Chapter 7.

“I am writing these lines from the Forbidden City of the Yamato, where I have had the privilege to be invited by Emperor Go-Komyo, the fourth of the continental emperors and one hundred and tenth in the imperial dynasty. I arrived in this city after a long journey by sea and land, traversing kingdoms and cultures unknown to me. I have come with the purpose of studying and documenting the history and science of this great empire, which has fascinated many in my homeland.”

“The Forbidden City”

Memoirs

Great Alim, Ahmed Aljinn

Sunlight filtered through the high windows, painting golden patterns on the floor of the academy.

On the threshold of his room’s entrance, a senior apprentice awaited him impatiently. He was a tall and slender young man, with black hair tied in a ponytail and dark eyes. He wore a white robe with blue embroidery, the imperial uniform denoting his rank and prestige. His face was stern and proud, like that of a noble.

In the Outer Walls, the unique tone of his skin was often a cause for astonishment among the locals. His complexion, with a noticeably lighter hue than most, frequently triggered curious looks and whispered comments. Yet, upon crossing into the Forbidden City, Ritsu found himself immersed in a world where his singularity faded into the shadows.

Unlike the varied palette of shades that painted the streets of his former home, here most inhabitants possessed skin even paler than his own. The Forbidden City seemed to have stripped them of their original color, as if the shadows of its countless secrets had deeply rooted themselves into the flesh and souls of its dwellers.

It was as if they had never felt the caress of the warm sun rays, as if the light, in its relentless quest for truth, had erred its way in the labyrinth of mysteries and knowledge hidden within those walls. It was strange and uncomfortable. The paleness of their faces made them appear immune to human emotions, as if they had traded the glow of life for the dark mystery of the Forbidden City.

“Welcome, Ritsu,” he greeted with a respectful bow, his voice resonated with a cadence that denoted years of discipline and learning... yet, behind that formality, he perceived something more. Something that lay beneath the surface of his words like a dark current, a solemnity that bordered on the inhuman, devoid of the emotions that define men.

It was a rehearsed voice.

Ritsu returned the gesture, trying not to seem disconcerted.

“Thank you for guiding me, Yasui-senpai,” he responded humbly. “I hope not to cause you any trouble.”

The apprentice nodded, his eyes sharp and observant like a hawk scanning the horizon. Ritsu wondered if, deep down, Yasui was silently evaluating him, perhaps even looking down on him. It was a concern that stirred like a bird trapped in a cage, but Ritsu silently quelled it.

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Together, they crossed the threshold and began walking through the academy. He was awestruck by the magnificence of the place. The hallways were broad and luminous, with high vaulted ceilings and carved columns. The walls were covered with tapestries and paintings depicting historic or mythological scenes. On each side, there were doors leading to the various classrooms and halls where lessons were conducted.

The air was permeated with a unique fragrance, a mixture of wax, paper, papyrus, and parchments, of freshly distilled ink and exotic spices. It was a scent distinct from the incessant stench of sewers and drains that dominated the Outer Walls.

Yet, despite its pleasant fragrance, Ritsu could not fully appreciate it.

That smell whispered in his ear that he was no longer home, that he was alone in a foreign city, where every unfamiliar face hid judgment, where his origin was a cause for scorn. He felt lost, unsure if he truly wanted to be part of that world.

“Let me explain the basic rules of the academy. During your stay here, you must observe them with rigorous precision,” Yasui began as they walked. “First, you must always show respect when entering and leaving the classrooms. A proper bow is the tribute we pay to the knowledge that is bestowed upon us. It does not matter if the teacher is young or old, kind or stern. All of them deserve our gratitude and deference.”

Ritsu nodded, trying to memorize every word.

“Also,” Yasui continued, “silence is golden in these corridors. Concentration is the key that will unlock the doors to understanding. Speak only when necessary and in a moderate tone. Do not interrupt or contradict your teachers or peers unless expressly asked. Listen carefully and learn with humility.”

Ritsu bit his lower lip, wondering if he would be able to meet these demands.

“As for attire,” Yasui went on, “it is imperative that you follow the dress code. Robes must be clean and wrinkle-free, and the color and design must respect the hierarchy.”

Ritsu paid close attention, though deep down, he scoffed at that word, “hierarchy,” a term that swayed on the lips of nobles and aristocrats, a currency that delineated the lines of power in the Imperial Military Academy of the Forbidden City. There, every aspiring official was required to wear a robe reflecting their position on the academy’s ladder, like a living emblem of their status and achievements.

“Silver,” Yasui continued, “for those who have passed the trial period at the academy, for those who are one step away from obtaining an official position, but have not yet reached the peak. White, for the seniors, our experience and wisdom elevate us above others. Blue, for those exceptional students who stand out in their studies and exhibit extraordinary potential... And finally, the color brown,” Yasui looked at him and, for a moment, Ritsu swore he could see mockery in his eyes. “For newcomers or for those who, by choice or fate, have stagnated in the shadows of anonymity.”

“Brown.” The color of mud, of humiliation and stigma, stood as a constant reminder of the consequences of complacency and failure. A color that seemed to emulate the mire they had not managed to escape, marking them as the dirt clinging to sandals.

“That’s why, although it’s not mandatory, I recommend you only wear the imperial uniform, it will always be according to your rank... Oh, your hair must be neatly tied, but I suppose that’s not important, you have quite short hair.”

A shiver of discomfort ran down his back. This boy was scrutinizing every detail. He knew it was an expression of respect for the academy and its traditions... but, despite that, he couldn’t help but find the comment about his appearance unsettling, as if a part of his soul had been exposed to the view of a stranger.

“We have arrived at the last thing you must know,” Yasui concluded, “punctuality. Time is a treasure that cannot be recovered once lost. To be late to your classes or meetings shows a lack of commitment and disdain for knowledge. In this academy, the first time can be a slip-up, a youth’s error. But the second... the second is a sentence. You will be banished from this sanctuary of knowledge, like a withered leaf carried away by the wind. The academy does not forgive those who do not respect its time and its rules.”