Chapter 13: Making Use of His Life —The Season is Winter, but It Is Not Over Yet—

How many more days of life did he have left? The thought had occurred on a whim.

So he tried counting.

He wasn’t afflicted with any terminal disease. He’d simply grown old enough to figure it was time to start counting down instead of up. Eternal life was a fool’s ambition. The whole wiseman thing might be a tad overblown, but he was at least possessed of enough good sense to know that much. The lives of man, even in their longest instances, were just short of a century. That left him with maybe a decade. Two at most. And so, the old man looked back on his life. He’d been doing that a lot lately. He had little else to do, after all, and it kept his mind busy, which made the silent company of his looming death just tolerable.

The first conclusion he drew was that it had been a good life. If lives were divided into seasons, his own had doubtlessly crossed into winter. He’d thrived during his nascent spring of budding talent. He’d toiled through his torrid summer of full bloom. He’d reveled in his bountiful autumn of rewarding harvest. Now, it was time for a bleaker season, one of wilt, decline, and decay. But at the same time, it was also a preparatory period in anticipation of a fresh spring.

He’d lived well, freely indulging his desire to know, to study, and to learn, on a quest for knowledge that took him from place to place across the entire continent. After experiencing nearly the full cycle of life, he’d turned his attention to younger generations, to whom he imparted his wisdom without reservation so that their coming years would be as rewarding as his own. Blessed again was his luck, and he successfully delivered many exceptional students to the world. Now, as the thaw of his own winter drew ever nearer, he spent more and more time thinking about how to make the most of his dwindling life. That was when he heard one of his favorites, Ludwig, was looking for him.

Ludwig had always been particularly bright, and he’d taught him with great care. A naturally sharp mind complemented a meticulous rationality, priming the boy to make astute observations through relentlessly logical analyses. Ever since they’d parted, he had been secretly looking forward to seeing how this remarkable young man would apply his considerable talents.

Then he’d received news that Ludwig now served the Tearmoon Princess. It was, in his opinion, a senseless arrangement, impressive only in its daftness. Everything he knew about royalty and their ilk pointed to the same conclusion; they were as arrogant as they were stupid and as stupid as they were rich. A wealth of youthful talent and unrealized potential...wasted by a life of service under vacuous masters. He would not—could not—stand by and let it happen. And when that thought occurred to him, he knew he’d figured out something else as well—how to make use of the remainder of his life.

The trial of three visits was not for the Wandering Wiseman to gauge the Tearmoon Princess. It wasn’t meant for himself at all. The trial was for his student. It offered Ludwig a chance to weigh the true nature of the Great Sage of the Empire and accurately assess her worth. Should she rage at his flagrant insolence and demand his death, it would expose her inner character, paring away the outer shell to reveal an inferior core wholly undeserving of Ludwig’s devotion. Conversely, if she were to heed Ludwig’s advice and bring herself—even if begrudgingly—here on three separate occasions, it would reveal at least a laudable tolerance both for the inherent irritation of well-meaning dissent as well as the inevitable difficulties of dealing with uncooperative others.

It was, put simply, an experiment. The princess was the substance of interest, and his life was the litmus. At the same time, it was a parting gift from an old man who believed he’d found his final purpose...to a student he valued more than his own breath.

Well, that’s how it had begun, at least.

“Screeching bunnies...”

The Wandering Wiseman stared at Mia standing motionless in front of his tent, his shock-widened eyes growing larger with every passing minute. It also bears mentioning that said wiseman was not, in fact, staring at her from inside his tent. Rather, he was perched atop one of the trees behind it, observing the proceedings from his elevated position—a rather remarkable feat for someone who was supposed to be nearing his end. Frankly, the sprightly old badger probably had at least another three decades left to go.

“Granted, I did tell Ludwig I was going to test her with the three visits, but I sure didn’t expect her to just stand there like a statue and wait. I wonder if he told her about my plan...” He shook his head. “No, even if he tattled, the proverb makes no mention of waiting, much less how to wait. She doesn’t sit. She doesn’t banter. She’s just...waiting. Actively waiting. For me.”

His eyes narrowed in thought. Time wasn’t free. Many people failed to appreciate this fact, but time was valuable, and when it belonged to the Princess of Tearmoon, even moreso. Every minute, every second, was worth its incalculable weight in gold.

“And yet, there she is... Waiting. Giving away her time. For free.”

Had she been reading a book while waiting, she would have split her time in two, half used to wait, and half used to read. But she didn’t. She simply waited, expending—squandering, even—the full value of her time in order to meet the Wandering Wiseman. Just then, as he gazed at her from his vantage point, he had the distinct feeling that their eyes met.

“She keeps looking at these trees... And she’s been doing it a lot this past while, which means... Aha! So she’s already aware of my presence!”

...Like hell she was. Just to be clear, our elderly tree percher had stuck leaves all over his clothes so he could hide in the canopy while observing her. The special disguise made him practically invisible among the trees. For someone who’d purportedly said, “When in a forest, wear forest clothes,” it was perhaps an appropriate albeit overly literal interpretation.

Anyway, the point is that from where Mia stood, no one could have seen him. Not her, not Dion, and not even experienced Lulu hunters. What he’d just felt was the equivalent of the “Omigosh he/she just looked at me!” phenomenon often experienced by overly enthusiastic fanboys/girls with front row seats to a live performance by their idols. Alas, wizened was the wiseman’s mind...

“...So I see, Ludwig. So I see. The only thing to be exposed today...is my own misjudgment of her character and intelligence. Hm-hm. Wizened is the wiseman’s mind, it seems.”

...Damn it.

“Well, with that decided, it’d be simply inappropriate to keep her waiting any longer. She’s been so patient, after all. Spring will have to wait. It looks like winter’s going to be sticking around for a little while longer.” His gaze grew pensive. “Still, who’d have thought that I’d spend my final years working under the Tearmoon Princess. Life can really throw some curveballs... But then again, I guess that’s what keeps it interesting... Heh.”

The old man laughed. It was one of mockery, yes, and it was directed at himself, but it was also a more vivacious sound than any he’d uttered in a long time.

In case anyone is wondering, Mia wasn’t actually “just waiting,” of course. She was counting the number of leaves on the trees. By the old man’s logic, she had split her time in two—half to count the darker leaves, and half to count the brighter leaves. The value of this time wasn’t even part of the equation. Fortunately, the Wandering Wiseman never did learn of this, which was probably for the better.