So, let's assume that "running away from home in search of adventure" wouldn't be a problem. I knew the realities of the Fire Nation fairly well—thanks to the recipient, who hadn't been shy about frequenting less-than-respectable places. Not outright criminal dens, but enough to at least glimpse the city's underbelly.
Next—Master Piandao.
Improving my combat skills was a necessity, if only out of basic self-preservation. Maybe I could lie low, maybe I couldn't—but accidents happen. I had no desire to die stupidly, skewered by some overly determined militia fighter from the Earth Kingdom or one of the Water Tribes.
What did I know about this master?
Heh… quite a lot, actually. In the Fire Nation, he's something of a legend. An orphan left at a shelter, he already wielding a blade by the age of ten at a level most seasoned warriors couldn't match. By twenty-five, he had mastered everything that could—and couldn't—be used as a weapon to kill one's fellow man, learning both from Fire Nation warriors and their enemies alike. His time in the army gave him more than enough opportunities to fight.
Then one day, he simply walked away from the military, claiming there was nothing left for him there. He vanished for several years, only to return home at thirty and settle in the city of Shu Jing. He even began taking on students.
But that wasn't what made him famous.
One day, a company of soldiers arrived—along with firebenders—to arrest a deserter and bring him to trial. Not a single one of that hundred left alive.
My father had once said that they considered sending a small army to capture the master, but after weighing the pros and cons, the high command decided it wasn't worth wasting soldiers and chose to pretend Piandao had never existed at all.
Meanwhile, the very same commanders' sons started flocking to him as would-be disciples—but Piandao refused to take on any more students, sending the entire "golden youth" on a long erotic journey.
Now, he should be well into his forties. Still living in Shu Jing. Still telling every eager "flower of life" seeking his wisdom to get lost.
But he did accept Sokka.
The question was—why?
Impressed by his skills? A man who had wiped out a full hundred soldiers, backed by firebenders? Not funny.
Then why?
Only one answer came to mind: after dealing with crowds of "princes," a simple village boy had caught his attention.
Well then. That meant I'd have to play exactly what I truly was—a perfectly ordinary, unremarkable guy. Let Chan's noble origin remain a secret. I doubted I could fool a monster like him for long… but surely he wouldn't just kill me, right?
…Right?
And so, taking a bit of money from what had been left for "pocket expenses" and swapping my aristocratic silk shirt for a plain linen one, I left Ember Island. I boarded a steamship bound for the nearest port to Shu Jing.
Then came three days of hitching rides, one attempted robbery (fortunately, a single measly spit of fire was enough to send the bandits scrambling back into the forest—I wasn't sure I could handle a whole group, let alone deliberately kill someone… neither I in my past life nor Chan in this one had ever done such a thing, but both of us had heard that the first kill was all horror, terror, and saying goodbye to your breakfast), and finally—I arrived.
There I was, standing before the gates of the legendary master's estate… with absolutely no idea what to do next.
"Well… I guess I should knock?" and I knocked.
Then knocked again.
And again.
After about fifty minutes, I was starting to think no one was home, when at last the gates opened, revealing a portly elderly butler with an expression of complete composure—and utter indifference.
"How may I assist you?"
"Ahem… I would like to speak with Master Piandao."
"You are aware that the Master does not take new disciples?" the butler asked just as calmly. "Do you think he will accept you?" He extended one hand toward me, while the other made what I now understood to be the universal gesture of "pay up"—rubbing his thumb against his index finger.
"There's only one way to find out," I said. A thin, well-worn purse with a couple of coins found its way into the outstretched hand. I'd buried my emergency stash for the return trip in a nearby grove, just in case things didn't work out. As it stood, it looked like a ragged vagrant handing over his last coins for a chance.
"Very well. I will show you in."
The pouch vanished as if by magic.
Master Piandao received us on a spacious terrace overlooking a beautiful valley below. The great swordsman was in the process of transferring that very valley onto canvas—and he was doing so magnificently.
I'd never cared much for paintings or galleries, especially when it came to modern "art" that looked more like the scribbles of some epileptic idiot… but this…Even unfinished, the piece was rendered with near-photographic precision, and yet, unlike a photograph, the canvas seemed to… well… breathe with life. Hard to explain—you simply had to see it.
Spellbound, I didn't dare interrupt the Master from his work.
"Who are you, and why have you come here?"
I nearly jumped out of my skin.
"My name is Lee, and I would like to become your disciple."
"Unremarkable," the man snorted. "You want me to teach you swordsmanship? Let me guess—you've traveled hundreds of li from your little village, where you were considered the best."
"No. To both questions."I said. Right—now it was all or nothing.
"Hm?" Piandao actually deigned to turn and face me, tearing his attention away from the painting. "And yet, you wish to become my disciple. And I am a teacher of swordsmanship."