At first, when Ren heard Mai had become a volunteer, he assumed it was only a passing whim.
Something she was trying out for fun.
She had never said it outright, but Mai was the very picture of a noble young lady: proper, polished, raised to keep her hands clean and her manners perfect.
But after watching her for a while, Ren realized she was serious.
She taught each child with care.
Mai was not much older than the children herself, but when she was teaching, it was easy to forget her age.
From behind, Ren had nearly failed to recognize her.
He had thought she was simply a rather short teacher, until he heard that familiar low, slightly hoarse voice and realized it really was Mai.
Serious, careful, responsible, polite.
It completely overturned the impression he had of her.
In Ren’s mind, Mai had always been gloomy, sharp-tongued, cold, and expressionless, with only the occasional glimpse of gentleness.
“I had some free time today, so I came to return your umbrella,” Ren said lightly.
“I didn’t expect to find you doing something this meaningful.” “It was only a whim.” Mai glanced at him, then found a shaded step and sat down.
Ren sat beside her.
“By the way, have you eaten lunch yet?” “No.
The director is cooking for everyone later,” Mai replied flatly.
Ren scratched his head.
“In that case, you don’t mind if I crash the meal, do you?” “You aren’t a volunteer,” Mai countered, entirely unsympathetic.
Ren reached out, plucked the volunteer badge from Mai’s sleeve, and pinned it onto his own wrist.
“There.
Now I am.” He lifted his hand and looked at the badge: two finely carved flame patterns marking him as a volunteer.
It was actually quite well made.
Mai ignored his nonsense and stood.
“Come with me.” Ren looked entirely bewildered.
“For what?” Mai glanced at him and said slowly, “Didn’t you say you wanted to be a volunteer?
I’m taking you to sign up with the director.” And just like that, because of a casual remark, Ren found himself completely press-ganged into service by the fiercely proactive Mai.
The director of the orphanage was a kind-looking old woman with white hair.
She wore the standard robes of a Fire Nation official and leaned on a cane, giving off a steady, reliable air.
“Mai?
Is something the matter?” Mai gently took the elderly woman’s arm, her raspy voice softening with a touch of genuine reverence.
“Director, my friend Ren said he wants to volunteer, so I brought him here.” Ren’s eyes were sharp.
He noticed at once that the director’s robes were old, washed so many times that the fabric had faded pale.
Together with the moss-covered cracks along the courtyard walls, it was enough to show that the orphanage was not doing well.
That was precisely why Ren admired the people who kept it going.
He cupped his hands respectfully and said seriously, “Director, I’d also like to help in whatever small way I can, like Mai.
Please tell me what I can do.” The director smiled kindly and nodded.
“You’re both good children.
“Ren, was it?
Could you help Mai teach the children, the way teachers do at school?
“At my age, my eyes aren’t what they used to be.
I’d like to help Mai, but I’m not always able to do as much as I wish.” As she spoke, the old director patted Mai’s hand and smiled gently.
Ren naturally had no objections and readily accepted the task.
However, he couldn’t shake the fleeting impression that the moment he agreed, Mai quickly averted her gaze, as if actively avoiding his eyes.
… It had rained twice during the nights this week, but the daytime remained consistently clear, bathing the world in brilliant, scorching sunlight.
Outside the courtyard walls, clusters of pale pink roses bloomed in full glory.
Whenever a gentle breeze swept through, a flurry of petals drifted down, blanketing the ground in a soft, elegant crimson.
Mai sat beneath the shade of a tree, raising a hand to shield her forehead from the glare.
Through the gaps between her slender fingers, she looked up at the blue sky.
For a volunteer, Mai seemed surprisingly idle.
That was because her scheduled teaching hour had not yet arrived.
Children ran past her, laughing and full of energy.
If the rigid teachers at school saw this, they would probably call it outrageous disobedience.
In their eyes, every child ought to be like a puppet on strings.
They only needed to obey commands.
Any extra thought was practically a crime.
At first, Mai had taught the same way.
She believed a teacher should have authority, and students should simply listen.
But after a certain someone arrived, the whole atmosphere changed.
With nothing more than a little ball, he found endless ways to play.
One moment the children were kicking it toward a goal, the next they were tossing it back and forth like a volleyball, laughing as if they never wanted to stop.
That guy Ren even gave it a grand name and called it “physical education,” though no such class existed at school.
Thinking about this, Mai slowly lowered her hand and was just about to stand when Ren’s voice stopped her.
“Mai, don’t move just yet.” “Hm?” Mai looked at him in confusion.
He was holding a piece of charcoal and seemed to be drawing something on the gray-white wall.
She did not know what he was doing, but she cooperated and stayed where she was.
Ren looked at the cracks in the pale wall, then called up the image in his mind: the girl sitting beneath falling rose petals, lifting her head to gaze at the sky.
When Master Piandao had taught him painting, he had once sighed and said that when Ren focused, his eyesight, calculation, and ability to infer were unmatched.
Talents like those were enough to make even Piandao, a master who had already reached the peak, feel jealous.
At first, Ren had not understood.
But after he could understand and master techniques with a single glance, he finally did.
This was the kind of talent that could lift him into the clouds and carve his name into history.
Even without an ounce of bending talent.
The charcoal moved under Ren’s fingers, gliding over the wall without a hitch.
The composition had already appeared there in his mind.
Michelangelo had once said he was not a sculptor; he only released the figure hidden inside the stone.
And now, relying on the sheer brilliance of his recollection talent, Ren touched upon that very state.
A long while passed before Ren finally let out a deep, exhausted breath, using up the very last fragment of the charcoal.
Turning his head back, he saw that Mai was still sitting quietly beneath the tree.
.
Even when the wind blew strands of black hair across her eyes, she had not brushed them aside.
Ren couldn’t help but chuckle softly, quickly waving her over.
Mai, who had stayed still the entire time, rose once she received the signal and came to stand behind him, her expression still mostly unchanged.
Ren said nothing.
He simply stepped aside, revealing the portrait on the wall.
Mai froze, her eyes slowly widening as if someone had lit them from within.
For an instant, she felt as though she were looking into a mirror.
The girl on the wall had light in her eyes as she gazed up at the sky.
The drawing used only black, white, and gray, yet somehow the petals caught in her hair still seemed soft and pink.
It was an unfinished painting.
The tree behind her was only partly drawn.
There was no blue sky, no sun.
Even part of the girl’s face was blurred, hidden behind rose petals carried by lines of air formed from the cracks in the wall.
Yet those very omissions drew the eye to the clear light reflected in the girl’s eyes.
One couldn’t help but be moved by the quiet vitality they held.
It was enough to make the entire painting seem alive.