Their journey ended in a large room lit by four lamps. The center of the floor had been given over to a circular construction, fitted with a reed mat. At its heart sat a small table with a terra-cotta teapot, three cups, a whisk, a bamboo ladle, a tea caddy, and a tiny cast-iron pot.
And beside it knelt Yalia Sagewhisper, her eyes closed, her paws in her lap.
Chen couldn’t hold back a smile when he saw her, and had a sneaking suspicion Taran Zhu knew he was smiling and how broadly. Yalia had caught his eye immediately upon his first visit to the monastery, and not just because she was beautiful. The pandaren monk had a hint of the outsider to her that Chen noticed, then noticed her doing her best to suppress. They’d had a few brief conversations, of which he could remember every word. He wondered if she remembered them too.
Yalia stood and bowed first to Taran Zhu, then Chen. Her first bow lasted a long time. The second, not as much, but Chen marked it and matched it when he bowed to her. Taran Zhu pointed him to the narrow end of the rectangular table, nearest the cast-iron pot. Chen and Yalia knelt and sat back, and then Taran Zhu did likewise.
“You will forgive me, Master Stormstout, for two things. First, I would ask that you make us tea.”
“Deeply honored, Lord Taran Zhu.” Chen looked up. “Now?”
“If it will not disturb you to work and listen at the same time.”
“No, Lord.”
“And, second, you will forgive my inviting Sister Yalia here. I felt her perspective would be most illuminative.”
Yalia bowed her head—and Chen felt a little thrill at seeing the exposed nape of her neck—but she said nothing, so Chen remained silent as well. He started to make tea and immediately noticed something to which he’d not quite become accustomed, despite having spent a great deal of time at the monastery during his stay in Pandaria.
The cast-iron pot’s lid had an ocean wave motif worked onto it. The terra-cotta teapot had been shaped like a ship. The handle had been formed out of an anchor. Those choices had not been randomly made, though what sort of message they foreshadowed, Chen couldn’t begin to guess.
“Sister Yalia, there is a ship in the bay. It is stable. What is it that makes it so?”
Chen carefully drew one ladle of hot water from the pot and noiselessly replaced the lid so he’d not distract her while she thought. He poured the water into the teapot, then gently teased powdered green tea from the caddy. Red birds and fishes had been painted on a black background on the caddy’s lid, and a band of symbols running round the middle represented each of Pandaria’s districts.
Yalia looked up, her voice as soft as the first petals of a cherry tree’s blossoms. “I would say, Lord, that it is water that makes the ship stable. It is the ship’s foundation. It is the ship’s very reason for being. Without water, without an ocean, there would be no ship.”
“Very good, Sister. So you would say that water is of Tushui—to use the term common on Shen-zin Su—the foundation, the meditation and contemplation. As you say, without water, there is no reason for the ship to exist.”
“Yes, Lord.”
Chen watched her face but saw no sign of her seeking approval. He couldn’t have done that. He’d want to know if he was right. But Yalia, it occurred to him, already knew she was right. Lord Taran Zhu had asked her opinion; therefore her answer couldn’t be wrong.
With the tip of his tongue just barely visible at the corner of his mouth, Chen applied the whisk to the water and tea within the pot. He did so vigorously, but also gently. The object was not to smash the tea into the water but to mix it all thoroughly. He had to clear the sides, pulling everything to the middle, and then work it out again. He worked briskly, turning the two disparate elements into a green froth that thickly sloshed in the clay ship’s hold.
Taran Zhu pointed to the teapot. “There are others, of course, who would maintain that the anchor is the source of the ship’s stability. Without the anchor rooting the ship in place, it would be ground against shore by wind and wave. The anchor gouging the bay’s floor is what saves the ship, and without it, the ship would be nothing.”
Yalia bowed her head. “If I may, Lord, then you are saying that the anchor is like Huojin. It is the impulsive, decisive act. It is what stands between the ship and disaster.”
“Very good.” The elder monk looked over as Chen added the last ladle of steaming water and clamped the lid back on the teapot. “Do you understand what we have been discussing, Chen Stormstout?”
Chen nodded, patting the teapot. “All shipshape now.”
“The tea, or your understanding?”
“The tea. Just a couple of minutes.” Chen smiled. “But about the water and the anchor and the ship. I’ve been thinking here.”
“Yes?”
“I would say it’s the crew. Because even if there was an ocean, if there was no crew who wanted to see what was on the other side of that ocean, there would be no ship. And the crew chooses the anchorage and when to sail. So the water is important, and the anchor is important, since they are the start and stop, but it’s the crew who does the discovery.”
Chen, who had been waving his paws through the air to aid in his explanation, stopped. “This was never really about ships, was it?”
“No. Yes.” Taran Zhu closed his eyes for a moment. “Master Stormstout, you have sailed two ships into my harbor. They are at anchor here. But I can have no more ships.”
Chen looked at him. “Okay. Shall I pour?”
“Have you no interest in knowing why I can have no more ships?”
“You are the harbormaster, so you must make those decisions.” Chen poured tea for Taran Zhu, then for Yalia and himself. “Mind, it’s still hot, and best to let the leaves settle to the bottom first.”
Taran Zhu lifted his small earthenware cup and breathed in the steam. It seemed to relax him. Chen had seen that a lot. One of the great joys of his life and of practicing the brewmaster’s art was how what he did affected people. Granted, most of them preferred his alcoholic offerings to tea, but good tea, well brewed, had a unique charm and no hangover.
The monastery’s leader sipped, then lowered his cup. He gave Chen a nod. This allowed Chen and Yalia to sip also. Chen caught just the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of Yalia’s mouth. For his own part, he thought he’d done a pretty good job.
Taran Zhu regarded him through heavily lidded eyes. “Let me begin again, Master Stormstout. Do you wish to know why I am willing to have your two ships anchored in my harbor?”
Chen barely had to think on his answer. “Yes, Lord. Why?”
“Because they are of a balance. Your troll, from what little you have mentioned and the fact that he is a shadow hunter, doubtless is of Tushui. This other, the man who every day goes up the mountain a bit farther, then returns, he is of Huojin. One is Horde; the other is Alliance. They would, by nature, oppose each other, and yet it is this opposition that unites them and gives them meaning.”
Yalia set her cup down. “Forgive me, Lord, but is it not possible, given their opposition, that they might try to kill each other?”
“This is not a possibility I have any cause to discount, Sister. Enmity between Horde and Alliance runs deep. These two bear many scars—the man bears them in his mind as well, and so might your troll, Master Stormstout. And someone well and truly tried to murder your troll. Whether Alliance forces ambushed him, or the Horde has turned on its own, I cannot guess. However, we cannot have them murdering each other here.”
“I don’t think Tyrathan would do that, and Vol’jin, well, I know…” Chen hesitated for a moment, memories burbling up in his mind. “I’ll just have a talk with Vol’jin. Explain the no-murdering thing to him?”
A frown darkened Yalia’s expression. “Do not think me cruel, Master Stormstout, but I must ask if harboring the two of them here does not embroil us in foreign politics and strife. Could we not turn them out, or turn them back to their own people?”