"I want to learn everything you deem necessary to teach me. I have never seen a painting this beautiful. As for your first question… I don't consider myself even an average swordsman. As far as I'm concerned, I know nothing—and I ask you to correct that flaw."
I bowed my head humbly in the traditional gesture of a junior to a senior.
"Interesting. Very well, Lee—let's see what you can do."
Piandao led me to the training grounds and put me through what could only be described as a test drive—by thoroughly grinding me into the dirt. But after every fall, I got back up again and again, some sixth sense telling me that if I gave up now, the Master would kick me out without a second thought and completely ruin all my plans.
A strange mix of my old-life stubbornness and Chan's unwillingness to bruise his own pride kept dragging me back to my feet. And so, after yet another fall, seeing nothing but a blurred silhouette in front of me, I finally heard the words I'd been waiting for.
"Enough. You truly know nothing, but your determination has made an impression on me. I will teach you."
I don't remember what happened next. I passed out somewhere right after the words "I will teach you."
The next year and a half blurred into an endless cycle of training, Pain, assignments from the Master—and more training.
My father, who had all but turned the world upside down looking for his wayward son, was (relatively) reassured by the letters I sent him from time to time. I wrote that I had realized how foolishly I'd been wasting my life and disgracing the family name, and that I needed to do something with myself. My parent wasn't thrilled, but after a small hint on my part (Father, did you know Master Piandao has taken a disciple?), his attitude shifted—and he even expressed approval.
The correspondence, incidentally, was a whole story in itself. The concept of a postal service did exist in the Fire Nation, but delivery was still unreliable—especially when the recipient was constantly on the move. So communication was sporadic at best, and I had a feeling that when I finally returned home, I'd be in for a proper dressing-down.
What else was worth mentioning about that time?
Probably the fact that my views on the Fire Nation changed significantly.
I'm not sure what caused it—the Master's influence, the final merging with Chan's personality, or something else entirely. I tend to blame the long conversations with the Master about everything and nothing—the kind that happen in any life when you discuss news, events, and history. And, of course, my own reflections on those discussions, Chan's memories, and the conclusions I drew from them, trying to gauge what the future might hold.
One way or another, one day I realized something simple:
The Fire Nation was my people. And this country was my country.
And the idea of killing—or dying—for it no longer seemed as foolish as it had a year and a half ago… though I'd still strongly prefer to avoid the dying part.
It sounds grandiose—overly dramatic, even—but at its core, it was that feeling when you realize that among these people, you belong… and everywhere else, you will always be an outsider.
The Fire Nation wasn't made up of perfect people—certainly not shining elves out of Valinor. It was a harsh, medieval nation, steeped in a strong "Asian" cultural flavor, one that had been waging a brutal war against the rest of the world for a hundred years.
But it was still the only place in the world where I belonged.
It's easy to say that the Water Tribes and the Earth Kingdom are the "good guys," because they help the kind, heroic protagonist of a cartoon and fight against the evil firebenders, who are evil simply because they're evil and must be defeated—especially when you're sitting safely in front of a screen, admiring Katara's pretty face and sympathizing with the poor girl those nasty villains have wronged.
But that's one thing—a picture on a screen, where you're just an observer and nothing truly threatens you.
And quite another—a real world, where those same "good and kind" people can actually kill you.
Simply because you belong to a certain nation.
They'll label you a villain and an enemy based on your origin. Without asking. Without understanding. Just because you were born into the Fire Nation—therefore, you're evil, and it's perfectly fine to beat you down.
Yes, the Fire Nation, at its core, was a society of medieval barbarians—people who had never even heard of human rights or the Geneva Conventions.
But here's the thing—no one else was any better.
They were barbarians too. And if anything, it was debatable who was more humane or more civilized.
For all that, the Fire Nation had widespread education, universities, and state support for the education of citizens arriving from the colonies in the Earth Kingdom. Their science had long since mastered steam engines and was already building ironclads, while the rest of the world was still sailing on wooden ships and hadn't seen anything more complex than a village forge.
But most importantly—all those so-called "good guys" wouldn't spare me.
This wasn't a world of rainbows and ponies. This was a war that had lasted a hundred years, and for the people of the Earth Kingdom , as well as the Water Tribes, I was an enemy simply by virtue of my birth.
It wasn't even a matter of them not accepting me as one of their own or refusing to let me live among them.
They would simply kill me.
A simple example: the Fire Nation took prisoners and maintained specialized prisons—even for benders of other elements—allowing them to live, and not under conditions resembling extermination camps. Meanwhile, neither I nor Master Piandao had ever even heard of the Earth Kingdom maintaining prisons for Fire Nation prisoners of war.