The Hidden School by Dan Millman

Author:Dan Millman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: North Star Way

SEVENTEEN

* * *

Stumbling into a clearing, I saw the shimmering stalks of a cultivated cornfield along with a red-roofed barn, reminding me of Ohio. Directly ahead and to the right, about a hundred yards away, lay a sturdy-looking two-story house. Beyond I could make out what looked like a pavilion, painted white, and a series of small dwellings—Chinese architecture in its purest form, with gracefully curving roofs that lifted my gaze to the orange sky. And there, in the shadow of the large roof’s overhang, the figure of a man emerged. I was too far away to see him clearly, but he was watching me. I could feel it.

I heard dogs barking and saw two of them running toward me—not menacing but watchful, with a large pig trailing behind them. The trio approached cautiously. One of the dogs let me scratch it lightly behind the ears. The other cut in and shoved its nose into my palm. The pig gave a sniff too, and grunted before the welcoming committee headed back down the grade.

My eyes swept past a smaller house beside the large one to a fast-flowing stream running behind both structures. I saw a woman approaching. The last rays of the evening sun painted her white silk tunic shades of pink and gold. Conscious of my ragged appearance, I made a futile attempt to straighten my clothes and ran a dirty hand through my hair. The woman stopped a few feet away. She had an oval face with a large scar across her cheek—from a serious burn, I guessed—and beautiful eyes framed by jet-black hair tied in a single braid. She made a slow bow as if I were a visiting dignitary. She spoke in clipped, British-sounding English, her voice unexpectedly lower than Hua Chi’s: “My name is Mei Bao. How can I help you?”

I made a belated attempt to bow, then turned to search through my pack for the letter I was to present to Master Ch’an. Unable to find it, I turned back to see her gazing at me, puzzled. After a speechless moment, I replied in a run-on sentence reminiscent of seven-year-old Bonita. “Oh, uh, my name is Dan Millman, you see I was sent here, well, not really sent, I mean I came of my own accord, but Hua Chi suggested I meet—”

“Hua Chi?” she said, now looking past me, over my shoulder, perhaps expecting Hua Chi to appear behind me. After a pause: “Surely you didn’t travel here on your own?”

I nodded, still preoccupied as I searched through my bag. “Somewhere I have a letter of—”

She pursed her lips. “I’ve forgotten my manners; you must be weary from your journey. Let me show you where you may rest for the night. In the morning we’ll speak over tea. By then you’ll have found the letter.” Mei Bao spoke soothingly as though I were a small child who’d woken from a nightmare.

She led me to a small room just inside and to the left of the barn’s entrance.

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