The teacher and the student

This may have actually happened. I am not sure.

Many years ago, an old teacher and his young, wide-eyed student wandered the mist-veiled paths of the Eastern mountains. Their journey had no name, no map, and no final resting point. Only the steady rhythm of their footsteps and the wind weaving through pine needles marked the passing of time.

The teacher, long-bearded and calm as still water, bore the years on his back like stones in a satchel. Yet he moved forward with grace, every step a quiet poem.

His student, slight and swift like a deer, had the spring of youth in his stride. But even this began to wear thin after days of walking beneath the sun and sleeping beneath the stars. Still, the teacher seemed to tire faster, his breaths deep and drawn.

One morning, they arrived at a rushing river, wide as a rice field in spring. Though the water was shallow, it danced furiously over sharp stones, foaming white like the teeth of a dragon. There was no bridge, only the cold invitation of the current.

As they prepared to cross, a noblewoman appeared behind them, clad in silk the color of plum blossoms. Her hair was coiled high, pinned with jade, and her gaze held the chill of winter.

“You,” she said, pointing her fan toward them. “Carry me across.”

The student hesitated. She was not kind in her tone, and she seemed to see them as little more than stepping stones. Before he could speak, the teacher knelt slightly, wordless, and allowed her to climb onto his back.

Into the water he stepped, the cold wrapping around his legs like mountain fog. She gripped his shoulders tightly and began to scold with every splash.

“The water is freezing!”
“You’re walking too slow!”
“My robe is getting wet!”

Her voice echoed off the rocks like a crow in the stillness. The teacher said nothing, eyes forward, each step deliberate and steady. When they reached the far bank, he lowered her gently onto a patch of dry moss. She offered no bow, no thanks, and swept away into the trees, leaving only the scent of perfume behind.

They continued walking in silence, the sun rising higher as the sound of the river faded behind them. But the student’s heart felt knotted.

After some time, he finally spoke.

“Sensei… why did you let her treat you that way? She was cruel and ungrateful. Why didn’t you speak up?”

The teacher stopped and turned to him, eyes warm like tea.

“I set her down at the riverbank,” he said. “Why are you still carrying her?”

The student looked at the path ahead, then at his teacher’s face. The wind stirred the leaves above, and in that moment, something loosened in his chest.

They walked on, the forest quiet again, and the road felt a little lighter beneath their feet.