9 Learning (1/2)

Morning came, and I woke up to shouting. Mother must have found my empty cot and panicked. She burst into the study, then breathed a sigh of relief when she saw me.

She shouted at father and I felt him get up. He replied to her bashfully, as if explaining himself. Mother laughed in disbelief.

She walked over and picked me up, then brought me back to the nursery to feed me. She took some powder from a cloth and dumped it in my mouth.

It was dry and acrid. At first, I thought it was the powder father had forced me to eat. But it tasted different; it was more earthy.

I looked down and saw the same cloth that the old man had emptied his mortar into. It was probably some kind of medicine to help my soul.

I remembered the vine that was keeping my soul together. It wasn't a part of me, so someone must have put it there. Had this medicine created it? Did the old man do this to me?

If he knew enough about souls to make the vine, he might know how to fix one. Unfortunately, I couldn't ask him to help. I didn't know how to.

I knew that learning language was important, but now I had a new sense of urgency. I needed to speak to the old man.

Over the following weeks, I spent as much time with mother as I could. I started trying to speak, but my mouth couldn't form the words. All that came out was a babble.

Father started coming out of his study. He still looked tired, but his face brightened each day.

Sometimes he would join me in the garden, bringing books to read. I encouraged him to read them to me as much as I could. I didn't just want to speak their language, I wanted to read it.

Slowly, but surely, my vocabulary started to build. Each word was a building block that allowed me to learn even more. I felt excited whenever I could understand a sentence.

The more I babbled, the more I became used to the shapes my mouth made. At 2 months old, I could just about form syllables, but I lacked the precision to speak words.

At 3 months old I spoke my first word. My parents were shocked and elated. My achievement spurred them on, and they immersed me in language.

I was making leaps and bounds of language progress in the day. I didn't have to sleep, so I spent the long nights meditating. But my cultivation was falling behind.

Even after long periods of meditation, the trickle of qi never sped up. My body was also growing fast, and each time I explored a path in my body, a new one formed.

I couldn't keep up with myself. Every night, I fully explored the channels to my arms and to my eyes. But morning always came before I could go any further.

Every week or so I would ingest some of the powder the old man had sent me, but it was running out. I worried about what would happen when it did. Would my soul fall apart completely?

A few weeks after I spoke my first word, the old man came to visit our house. I was sitting with father on the bench at the time. Father jumped up and briskly walked to him.

They exchanged a quick greeting, and father brought him to me. Now I could understand basic speech, I could tell that that his name was Crow.

Crow looked at me and paused. He seemed conflicted and walked away with father.

I watched Crow lead father to his office. He seemed familiar with the house. Maybe he was an old friend?

Mother came to check on me. She was surprised to see me sat on the bench by myself. I was entertained by a book father had left behind, so she left me to look for him.

She walked into the study but left after a few seconds. A minute later, she walked across the deck, carrying a tray with two cups and a teapot back into the study

A few minutes went by before I heard shouting from the study. Mother stormed out, followed closely by father. He seemed to be trying to explain something to her, but she refused to listen.

They walked into a room, and I heard arguing through the door. Crow walked out of the study and came to sit with me on the bench.