Trade is the blood of a nation. Blood is messy if it is not inside the body. Which is why Mama has the butcher prepare the chickens. So trade is also messy if it is happening in places it is not expected. Baba calls that smuggling.

  ~Excerpt from MingHao’s, second-year book report.

  Hao hopped twice before returning to the counter, the tiles cool against his feet.

  He carefully mixed the chopped vegetables, crushed meat, and sauces, watching as the colors blended in a bowl. As his fingers squished through the raw meat.

  Mama checked the steaming pot of rice, the simmering broth, and the rolling boiling of the cabbage water. “So, Minghao is coming over this weekend.” Mama’s tone was light, but she slowed her work. “What do you two want to do?”

  Hao paused mid-squish-mixing, tilting his head. “I don’t know,” he admitted, then shrugged. “Today, making leaf boats along the Mòhé sounds fun.”

  Mama pursed her lips, her cooking chopsticks clicking against the pan as she added the chili oil, sizzling ginger, and onion greens. “Well, we aren’t seeing the Sun family today?” She said carefully.

  Hao nodded, already moving on in thought. “I know, but I don’t know what I will want to do in a couple of days.”

  He rinsed off his hands at the water spigot, looking up. “What next, Mama?”

  Mama leaned over his bowl, inspecting. “Add some salt, then it looks ready to wrap in the cabbage leaves.”

  He fetched the salt, “Okay, got it.” Then sprinkled it out with a three-count.

  The water gurgled down the basin drain, flowing to the catch below the spigot as Mama drained the wilted cabbage leaves.

  Mama’s fingers tighten around the pot before setting it by him. “Hao, we must talk about your classes after Autumn break.”

  Hao picked up a softened leaf, patting it dry with a cloth before adding a precise spoonful of the mixed meat and vegetables. “Oh,” he folded in and rolled the leaf before looking up. “Am I being held back like Minghao?”

  Mama’s forehead wrinkled.

  He nodded, unconcerned. “He told me that his parents needed him to leave Qīngtáo Shūyuàn to move up a level.”

  He frowned slightly. “I don’t want to repeat a level, I’ve already learned everything.”

  Mama paused, stirring the fire embers under the rice pot, her motions slower than usual. “You and Minghao will be changing schools,” She said finally. “We won’t have you repeating a level.”

  Hao kept folding the mixture, keeping each piece uniform in size. He wasn’t sure what to feel, but there was an odd tightness in his stomach. His fingers tingled unpleasantly, like touching unglazed terracotta.

  “I thought I did well in exams.” He said slowly.

  Mama wiped off her hands on a cloth. “You did, Xiao Hao. You did.”

  Hao paused mid-wrap, his current cabbage leaf limp in his hand. “Then why are we changing schools?”

  Mama rested a hand on his shoulder, thumbs rubbing a smoothing circle. “Sometimes, learning isn’t just about remembering facts.” She said carefully, too carefully. “And Administrator Zhao teaches the next level this year.”

  She paused, hiding a flash of anger. Then continued more softly. “And he refuses to teach you. Or Minghao. And some others.”

  Hao pressed the next roll too hard, making the filling squish out. He blinked at it, frowning. “So if I stay, I repeat the same level, and everyone else would move up?”

  Hao stacked the finished rolls neatly. “But if I go to a different school, I won’t know anyone.”

  They stood for a moment, Mama holding her breath. Then he brightened up. “But Minghao will be there. That’s good.”

  Mama turned back to the rice, checking the pot, but not stirring it. “It will be for the best,” She said, “The new school is farther across town, but at least you’ll advance. And they have a group that helps students learn in… different ways.”

  He washed his hands, watching the meat juices swirl down the drain. “Will the level have kids my age?”

  Mama nodded. “Yes, for regular lessons. But the smaller group has students of all levels.”

  Hao watched Mama carefully as she placed the stuffed cabbage into the steamer. “Why do I need to go to an additional class? And is Xinyi changing schools too?”

  Mama hesitated, just for a second. Then, she nodded. “That depends on how she does at the Festival.”

  Hao hopped onto a chair, rocking slightly. “Isn’t Administrator Zhao a judge?”

  Mama smiled, but the corners of her eyes didn’t crinkle. “Yes, there are five judges. He’s one.”

  Hao kicked his feet up, thinking. “You don’t like Administrator Zhao?”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Mama waved a spoon at him. “He’s not my favorite, no.” Then she turned back to the rice, stirring it unnecessarily. “Egomaniacal, self-proclaimed Chi Master.”

  Hao stilled his legs, patting his knees. (There’s something weird about how Mama said that.)

  “How will the new school be better?” He asked.

  Mama tilted her head towards the cabinet. “Bowls.” She sighed. “It’ll mostly be the same. But the support class will help you learn in new ways.”

  Hao drummed his fingers against his thigh, counting his thoughts. “How is learning new? Don’t we learn by understanding and thinking? Oh, is this like new Chi?”

  Mama paused mid-stir, then pointed at the cabinet again. “Bowls, please.” She exhaled through her nose. “It’s not like new Chi, which is about intention and digestion. It’s about finding ways for you to understand things that others do without thinking.”

  Hao hopped off the chair. “Oh, so it’s like learning to be like Xinyi.” He bounced three times before dodging grout and landing by the cabinet. He braced himself for the rough, awful texture of the bowls before grabbing six of them.

  Mama watched his movements with a heavy sigh escaping her lips. “Yes. To help you be more like Xinyi.”

  Hao rushed back, setting the bowls by Mama on the counter. “Good. But I won’t blow up the house.”

  Mama gave a tired chuckle, unstacking the bowls one by one. “Well, I appreciate that. Keeping the house in one piece is a personal goal of mine.”

  Mama portioned out rice, broth, and stuffed cabbage, finishing with a sprinkling of green onion. “Grab spoons and chopsticks. Then take these to the table.”

  Hao dodged grout again, pushing himself off the floor with a leap. “Bwahahaha, I’m the stone champion!”

  Mama smirked, shaking her head. “I think you need Shaping Chi to be a stone champion.”

  Hao blurted on the way to the table with a full bowl and the utensils. “Stone-hopping champion.”

  The hot bowl pressed against his fingers, sending a jolt of discomfort up his arms. The texture, pressure, and heat were too much, he needed to move.

  He rushed to the table.

  Baba scolded as Hao set the first bowl down with a loud thud. “Hao, you could spill, slow down.”

  Hao bobbed his head quickly, already dashing back to the kitchen. “Yes, Baba.”

  Behind him, Nǎinai called out. “Bring a water pitcher too.”

  Hao rubbed his fingers on his shirt, shaking off the lingering sensitivity before grabbing another bowl. He considered carrying two Like Mama, but that would mean balancing them against his wrists, (Pokey, no, bleh. But if I carry two, I’d be done sooner.)

  He grabbed one bowl instead and rushed after her.

  Mama was seated chatting with Wàigōng about some kind of medical tea. (How long did I think about one verse two bowls?)

  He set the bowl before Nǎinai and ran back to the kitchen. (Baba says across town is where bad people live. I hope the school isn’t run by them.)

  He grabbed a bowl and sprinted out.

  Xinyi brushed passed him, heading into the kitchen. “I’ll get my bowl and the water. Just sit down and eat that one, it’s yours now.”

  He called back, “Okay, thank you.”

  Hao slid into his seat at the table.

  Baba and Nǎinai were eating and chatting while Mama argued with Wàigōng, trying to get him to take a bite.

  Hao sighed in relief. (Finally, no more bowls to touch.)

  Baba turned to him. “Hao, are you ready to test for Chi proficiency and begin Level Two training?”

  Hao set his sticks and spoon neatly along the rim of his bowl. “No. Testing in a new school will be weird?”

  Baba nodded, but Wàigōng cut in frowning before Baba could speak. “New School? Why aren’t you continuing at Qīngtáo Shūyuàn?”

  Mama grimaced. “Baba, Wei and I need to move Hao because of how he learns.”

  Wàigōng’s eyebrows knitted together. “I taught at Qīngtáo, before the University. It has excellent teaching.”

  Mama gestured for Hao to eat as Xinyi returned setting a bowl and the water pitcher. “Baba, the teacher for Hao’s new level is refusing to teach Hao and several other students. We can’t force someone to teach a child, and we wouldn’t want him as a teacher anyway.”

  Wàigōng looked stunned, then angry. He pushed away the spoonful Mama proffered him. “What kind of person at Qīngtáo refuses to teach a child? That’s ridiculous.”

  Baba gestured for Xinyi and Hao to eat. “Zhao Min is the administrator now. He’s changed a lot of policies, especially for the levels he teaches.”

  Wàigōng glared at Mama as she finally forced a spoon in his mouth.

  Mama smiled in victory. “Lùfēng Shūyuàn is a good alternative. And they have special sessions after main class sessions at Mùxīn Huì.”

  Wàigōng froze mid-chew. “The school for the blind and crippled? Why would Hao be going there?”

  Hao frowned, watching the words fly like a sparring match. (School for the crippled? I’m not crippled or blind. Why is everyone getting angry?)

  Mama shot a warning glare at Wàigōng. “Mùxīn Huì also works with students who learn differently.”

  Wàigōng grunted, taking the spoon from Mama’s hand. “Hao is no Halfmind.”

  (Stop fighting!)

  Baba’s voice was firm. “No, he isn’t. But you know he thinks differently, and Mùxīn Huì has begun accepting students like that.”

  Xinyi set down her spoon with a clatter. “Hao, is fine! If Administrator Zhao wasn’t a jerk, none of this would be happening.”

  Mama's tone turned from warm to sharp. “Xinyi, you can’t say that. Zhao is a festival judge. He’ll know if you disrespect him with his Emotion Sensing Chi.”

  Nǎinai waved a spoon. “Listen to your mother! If you anger a judge, you won’t get into Tiānmíng Xuégōng.”

  Wàigōng slammed the table. “Then I’ll talk to this Administrator Zhao myself.”

  (Stop being angry!) Something buzzed under Hao’s skin. His fingers tingled. His chest was tight with Chi.

  Baba’s voice was low and warning. “Let us take care of our children.”

  Xinyi crossed her arms. “I think Wàigōng could do something about it.”

  Mama turned to her. “That is not the right attitude young lady-”

  Whamp!

  Hao’s bowl flash-boiled.

  A burst of steam hissed into the air.

  Hao scrambled back, heart pounding.

  The table fell silent.

  Tears stung his eyes. “Sorry, sorry.”

  Before anyone could speak, he turned and ran, straight to his and Xinyi’s room.