The days that followed brimmed with more lessons for Satchiko. Though Shan had every reason to safeguard his reputation as a prestigious scholar, his mind was also ensnared by a dilemma that might lie beyond academic aptitude. Still, the girl had made the faintest beginnings of progress, now able to read and write common syllables, and gradually acquainting herself with well-known phrases of the literati. At times, lessons veered into the history of Earthbending, its pivotal role elaborated through tales of venerable figures whose caution and patience became strategic virtues.
Teaching a girl who had spent her formative years wielding metal fans and blades rather than shaping the ground beneath her feet could not be accomplished in mere days. Her Earthbending remained painfully inept, but at least her literacy had improved with Shan's stern instruction chipping away at years of neglect. She even found certain complex passages from the Earth Kingdom Annals slightly more tolerable.
Yet Satchiko did not allow herself any childish sense of triumph. Such arrogance would be premature. She reminded herself constantly that whatever achieved now had long been mastered by peers. Despite receiving guidance from a scholar of high repute, the path to Earthbending mastery remained distant and discouragingly steep.
As the hours passed, she gripped the ink brush, trying her utmost not to hold it as if it were a weapon. Again and again she practiced calligraphy, forced to balance readability with the artistic grace the White Scholar expected from each stroke.
"Is this... acceptable?" she asked, setting the brush down on the small table and lifting the parchment. The page bore an idiom Shan had assigned, four characters invoking the resolve of 'breaking the cauldron and sinking the boats' as a declaration of irrevocable commitment.
Under the shade of a tree, Shan examined her work, his ever-present white fan resting lightly in his hand. For a man who had achieved the highest rank in the world's most grueling examination, every mark his student made required scrutiny in the fullest detail, even if his critique would otherwise offend a member of a noble family.
"The strokes are flimsy, but serviceable," he commented on the handwriting. "More practice is necessary."
Even a perfectionist like the White Scholar recognized that calligraphy demanded a lifetime of devotion. Yet he harbored no hesitation in teaching a pupil of humble origins, another quiet rebuke to the Upper Ring families who treasured lineage over meritorious service to that cold, impartial entity known as the state.
"Now, we will review the timeline preceding the rise of the first great Earth Kingdom dynasty," Shan continued. "Fetch the usual volume."
Satchiko rose from the grass and approached the mountain of study materials. For reasons she could not fathom, the scholar always piled his books and scrolls in the courtyard, marring its serene beauty.
For Earth Kingdom scholars, whether of the orthodox Sagely tradition or fringe philosophical sects, the chaotic era before what is now known as the First Dynasty remained a foundational lesson. It was a brutal age of fragmented territories, constant warring, and competing schools of thought striving to shape the principles of Earth Kingdom governance and culture. Yet it lay so far in antiquity that myth and history blurred together. The older the era, the harder it became to verify. With new archaeological finds, entire narratives could change.
The document most widely accepted is the Earth Kingdom Annals, an ancient chronicle believed to have been compiled by the first Grand Earth Sage himself. It was a foundational classic, owned by nearly every scholar of status.
"There it is," Satchiko murmured, spotting a volume whose worn cover looked familiar. She pulled it from the pile and returned.
But before Shan could utter a single word, his gaze drifted sharply toward his student.
Satchiko froze, uncertain of what she was witnessing. She had stood her ground against pirates, bandits, and even a colossal sea serpent. An accomplished Kyoshi Warrior had no reason to fear a bookish scholar whose sole weapon is an ink brush, yet something in his unruffled, almost indifferent gaze unsettled her more than any blade.
"Turn to page seven," Shan instructed.
She obeyed, easing through the brittle pages until the source of his displeasure revealed itself. One glance at the illustrations was enough. There are grotesque creatures, neither natural beasts nor anything remotely ordinary, staring back at her. Even without Shan's pointed critique, it was painfully obvious she had brought him the wrong book.
"My mistake," Satchiko apologized, chagrined that she had confused one tome for another. But to a strict tutor like Shan, even this trivial misstep smacked of negligence.
"If you had bothered to read the front cover, this transgression would not have occurred."
Shan resumed the lesson as though brushing dust from a sleeve. For the rest of the morning, Satchiko immersed herself in the chronicles of the ancient Earth Kingdom, a history tangled with legends, yet preserved most reliably within the Earth Kingdom Annals. According to the first Grand Earth Sage himself, before Ba Sing Se ever rose from the plain, the continent existed without a single sovereign. Countless warring settlements raised gigantic armies said to make the earth tremble. Over time these cities grew mightier, crafting new philosophies and systems of governance designed to sustain endless conflict. Reforms were devised to reduce the cost of war, forges burned hotter to create deadlier weapons, and rivalry gnawed at every border.
War was constant. War was life.
City-states swelled beyond their primitive origins, absorbing smaller settlements until they became the great warring states ruled by their own kings. The centuries that followed were marked by upheaval, never peace.
As the states grew more sophisticated, so too did the nature of warfare. Massed infantry often exceeded a hundred thousand men. Heavy cavalry, trained from common peasants, replaced the aristocratic chariot warriors of old. The rise of formidable standing armies coincided with the invention of the crossbow and the dreaded dagger-axe, implements that made non-benders formidable opponents. Bronze gave way to iron. More terrifying were the innovations of a group of peace-loving academic scholars who serve as defense engineers, they devised the first traction trebuchets and other ancient machines that defied the limits of human understanding. Yet even those paled beside the raw might of Earthbenders, who learned to hurl stone in the shape of giant coins, crushing battalions with brutal simplicity. No armor nor ingenious contraption could defy such catastrophic force.
"Each state served its own interest, each king his own ambition," Shan lectured, highlighting the perils of patrimonial rule. Satchiko sat on the grass, striving to commit every passage to memory. "Armies of such magnitude cannot be managed without competent administration. To supply and discipline these forces, certain states reformed their bureaucracies. The necessity of efficient logistics compelled the nobility to shed their identity as warriors and become the literate elite. Thus, the aristocrats of the Earth Kingdom transformed into the scholarly gentry you see today. Officials may sit far from the battlefield, yet their influence determines its outcome. This explains why the Fire Nation, with its different geography, could retain a culture rooted more firmly in martial traditions."
Throughout the lesson Shan restrained his instinctive disdain, an occupational hazard for any Legalist toward systems tinged with nepotism. But he understood that Satchiko's studies under Earth Sage Zhu Xi required broad intellectual grounding, not partisan doctrine. Thus, he used his expertise to strengthen her grasp of political history as a whole.
Another hour passed in dutiful recitation. Satchiko wrestled with her boredom but recognized the value of memorizing key features of this era. Yet beneath her studious facade, a question still lingered. This time, Shan was uncharacteristically willing to entertain it.
"State your uncertainty, Yuko," he said.
"Where was the Avatar during all of this?"
Silence stretched between them, some might lament how the people of the present are still grappling with the absence of the incarnate.
The era preceding the first great Earth Kingdom dynasty remained obscured by myth and fragmentary records. Strangely, the Annals never once mentioned the Avatars during those centuries of turmoil. The lack of any reference across such a long and violent span was to the young pupil, more telling than any inclusion.
Shan pondered, his expression distant. Even the greatest sages of the four nations could scarcely claim to know the truth of those distant ages. Perhaps the reverence afforded to Avatars had not always been universal. If a people did not yet acknowledge the spiritual authority of the Avatar, why would they heed the wisdom of someone whose only distinction was mastery of more than one element?
"Yours truly cannot offer a definitive account of what the Avatars did before or during the ancient era of unending wars," Shan began, invoking the prevailing consensus among historians. "It is however, widely acknowledged that they did in some capacity, exist."
The White Scholar can only cautiously provide his own personal opinions on the matter, as separating facts from legends is impossible even for a Zhuangyuan.
He snapped open his paper fan once more. "Pupil," he asked. "How would you feel if a person capable of bending multiple elements appeared before you?"
Slightly hesitated at first, Satchiko is perplexed by the question. Soon, she replied as any common citizen might, being grateful for the Avatar's return. The fact that she and Mayumi are Kyoshi Warriors remained a closely guarded secret. Like most across the world, their spirituality is inseparably entwined with the cycle of the Avatar's reincarnation.
"Your response is expected as most would," Shan commented in a tone both measured and mundane. "No matter how inept or despised an Avatar may be, it does not alter the fact that the masses will venerate the incarnate during their lifetime. Yet, early religious development leaned more heavily on oracle bones and shamanic practice, the widespread worship of Avatars emerged only later in our history."
He later explained that the earliest civilizations scarcely understood the significance of Avatars, remaining largely oblivious to the very notion of a reincarnating figure or the immense responsibility vested in this role. The kings who ruled the ancient lands that would one day become the Earth Kingdom likely regarded a wielder of multiple elements with little more than idle curiosity. After all, why should such petty monarchs entrust mediation to an individual of mysterious origin? They commanded armies capable of shaking the earth itself. In their eyes, no wandering prodigy could rival the authority they forged through force and lineage.
Such sentiments still linger even now. Shan then introduced yet another dilemma, one that Satchiko herself wrestled with. Did the Avatars of those primordial ages even comprehend their calling as mediators? Who existed to instruct them, to shape their purpose? And what prevented them from retreating into solitude while the world around them descended into ruin?
It was at this point that the White Scholar, ever the expert in political science, offered his own harsh judgement.
"While other Earth Sages and mainstream scholars may vehemently disagree with yours truly on moral or spiritual grounds, I, ever the realist, regard the Avatar's function as mediator between warring factions as nothing more than an artificial contrivance, a role that could be fulfilled just as effectively by any competent diplomat skilled in negotiation and rhetoric. Therefore, yours truly consider the inherited duty of the incarnate to be wholly arbitrary."
Satchiko stifled a gasp, carefully masking her astonishment. In her mind, one should not casually diminish the Avatar's stature without inviting scrutiny. Even Mayumi, ever reserved and working in the background, registered a faint tightening of her lips at Shan's audacious claim.
"B-but I thought Avatars are essential in maintaining balance," Satchiko said after regathering her composure.
"Yours truly do not dispute the practical utility of the Avatar," Shan clarified. "My observation concerns the perception of the masses. An Avatar's authority exists only insofar as it is acknowledged by those they govern. This principle applies equally to monarchs, their power derives from the recognition of their subjects. Yet, for ancient Avatars and the civilizations of their time, this unspoken social contract may have been entirely alien. The notion of entrusting a single individual with the arbitration of peace could have seemed absurd. Today, circumstances have shifted. Reverence for the Avatar has endured for thousands of years, embedded across continents and cultures. Temples and shrines honor them, generations grow up in veneration alongside the other deities. Yang Chen exemplifies this societal respect. When a living being is regarded as the emissary of the spirits themselves, one hesitates before defying their intervention. Ancient civilizations had yet to benefit from such a social evolution. To their rulers, the Avatar might have been no more than an abstract concept, scarcely understood or acknowledged."
Satchiko's thoughts turned inward. Her own admiration for Kyoshi was undeniably shaped by the customs of her home and the stories her mother recounted. Across nations and elements alike, the Avatar held a profound spiritual significance. Regardless of the era, certain incarnates were elevated to near-divine status.
Some far more than others.
The next topic concerned Shan's lecture on the conclusion of the first ancient Warring States era. The powerful city-state of Ba Sing Se, renowned as the oldest settlement in the known world, had risen to prominence through its unmatched strategic position. In the ensuing unification wars, countless kingdoms and peoples fell before its might. Yet, the scholar never failed to underscore the vastness of the continent, a scale so formidable that even the first Earth King could not impose genuine centralized rule. Though victorious, Ba Sing Se could never fully command the entirety of the Earth Kingdom. Thus, the city itself functioned almost as a sovereign realm of its own, a colossal polity under a singular ruler. Beyond its walls, royal authority waned. The Si Wong Desert remained untamable. As for regional nobles, while nominally loyal, maintained semi-independent domains. Governors preached allegiance to the throne, yet in practice governed for themselves. Most absurdly, Omashu maintained its own king! Which is a ludicrous fact that continues to confound rational minds today.
One has to wonder why the first monarch of Ba Sing Se refrained from imposing brutal reforms to consolidate power. In later centuries, harsher scholars ridiculed the ancient monarchy for clinging to an idealized benevolence, granting distant nobles considerable autonomy at the expense of political cohesion along the Earth Kingdom's backbone. Mainstream Earth Sages, by contrast, lauded this leniency, believing that regional noble lineages should serve as virtuous exemplars for the unlettered populace. They thus justified preserving provincial clans rather than implementing rigorous standardization, even amid the continent's patchwork of diverse environments.
Yet, for all its imperfections, the first unification achieved a notable triumph, it rendered inter-kingdom warfare the exception rather than the rule. The ancient warring kingdoms were transformed into provinces, halting their endless cycles of conflict. Even so, the settled peoples continued to struggle against nomadic incursions, achieving a decisive victory against the nomadic tribes. Thereafter, rebellions and civil strife would become the true test of a dynasty's claim to the Mandate of Heaven.
On that note, Shan shifted to the topic of divine endorsement. The annals record the imperial jade seal as a tangible sign of heavenly favor, commissioned by the first Ba Sing Se monarch to legitimize his rule. Subsequent dynasties sought possession of this emblem, believing its ownership conferred the Mandate of Heaven. Shan then interjected, challenging the mystical interpretations.
"The Mandate of Heaven is traditionally understood by Earth Sages as divine favor, granting spiritual legitimacy to rule," Shan said, his realist perspective cutting through centuries of orthodoxy. "To yours truly and like-minded scholars, the mandate is far less a religious precept than a practical one. When natural disasters strike and poverty follows, it is the authority's response that determines its favor among the people. Power is inherently fickle. Maintaining it is as treacherous as seizing it. Coups and wars require no asinine invocation of spirits to decide their outcome."
Satchiko noted this passage with interest. The kamuy, she reflected, are indifferent to mortal politics. Spirits demanded veneration and occasional offerings, but human quarrels were of little concern to them. Perhaps it was a misunderstanding on her part. Yet the fishermen of her village still made offerings before venturing into storm-tossed waters.
As for more esoteric matters, the pupil is reminded to the book she had previously mistaken for the Earth Kingdom Annals.
"You may indulge in distraction after this lesson," the White Scholar said, sharply drawing Satchiko back to the present. Shan's patience with deviations from the text is nonexistent. "Now, turn to page ten."
The strict schedule resumed as Satchiko refocused on the annals, yet her mind lingered on the strange volume with its uncanny illustrations.