Students at Sinegard Academy come from colorful lines of families. Most of them fighting for which father holds greater power over another's. Which student came from a powerful province, and which came from provinces too poor and ignored that others forget about it.

Thankfully, you don't have to bother comparing families because yours never came from a province. You never came from the all-prestigious entrance exam—Keju. Instead, your ticket to the academy was because of your family and Master Jiang's persistence.

Your family was one of the original families tasked with working as keepers and attendants of the revered academy.

As a child, you lived at one of the small houses near the gates of the academy. Helping your family out by watering the plants around the gardens, arranging minuscule things that need arranging. Essentially stewarding the academy during holidays and break. 

When the age came to take the Keju, naturally you didn't get the highest score. Not with you being a resident of Sinegard anyways.

Despite that, one fortunate meeting with Jiang Ziya lead you to getting a shot in the academy. You were just watering the plants in his garden when he see you, eyes swelling and mouth grinning.

He had asked you one singular question then: are you smart?

You answered no with your whole chest. He let out the loudest laugh afterwards, telling you to wait until the start of the classes.

You don't know about the particulars on how Jiang managed to get the administration to let you study at Sinegard Academy despite failing almost every requisite there is. You think it's simply because Jiang wanted to piss off the administration, wanted to see how much bullshit he can pull before they kick him out.

Clearly you weren't enough bullshit because he's still there. Most of all, he's your master. You're his apprentice. Only one, too.

The terms that came with you entering Sinegard was that you still have to work as a steward over the campus grounds. You had to catch up, juggle, and advance your studies all the while maintaining your responsibilities as an attendant.

Fortunately you never had been around your classmates too much during your first year. That small factor helped greatly with you ignoring any unnecessary opinions from your peers.

Now, with the change of uniform from the traditonal Sinegardian student uniforms with your Lore armband to the old and cut-up uniforms of the campus attendants, students from your year barely recognize you as they line up every breakfast, lunch, and dinner for their food.

One of the things you found rather interesting, but at times heavily tiring, as an attendant were mess hall duties.

Having mess hall duties meant overhearing the occasional chatter during breakfast, lunch, and even the usually quiet dinner. It varied greatly with the crowd.

First-years usually race towards the mess hall, carrying with them an enthusiasm you'd never expect from someone training to be a pawn in the country's military.  Only a quarter of them held at least a semblance of respect for attendants like you, the remainder din't really bother much with the custom.

Second-years usually dribble in countable groups. By then, the numbers of students have already been halved and so individuals either find a circle, or eat on their own. Regardless, you'd found that they stay for a maximum of fifteen minutes before the books of the library call their name.

Third-years, fourth-years—even fifth-years—are pretty much ancient texts. You mistake them for your fellow attendants or even mentors most of the time, with their taut and exhausted faces and deep dark circles under their eyes. They hardly cared though. They would mutter a simple thank you or a shallow bow before grabbing their steamed bun and leaving.

Today, the mess hall was pretty rowdy. The tables allotted for the first-years were buzzing with students sharing their plans for the upcoming lantern festival.

It was a three-day celebration. The administration suspended the classes on the last day of the week so students would have three days of rest. Many spoke about heading back to their province. Something about their parents sending carriages in advance so as to waste not much time.

"Do you plan on going back to your province too?" You suddenly ask the student in front of you. Having been debating about sprinkling in some social interaction into your otherwise monotonous and boring day-to-day job at the mess hall.

The student, tall, dark, and foreign-looking, looks at you with surprise. His sharp and thick brows shooting upwards. He looked fairly your age. Familiar too.

"I mean for the lantern festival. Are you going back home?"

He blinks at you. Lips pressed into a thin line.

Move the line! You hear someone say. Your eyebrows furrow, the line wasn't even that long! God forbid you talk to someone other than your fellow attendants. Still, you don't look away from the man in front of you.

He tries to open his mouth but no words follow. Only that awkward silence that makes you look even more like a loser.

"Sorry," you look away then, handing him the remaining food he should have gotten moments ago.

Just as confused, he nods. Turning away sharply, sitting at the farthest corner of the mess hall. You watch in sheer fascination as he sets his food down, back straight and strict, scooping the contents of his soup to his mouth in a fast pace. You'd only been watching him for a short moment before he's already heading out of the mess hall.

That's weird, you think. I think I prefer it if the person'd just cuss me out instead of making me look like a loser.

Huffing out a breath, you turn around and continue to serve the remaining students in line.

When the afternoon rush finishes, you eat your own lunch at one of the stone benches at the edge of the third tier. Sitting beside another mess hall attendant, a bowl of stew on your lap as you overlook the small group of students training at the lower-tiered courtyard.

"Are they second-years or first-years?" You ask. The distance way too far for you to make out the distinction.

"Second-years. They have an armband," your father's voice, deep and scratchy, answers. "The armbands look fairly new too."

You hum, watching them curiously. The synchronized movements of the class proving to be a way better form of amusement than you thought. You watch as they swing the wooden object in their hands, twirling it into the air before slicing it through. The distant hyah! from them contributing to the experience.

They seem to be doing a routine. Each movement perfectly curated to mimic something like a performance. Repeating continuously until mastery, you believe. You've watched them for the entire ten minutes, your bowl untouched, and they still haven't paused to take a break.

"Gods, I remembered hating that," you say ever so casually.

"Good thing you're not in combat. You're in that lousy class Lore," your father says in contrary. Raising an eyebrow as he glances at you.

You take a spoonful of stew. "Better than nothing. You'd be surprised with the amount of things I learn from Jiang," you say lightheartedly, letting your shoulders relax.

Your father clicks his tongue, tearing apart his bread and giving you half. You ask him, "Do we have any plans for the festival?"

"No," your father answers.

"Not even a proper supper? C'mon… we can stir up a few meals from the ingredients in the kitchen!"

"You don't even know how to cook. You'd just be giving your mother more work," your father responds back, that smooth look on his face as he closes his eyes, just in time for his daily meditation.

You don't think he should meditate immediately after eating but hey, you'd just get scolded if you say anything about it.

Keeping your eyes trained on the group, they finally get their rest just as you hear your name get yelled out.

"Bring this to Master Jiang. He forgot to come by for food," your mother says, handing you a wooden tray with a full bow of stew, three meat buns, and a cup of tea. You wonder how he would digest such a meal with a measly cup of liquid.

"Mother, I don't think he forgot…" you take the tray with both hands, already knowing that every food on it would just find its place in your stomach a few moments from now.

Your mother shakes her head, shooing you away as she takes your seat beside her husband, smacking the meditating man awake and scolding him.

You hike up the stone steps, up the spiraling staircase to Jiang's garden. "Master! Speak if you're here!" You sing-song as you go inside the gate, receiving nothing in response. Which, literally, answers your question perfectly.

Taking a seat at one of the benches, you dig in his food. You've known now, from the many times you were told to bring him food, that if he ever forgot to go to the mess hall for a meal, he didn't really forget. He simply chose not to. That's either because he has some better things to do like bother Jun, or look for people to pester down at the busy districts of Sinegard.

Anyway, that simply meant more food for you.

Who were you to deny yourself of such pleasure?

You were in the midst of eating your second meat bun when you feel a heavy presence by the tall sets of bushes to your right. Carefully, you turn your head just slightly. Ready to curse out your master in case it's one of his pranks.

It's not one of his pranks, though, because it's a man standing there and not that white-haired fool.

Wouldn't you know—it's the same tall man that ignored you earlier at the mess hall too! This time, a silver prong protruded from his back, peeking just slightly, glinting from the sunlight.

"You're being weird, you know that right?"

He maintains his silence. Simply quirking his head to the side as if he never heard you in the first place.

Rolling your eyes, you turn back to your tray. Dropping the meat bun on it, suddenly losing your appetite at such an introverted guest. You look back again, ready to call him out once more, only for him to disappear into thin air.

"This guy…" you sigh, shaking off the nerves. You decided on reading your textbook instead, one Jiang had personally stolen from the forbidden section of the main library.

"It's you!" Your words come out way more enthusiastically than you had intended. The finger you had mindlessly pointed at the man got a deep scowl in response. "You come here too?"

He closes the book with a loud thump. "It's a library."

"Technically it's the forbidden section. Technically forbidden means you're not allowed to go there," you say as-a-matter-of-factly.

"Well, you aren't allowed here either," the man retorts, lifting himself up from the floor only for you to stop him.

"Woah, woah, hey—I'm not going to rat you out, don't worry. You can keep reading, I don't really mind! I just came here to read too," you tell him, holding your hands out to prove you weren't a threat.

He snorts, "How perfect."

"Wow, rude."

His brow arches. The light from your lamp lighting the space just enough for you to notice the subtle movement.

You look towards his bicep. "Strategy?"

He doesn't look to yours. Instead he says, "Jiang took you in."

"Yeah, well, he didn't really have a choice. He wanted me here, he needs to take me in. Besides, I never liked Strategy or Combat," you blurt out, hoping he wouldn't notice the sudden word vomit.

"What do you mean?" Well that clearly piqued his interest.

You grin, "You're interested?"

His face tenses. Forehead creasing as his lips slip into a tight line. The exact same look he had when he stood in front of you at the mess hall.

"See, you're doing that again!"

"Doing what?"

"Being fucking weird," you say annoyedly, "First, you ignore me at the mess hall. Second, you hid and watched me eat at Jiang's garden earlier. Now you're here."

"I didn't ignore you," he counters, "and this is the library. It's a public place."

"So you're agreeing?" You cross your arms this time, mimicking his own stance. His face twists in confusion even more. "You're agreeing that you were watching me eat at Jiang's garden?"

A sound leaves him. Somewhere between a disbelieving scoff and a snort. "You're exactly like Jiang."

"No I'm not, I don't smoke during classes." He turns his head to you, movement so sharp you felt the whiplash. "Just kidding…?"

"Hm. You can have the library. I'm leaving," he grunts, walking past you.

"Already? You aren't even interested in why Jiang took me in Lore?" You ask, sounding a bit way too desperate for you like but you quite literally have no friends in your three whole years of studying at the academy.

You need one now.

He pauses, just a few steps from the door. He looks over his shoulder, eyes losing themselves in yours, "No." With that he leaves the room, closing the door shut behind him.

A scoff escapes you, "Douchebag."

You spent that evening reading up on the list of unconventional books Jiang had previously ordered you to. Truth be told it's been about two weeks since you last saw him. You have no idea on what the hell you're supposed to do now that you've finished reading and writing five-paper reflections on each book.

The next time you see that blunt fellow wasn't at the mess hall, it's at the mandatory triage classes Enro held.

"Wow, are we that close of friends that you're sitting beside me in classes now?" You say jokingly, grinning at the stone-faced man.

"I'll sit on the floor," he stands.

You pull at the sleeve of his tunic, "Just kidding! C'mon, sit down. At least I'd have someone to talk to while Enro's killing everyone silently."

"I'd rather get killed by Enro," you hear him murmur. He sits back down nonetheless, huffing out an annoyed breath as he crosses his arms.

"What's your name?" You ask him, offering a friendly smile.

He looks at you.

With a sigh, he answers, "Altan."

Happily, you give him your name in return. Quite content that at least now you and this Altan is on the second level of friendship among its many levels. He doesn't seem the least bit happy of getting a friend but hey, who knows, maybe he was just a tough nut to crack.

The first few minutes of class pass by excruciatingly boring. Something about the kinds of toxic substances everyone must know. You didn't really bother much with paying attention. You were seated at the back, and Enro hardly ever called on students. If she did, she usually called on the student beside you. Altan would answer her questions in a heartbeat, quick and correct, always precisely the answer Enro was looking for.

"How did you know that?" You had asked Altan after a particularly tricky question.

He shrugs, "I read."

"Was that what you were reading last night?"

He shrugs again. This time offering not even a word but a simple jerk of his shoulders.

"I'm really curious," you try again, leaning back on the wall behind you, "How come I don't really remember you during our first year… you're a third-year too, right?"

"Maybe you were too busy buddying up with the other first-years," he responds. It still lacks the enthusiasm, but at least it was more than five words.

"I didn't have any friends during my first year, if that's what you're thinking."

He turns his head to you, raising his eyebrows disbelievingly, "With how talkative you are, I doubt it."

A small smile comes on your lips.

"What are you smiling about now?" He sighs, rolling his eyes at you.

"Gods, it's nothing, Altan. Can't I smile anymore? Would've you preferred if I sobbed right here, right now?"

"Go ahead," he scoffs. 

Unfortunately for him, you are a student of Jiang Ziya.

So you suddenly drop your head, letting a loud sob slip from your lips, crying Altan's name like he'd just broken your heart seconds ago. You could already feel the eyes on you, the way you feel an insistent nudge at your knee. You sob again, this time louder.

Now it's Enro asking the entire class what's wrong with you. Altan cutting in to say it's nothing.

"Cut it out," he says, close enough that you were the only one hearing it. "I said cut it out." He elbows your side, voice coming out stricter.

You lift your head, wiping off imaginary tears as you apologize to the class. "My apologies, Master Enro. It will not happen again," you say, ignoring the lingering whispers and the shameful look coming from Altan himself.

When Enro turns back to her lecture, you turn your head to Altan. A cheeky smile gracing your face, counteracting the death glare he was currently sporting.

This is going to be so much fun, you think.

When you see Altan at the library, in the forbidden section no less, he still makes an effort to get as far away from you. The only difference now is that he didn't fully leave the library.

To you that's good enough progress… especially since now you actually have a human being also reading with you, not just ghosts of whoever.

The more you pester him around, the more talkative he gets. Though most of his words are always laced with some kind of passiveness or sarcasm, sometimes he genuinely asks about you. Like how you got into Sinegard, how Jiang's actually lecturing you in your Lore classes, and now, where he's asking about how your family got into the job of stewarding the campus.

The two of you were somewhere by the third tier, overlooking the same group of combat students you overlooked before with your father. The tray of food Jiang failed to get sat between you and Altan.

"I think it was my great-great-grandfather from my mother's side, I'm not a hundred percent sure. When I ask about it to my family, they always tell me fate just decided best for them to be the keeper of the mountain. I think they're being dramatic," you explain, biting through the piece of bread.

"That's rude. You calling your family dramatic," Altan remarks.

You glare at him, "Altan, do not tell me what's rude. You're ruder than I am."

"Am not."

"You are. You ignored me that first time I talked to you in the mess hall," you point out. The resurfacing memory making you cringe internally. You probably looked so stupid then.

He thinks it over for a moment, the downward jerk of the sides of his lips tells you he remembers it exactly the way you say it.

Then, he says, "I don't really remember that."

"I asked you if you had any plans for the lantern festival," you replied, your memory popping up at the right time. "Actually, now that you're here, do you have any plans for the lantern festival?"

He blinks at you.

"No."

"Oh," his face stiffens for a moment, visibly caught off-guard. "Well if you want you can spend the holiday with us!"

There's a heaviness in the air from his side of the bench. You see the quiet debate within his own mind, pretty obvious now that you've found yourself always floating to his side whenever the situation allows, his mannerisms now docked permanently in your brain.

You wait patiently, keeping a small hopeful smile on your face.

Finally, he exhales a breath. "Has Jiang given you a new set of readings?"

Oh, you think, It's fine. I can ask him again next time.

"He did," you feign an exasperated sigh, reading towards the waistband of your pants and handing him the small piece of parchment where Jiang made you write the list. "I think I'm one more reading list away from finish every text there is in the forbidden section."

Altan snickers, taking the parchment from you as he looks through it thoughtfully.

The topic about the lantern festival doesn't come up the rest of that day, or any other day forward. You've tried dropping hints about it here and there hoping he'd catch onto it, he never did. Well even if he did, he never said anything about it.

Now it is that day of the break. The first day.

The entirety of the academy's grounds are dead silent. Barely any soul walking by as everyone else had already gone back to their home provinces yesterday, refusing to waste any rest time.

You on the other hand couldn't really leave the campus even if you wanted to. Your home was literally by the gate, the lone bungalow where you and your family retire to every break and end-of-classes.

The couch in your living room had definitely seen better days, with you lying on it since your eyes had opened. Not bothering to stand even if you felt the call of the bathroom. You barely have any time to actually rest, so you're taking this break as leisurely as you can.

Sinegard Academy's spot in the mountainside of Wudang Range was actually very airy. The cool winds seeping into the windows lulling you to sleep every time.

"Wake up!"

You peel open your eyes. The angry scowl of your mother comes into your immediate view. "What?" Right from there, you feel a harsh slap of a rolled-up newspaper on your shin.

Apparently, your mother's fury is all because of a singular head of cabbage your father forgot to carry with him when the two of them were walking through the market earlier that day. You couldn't even complain, the savory smell from the kitchen already has you standing up.

Before you leave, you sneak a spring roll in your mouth. The crispiness of the wrapper was downright mouth-watering.

You grab an oil lamp, hiking your way up the stone grounds of Sinegard Academy, wearing on your wrist the link holding the campus keys. You go into the gigantic cooking area of the mess hall. Pulling aside the curtain to the pantry as you look for cabbage.

While you rummage through, you overhear rummaging from a different part of the kitchen entirely. You discreetly take the cabbage from the crate. Peeking just slightly through the curtains, you spot a very, very familiar figure.

"Trengsin?" 

The figure stiffens, broad shoulders lifting.

Slowly, his head turns to your direction. The way realization dawns on his face almost comically has you laughing loudly. His eyebrows were knitted in a way that so clearly expresses his distaste. The slight stretch on his lips, a scowl at you already. 

"When you kept ignoring my invitation, I thought it'd be because you were going back to your province. Yet here you are stealing—" You glance down. He held bags of thickly sliced carrots, three eggs, and a piece of celery. "—do you own a pet bunny?" You can't help but ask, eyes still squinted as you eye the contents in his arms, not entirely sure on what the purpose for those things are. 

"Do I own a pet bunny," he repeats your question. 

Your features keep still. 

He scoffs at you, back turning, making his way to the door. 

Even more confused, you trail after him. Making sure to lock the back door of the mess hall as you leave. "Wow, someone's got a stick up their ass," you say loudly, walking beside him with your arms crossed. The cabbage in your hand poking out like a sore thumb. "Can't someone ask questions now?" 

Altan glares at you, lips pursing into a thin line. "It's my food." 

Oh, you think, Maybe he's making a salad?

"No, I'm not making a salad." The glare is quickly replaced by a knowing look. Almost as if to show that it wasn't just you beginning to remember things about him, but also him to you. Though it's clear he's still snippy with his tone, "I'm eating it as is." 

"Don't you know how to cook?" 

He answers, "No." 

"Oh. Then where are you heading now?" 

Another sigh, "Somewhere." 

Somewhere? What the fuck is that? It's the break, isn't it? He shouldn't even have made it past the gate in the first place. 

"Are you meeting… ah, well, someone?" you ask. 

Now he shakes his head. Something in his eyes feels like he's keeping his guard up, as if you're next words would decide how your friendship with him should progress.

When your eyes light up right then, he feels something in him tense even more. "Perfect! Come to my home then! We're having a traditional dinner in honor of the festival." The genuine smile on your face disarms him. It always does. Altan wonders how he still hasn't built enough walls to resist it. 

Still, his pride seems to make up for the lack of walls. "No. It's too far." 

"Actually it's right here," you halt your steps, extending out the arm holding the oil lamp to reveal a stone door. Your parents' indistinct conversation floating outside the bungalow thanks to the open windows at the sides. You grin at him, "No excuses now huh, Trengsin?" 

Whether or not Altan found your words and invitation amusing did not show in his face. He still had his features pulled to a taut, unreadable expression. You had zero clue as to what was going on in his mind, but you're more committed than anyone to not let him spend the break alone. 

He's your closest friend after all. Though you're sure he'd cringe if you call him that. 

"I can't," he murmurs, "I need to head back now." 

"It's just one dinner, Altan," you tell him, though your voice held no bite now. It was careful, hopeful. "C'mon, just spend the dinner with us. Mother made way too much anyway. I think she predicted your presence so she made a lot," you laugh at the end, trying to pull out even so much as a subtle sound of amusement from him. Anything to tell you that he's actually considering it. 

When he doesn't budge, glancing between the lights of your home seeping through the wooden door and the light-ridden stone path leading to the dorms, you feel your palms sweat. Altan's wordlessly rejected you so many times already, now, you worry, he'd finally verbally reject you.

Fortunately, fate seems to be on your side because someone comes out from your home. You hear that familiar creeeek, then your father's voice follows, calling out your name harshly, "You've been there all this time and you didn't even come in? Your mother's going to kill me if you don't get that damn cabbage to her now."

Your lips part, stuck in your spot facing Altan. 

"Please?" 

"You haven't had tangyuan before? Seriously? Have you even lived before?" 

Altan stifles a choked up laugh at your father's dramatic tone, with his wrinkly eyes wide open, jaw hanging as if genuinely dumbfounded. "I… I just never had the chance to try them," it was probably your first time seeing him speak so politely, look so politely. 

Your father shakes his head harshly, reaching to the center of the small wooden table and personally serving two balls of rice cakes onto his bowl. Pouring the extra sauce over the two cream-colored delicacies. He looks at you, eyes confused, begging for some help with your father. 

You smirk, ignoring him and paying your full attention to your plate. 

The food were just simple, basic, made by the same hands that cook food for the students every day and yet Altan finds it way more delicious. Heavenly, even. When that first spring roll crunched in his mouth, small flakes flying everywhere, the explosion of flavors coating his tastebuds, he genuinely felt his stomach expand. 

He wonders if such a taste was because it was made without the budgetary restrictions of the administrators, or perhaps because of the occasion. A glance at you tells him it's neither. 

It was the company that made it all the more delicious.  

Your parents' inquire on the peculiarity of his daily living with the same amount of curiosity you once did. They gasp whenever Altan tells them he hasn't tasted much besides what the mess hall serves, they gasp even more when Altan answers a question about his personal life. 

"So you don't find anybody cute in the academy? You don't receive any gifts during Valentine's day?" 

Yes, his fight or flight instincts almost took him. Even still, he answered them as truthfully as he could, ignoring the way you eye at him with guarded interest. 

"I do…" he says carefully, "…but I don't really pay it any mind. I throw it away."  

"That's rude," you interject. 

Finally, at your voice, his shoulder eases. "I didn't ask for it in the first place," he reasons out, teasing. 

The two of you lock eyes. The corner of his lip slowly rising when he notices color rising on your cheeks. You looked away, suddenly finding the steamed bok choy interesting. 

He takes notice of your mother's outstretched hand in his direction, taking the big bowl of lotus root and pork soup and handing it to her, all the while keeping his eyes on your profile. 

And if that wasn't the most amusing part of the entire dinner, your father personally inviting him to accompany you at the lantern festival near Jade District definitely was. You complained then, telling your father you were fine by yourself. Your father, in response, ignored your complaints. Roping in your mother as well.

Altan may have laughed at the family bickering then, but the invitation lingers in his head even now where you walk him out of the bungalow. 

"Ignore them. They're insane," you tell him, rubbing at your arms. 

Knowingly, he draws his own oil lamp closer to you. Your shoulders easing just as his once did. 

"Coming from you?" He huffs, eyebrows raising. 

"Yes," you say sassily, "They're old people, Trengsin. You really shouldn't take their word seriously." 

"Huh. I didn't think you'd be the type of person to take back an invitation." 

It's your turn to huff. "Excuse me?" Your tone raises, head tilting to the side. "It was my father that invited you. I didn't."

He keeps silent, watching you step around in circles. 

Your head perks up. He arches an eyebrow. 

"You know, if I didn't know you any better, I'd think you'd actually wanna come to the festival." A thoughtful grin grows on your lips as you search through his unreadable expression. You gasp, "Wait, do you?" 

As if the entire night wasn't already entirely out of his plans, he laughs at you. A real, unrestrained laugh. Boyish and free. Something you haven't heard. Another thing to add to the mental list you kept of every new thing you discover in him. 

His voice drops to a whisper, broad shoulders you know all too well facing you, a hand lifting as if to tell you to head back home. 

"Thank you for the dinner, idiot."