I hobbled back to my dormitory. This time, I didn’t try climbing over the half wall. I entered my room through the ordinary doorway. Although nothing felt particularly ordinary about a room with three and a half walls. I changed out of my uniform and placed it beside the rest of my dirty clothes. Somehow, I’d have to find a way to wash them tomorrow. Then I put on my pajamas and lowered my battered body onto the bed. At least the corridors were dim now. I stared up at the stone ceiling. The Lote tree banner hung along the wall to my left, its painted branches stretching toward the edge of my vision. Then I looked at the pile of clothes. The silver nametag remained pinned to the uniform. Xu XiaoXing. I knew that wasn’t my name. I didn’t know how I knew. What was my name? I searched for it. Nothing. What was my mother’s name? Nothing. Did I have siblings? Friends? Teachers? Every question opened into the same empty place. What school had I attended? Had I attended school at all? The image of a yellow school bus appeared in my mind. I knew what it was. I knew children rode inside it to school. But I couldn’t remember ever sitting in one. I knew what a television was. I knew Japan was a country. I knew Batman was fictional. I couldn’t remember learning any of those things. The knowledge belonged to me. I just couldn’t find the life it had come from. I stared back up at the banner. From this angle, the painted trunk narrowed as it climbed the wall. It almost looked like a real tree viewed from below. My memories began beneath the lote tree. Everything before that felt less like memory than knowledge without a life attached to it. I tried to remember my own bedroom. I imagined a bed, a table, four full actual complete walls... Those weren’t memories. They were only the things I knew a bedroom was supposed to have. I couldn’t picture what color the walls had been. I couldn’t remember whether someone had ever stood in the doorway and told me to wake up. I couldn’t remember anyone at all. At some point, I must have fallen asleep. --- I awoke to the sound of someone giggling. At first, I assumed it had nothing to do with me. Then another voice whispered, “Someone’s sleeping in there.” I opened my eyes. Three students were passing through the corridor beyond the half wall. All three were looking into my room. Sometime during the night, I’d taken off my pajama shirt. The room had grown warm, and the fabric kept bunching against my bruised ribs whenever I turned. I’d also kicked most of the blanket onto the floor… One of the students noticed that I was awake. The other two immediately began laughing. I pulled the remaining corner of the blanket over myself. “Good morning.” They giggled before hurrying away. I remained perfectly still until their footsteps disappeared. The academy had given me a bed, a desk, a bath and three and a half walls. Apparently, the last half was considered excessive. I looked at the Lote tree banner hanging uselessly above my bed. I need to move that over to the opening on the half wall for some semblance of privacy. Unfortunately, students continued pouring through the corridor on their way to the courtyard. Some looked inside. Others tried very hard not to look inside, which somehow made it more obvious that they had. I wrapped myself in the blanket, gathered my discarded pajama shirt from the floor, and hurried into the bathroom. Once the door was closed, I dressed again. The academy-issued pajamas were surprisingly comfortable when I wasn’t attempting to sleep in them. I bundled together my uniform and the rest of my dirty clothing. Before leaving, I examined how the banner was attached to the wall. A long string ran across its upper edge and hung from a single nail. I looked from the banner to the open half wall. I wanted to hang out sideways to cover more space, but how am I going to hang it up that way? I’ll figure it out later. I carried my clothes into the dormitory corridor and began searching for the laundry. The signs were written in lettering that looked as though a fourteenth-century monk had attempted to copy one of Chaucer’s poems by candlelight. I could read them. I simply had to stand in front of each one for an uncomfortable amount of time. Courtyard. Scullery. Washhouse. Baths. Nothing said laundry. I continued wandering. The corridors themselves were rather beautiful. Stone arches framed open windows on both sides. Through one, I could see the white courtyard glowing beneath the morning sun. Through another, I saw an enormous pool of steaming water. It wasn’t the same pool where Lynne had been chased. This one appeared too warm and shallow for swimming. Several students rested along its edge while clouds of steam drifted through the surrounding arches. It looked like an enormous hot tub built inside a castle. “Wow. Still walking?” I looked behind me. Dishant stood beneath one of the arches. He wore the academy uniform instead of the athletic clothing he’d worn during class. Somehow, his personal training clothes had looked more expensive than the formal uniform everyone else wore. “More like hobbling,” I said. He laughed. “Even standing after a round with Mamoru is impressive.” My thoughts returned to the previous day. Dishant had been punching toward me during some kind of drill. I’d matched his intensity and accidentally struck him in the face. Then he tried to punch me back. And I’d kicked him in the head and punched him in the stomach… “Thank you,” I said. “And about yesterday.” He waited. “My mistake for hitting you like that. I thought I was doing the drill correctly.” “Where in the drill were you instructed to kick me in the head?” He said it with a smile, but one of his hands rose briefly toward the side of his face. “That part may have been my own addition.” “An inspired one.” “I don’t know where it came from.” Dishant glanced at me. “I will say, your liver shot is highly developed. Did you pick that up from one of the local pugilist schools?” I looked at him blankly. “My what?” “Your liver shot. The punch you used here.” He pressed two fingers beneath the right side of his ribs. “You mean when I punched you like this?” I shifted the bundle of clothing beneath one arm and imitated the short, digging punch I’d used against both him and Rab. It was the same punch I’d nearly broken my hand attempting against Mamoru. “Yes. That attack.” Dishant watched the movement carefully. “The way you dropped your level, set your weight, and kept the punch short and close to the body, that was trained, was it not.” “Was it?” “You know it was.” I remembered the opening. His arm had lifted as his body turned, leaving an empty space beneath his ribs. The moment I saw it, my fist seemed to know where it belonged. I’d driven it in short and close, like I was trying to bury my hand in his stomach and grab hold of something inside. I didn’t remember anyone teaching me to do that. I hadn’t even known what the punch was called. “The academy doesn’t teach new students to strike that way,” Dishant continued. “It looks like something from one of the local pugilist schools.” “I mean, technically, I didn’t really mean to. I saw the opening, and my hand just kind of… went there.” Dishant stared at me. “You accidentally hit me with a perfect liver shot?” I shrugged. To me, it had taken about as much thought as putting a square block into the square hole. The opening was there, so I hit it. Apparently, that was where the liver sat. I couldn’t tell whether he was being condescending or genuinely impressed. He sounded sincere enough though. “It was open,” I said. His hand returned protectively to his side. “Then who taught you to see an opening like that?” I opened my mouth before realizing I had no answer. Dishant watched me for a moment before glancing at the clothes in my arms. “Are you going to the washhouse?” I looked at him confused. “I was looking for the laundry.” “What you’re holding is the laundry.” “I’m looking for the place where I wash it.” “The washhouse.” “Oh.” He pointed back toward one of the signs I’d passed. “It’s beside the scullery.” I stared down the corridor. “What’s a scullery?” Dishant began to answer, stopped, and looked at me as though reconsidering the question. “The room where servants wash dishes, pots, and kitchen things.” “Why would I wash my clothes there?” “You wouldn’t. I said the washhouse is beside it.” “Oh.” He continued looking at me. “I thought you were making a joke.” “I’ve never heard the word scullery before.” “Where are you from?” I shrugged. He glanced at my face, then at the silver nametag pinned to the clothing in my arms. “Xu XiaoXing.” “That’s what it says.” “Zhanghua name.” “So I’ve been told.” His eyes returned to my face. “But you’re Vanga.” “Am I?” Dishant laughed. When I didn’t, his expression changed. “You truly don’t know?” “People keep calling me that.” “And what do you call yourself?” I looked down at the unfamiliar name. “Recently? Xu.” That earned a genuine laugh from him. “No, I mean before that. Were you raised in Zhanghua? Adopted, perhaps?” “I don’t know.” The laughter faded. “You don’t know where you were raised?” “It’s strange, actually. I only remember the—” My throat closed. The words had been perfectly clear inside my head. The lote tree. I only remember waking beneath the lote tree. But my heartbeat suddenly began pounding beneath my jaw. My breathing shortened, and cold spread through my hands. My thoughts were calm enough. The rest of me seemed convinced I was about to be caught doing something I wasn’t supposed to be doing. Dishant’s expression changed. “You only remember what?” I tried again. My memories begin beneath the lote tree. My mouth wasn't moving though. I just said it in my head. My throat refused to cooperate. A strange certainty settled through my body. Don’t tell him. I didn’t know where the thought came from. It didn’t even feel like actual words, or images, just a feeling, well kind of. Like the instinctual feeling you got when your hand touched something hot and pulled away before you consciously decided to. Only there was nothing that was going to burn me, just Dishant, I don't think he burns? For some reason, the idea of telling him made every part of me feel as though everything was about to come to an end. Dishant stepped closer. “Are you all right?” He genuinely looked concerned. The moment I decided maybe I would just leave, my body seized upon the idea with embarrassing enthusiasm. “I’m sorry,” I managed. “I need to take these to the washhouse.” “You were telling me–” “I’ll see you later.” I turned and hurried away as quickly as my injured legs could hobble. Dishant called something after me, but my heartbeat drowned out the words. I followed the signs until I found the washhouse. Only after crossing the doorway did my heartbeat begin to slow. I leaned against the wall, still clutching the bundle of clothing against my chest. That hadn’t felt like ordinary nervousness. I’d wanted to tell him. My thoughts had stayed clear. I knew exactly what I wanted to say. My body had simply refused. It reminded me of crying in the Daniels’ house. I think I was frightened then. The fear had seemed to come from somewhere deeper than my thoughts. My stomach had dropped, my breathing had broken apart. Tears had poured from my eyes before I completely understood why. It had felt less like I was crying and more like my body was crying around me. Maybe that was normal. Maybe everyone experienced emotions that way, with the body reacting first and the mind struggling to catch up. I had no memories of being afraid before the lote tree. How would I know? The strange part was that I had told people before. I’d told Lynne. Her family had been there, and somehow I’d managed to explain enough for them to understand what had happened to me. I remembered being frightened then too. But Lynne had been sitting there. Maybe Dishant was simply different. Maybe he just felt dangerous? And Lynne felt safe. Lynne had never tried to hurt me. She fed me, found me somewhere to sleep and seemed genuinely upset whenever I got hurt. Dishant had tried to punch me in the face the first day I met him. Maybe my body simply had good judgment. The washhouse was warm and damp. Rows of wooden tubs filled most of the room. Pipes ran along the walls above them, ending in brass taps polished by years of use. Several servants worked near the entrance. They stood over piles of clothing marked with small wooden tags, scrubbing uniforms, sheets, and underclothes before feeding them through pairs of wooden rollers. A student entered behind me and placed a folded bundle on the counter. “Room two-fourteen.” He handed the attendant a coin. The attendant tied a numbered tag around the bundle. “This evening.” The student nodded and left without touching so much as a bar of soap. Farther inside, several students worked at the tubs themselves. Their uniforms were faded in places or patched around the knees and elbows. One girl knelt beside a basin with both arms submerged to the elbows. Two boys argued over a block of soap while twisting water from a pair of trousers. Apparently, the richer students sent their clothes to be washed. Everyone else washed their own. I looked down at the bundle in my arms. I appeared to belong to everyone else. A shelf along the wall held uneven blocks of brown soap. Beneath it stood empty buckets and ridged wooden boards. I watched the other students long enough to understand what they were doing, then chose an unused tub. One tap produced cold water. The other produced water hot enough to make me jerk my hand away. After several attempts, I managed to fill the tub with something between the two. Washing clothes shouldn’t have been difficult. Unfortunately, most people washing clothes probably hadn’t spent the previous day being punched, kicked, thrown, and nearly folded in half. Every time I bent over the tub, my ribs protested. Scrubbing pulled at my shoulder. Twisting water from the trousers made my elbow ache. By the time I finished the pajamas, I was beginning to think fighting Mamoru again might have been easier. I washed both academy uniforms, then the uniform I had awakened in beneath the lote tree. Before lowering my uniforms into the water, I removed the silver nametag and placed it beside the tub. Once everything was clean, I followed the other students through a doorway at the back of the washhouse. The drying room was long and bright. Sunlight poured through tall windows and part of the glass ceiling, warming rows of wooden racks and ropes stretched across the room. Servants had already taken most of the spaces directly beneath the glass. The students placed their clothing wherever room still remained. I found an open rack near one of the windows and spread out my uniforms. Then I sat against the wall and waited. The room smelled of soap, wet cloth, and warm stone. Outside, students crossed the courtyard toward breakfast and their morning classes. I tried to repeat the sentence I hadn’t been able to tell Dishant. I only remember waking beneath the lote tree. Inside my head, the words caused nothing. I felt nice and relaxed But when I imagined saying them aloud to Dishant, my breath caught in my chest, anxiety caused my heart to spin like a windmill. Alright, let's stop imagining that. Let's start with something easier. I pictured Lynne sitting across from me. That anxiety was still there, just not as strong. I told her already and she believed me. Of course, nothing really came of it. I still don't know my real name or remember anything before waking up under a tree. A bell rang somewhere across the academy. I looked toward the uniforms. The two issued by the academy were still soaked. The one I’d awakened in was nearly dry. That was good enough. I took it from the rack and ducked behind a row of hanging sheets. They didn’t completely hide me, but it was more privacy than my room had offered that morning. I changed as quickly as my bruises allowed, then pinned the nametag over my chest. The second bell began ringing. I left the two wet uniforms hanging in the sunlight and hurried toward class. I knew the name wasn’t really mine. It was only the name available to me. Just as the uniform I’d awakened in was only the one dry enough to wear.

Chapter 23