sack and handed it to the people in the line.

When Yan's turn came.

"Did you not bring anything?" The man carrying the axe asked.

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"No" Yan said.

"Here, take this" That man pulled out a packet of grain hidden under the mountain of grain sacks and handed it to Yan.

"Don't forget to bring your own storage container next time" the axe-wielding man said and grunted, "Next".

Yan accepted the packet, but he smelled the familiar scent of the green liquid coming from the axe-wielding man.

Yan stepped aside, but as he turned, he briefly glanced at the axe-wielding man and the house.

Then Yan lifted the packet onto his shoulder and followed the flow of beggars back toward the slums.

Late in the afternoon, the slum was quiet.

Small plumes of smoke rose from cooking fires as families prepared their meal with the grains they collected in the morning.

Yan sat against a crumbling wall, his packet of grain resting in the dust.

All of a sudden, children began to sprint from the alleys, their voices bright with a rare excitement.

“Teacher Bai!”

“Teacher Bai is here!”

A thin man, carrying a bundle of weathered scrolls, walked slowly into the centre of the square. He looked like he belonged to the scholar’s ink of the capital, yet he moved through the filth of the slums with an easy, unhurried grace.

“What are we teaching today?” the children shouted, swarming around him.

“Characters!”

“No, numbers!”

Teacher Bai laughed, a soft, melodic sound. “Both, I think.”

Yan watched from the shadows as the children gathered in a rough circle. He didn't move until a small boy tugged at his tattered sleeve.

“Brother! Are you not coming?”

Yan looked down at the boy’s hollow cheeks.

“Coming where?”

“To the lesson!” the boy whispered, his eyes wide

“Teacher Bai teaches us every week. He was sent by Sir Chu Feng himself.”

Yan allowed himself to be pulled into the circle. Soon, Yan arrived at that place, it was packed with children, young adults and old alike.

Teacher Bai began to draw on a wooden board, his strokes patient and clear. He didn't scold the slow or mock the ignorant; even when a young girl forgot the same character for the third time, he simply smiled and repeated the strokes, his voice a steady, calming anchor.

It was too perfect.

After some time, Yan spoke up. “You teach well. How did you learn so much?”

Teacher Bai paused, his charcoal hovering over the board. He looked toward the distant, gleaming towers of the merchant district. “It is because of Sir Chu Feng.”

The teacher smiled, a look of genuine devotion crossing his face. “I grew up in the slums of the Royal Capital. I was just like these children. At that time, Sir Chu Feng was not a great merchant yet, but he would come to the slums just as I do now. He taught me my first characters.”

He chuckled, returning to the board. “I only have a voice because he gave it to me.”

Bai’s eyes shifted then, landing on Yan with a quiet, analytical sharpness that belied his gentle tone. “You look new here,” he remarked.

Yan didn't flinch. His expression remained as flat as the soil. “I come from Rochi Town,” he replied

"That's the place, where I used to go out to have tea whenever I visited Trade Miller City, the good old days"

Bai sighed and nodded slowly, his gaze lingering for a second too long before he returned to the board.

“The world is wide, but the hunger is the same everywhere."

"Welcome to the city.”

"And let me know if you find anything overwhelming here; I can understand the feeling of moving to a big city from a small town"

Bai said and then started the lessons.

The lesson continued until the light failed, the people eventually dispersing to their huts with new words in their heads and Chu Feng’s name on their lips.

Teacher Bai gathered his scrolls and began the long walk back toward the inner city.

Yan watched him go, then stood and quietly followed, but he didn't use his eyes. He stayed several streets behind, letting his qi sink into the ground, tracking the specific rhythm of the teacher’s steps through the soil and stone.

Ahead of him, Teacher Bai moved toward the heart of the merchant district.