A cobalt flame sprung from the tips of Khari’s amber-painted nails. Bright, controlled, precise. That was the mantra drilled into her head since she started fire-weaving. Fire-weaving was as rare as it was difficult to control. Most elementalists could only create a petite orange flicker, barely enough to light a tea candle. 

Her incense stick smoldered as the blue glow vanished from her hand. Smoke rivulets, the color of an ocean jewel, wafted through the temple. The faint glimmer illuminated the han inscribed on the tombstones. Every revered monk of the Lán Sè De Temple was honored within the pale walls of the burial chamber. The symmetrical temple was built of refined and enhanced silver stone that gave it its signature powder blue hue; it was unnatural amongst the tropical blossoms of sienna, magenta, gold, lavender, and vermillion that burst from the forest at irregular intervals. It was here where she sought the wisdom of her ancestors. Namely, about the technology that so quickly permeated into her traditional bubble. 

It was difficult to use fire-weaving in the modern world, to say the least. Magic was slowly disintegrating into a forgotten art. Few retained the blessings bestowed upon folk at the beginning of the dynasty. Chongqing, a few kilometers away from her village, relied heavily upon the electric gizmos that ran most functions. If you stood at the top of one of the surrounding mountains, you could see the streetlamps illuminating the city like little suns in the night. That tech replaced her gifts that were soon seen as “not very impressive.” This was the new world she would soon be forced to fit into.

Her uniform lay neatly on her bed next to the infinite number of boxes and suitcases in the quaint little room she called her own for the past 13 years. Her mother, a jīběn or “ordinary,” insisted upon her taking that test. That test! If she hadn’t taken that gods-darned test she would be lining up with the other elementalists for another grueling, yet thrilling, day of training instead of leaving her home for Shanghai! She could barely stand living near Chongqing and now she was being shipped halfway across the country to one of the biggest cities in the country. She had to find a way out. A loophole or technicality of some sort would do the trick. Anything. 

Perhaps her fire-weaving would be considered too dangerous for a big city with millions of inhabitants. Or the admissions officers would send her back for looking too scruffy. Or a prophetic tea leaf in her mother’s oolong would be a sign that she should stay home. Or the moon would look funny to her father and promise misfortune if she left. Or…    

“Don’t be ridiculous! Of course, you will go to Shanghai,” a voice echoed around the tomb.