The howling winds swept across the vast expanse, scattering clouds of dust that blurred all sight.
The great city-states shut their gates tightly.
In the Western Regions, the children were granted a “sandstorm holiday,” excused from attending the academy, though the tutors still assigned some coursework for them to practice.
The biting wind and sand mixed with their wails and cries.
“You lot are, without doubt, the worst batch of disciples I’ve ever taught.”
“Go home today. Complete thirteen pages of ‘Comprehensive Numerology,’ and finish three sets of the ‘Fifth and Third Lessons.’”
The young lads howled like banshees.
“Nooo!!”
“Teacher, please revoke your order! I don’t want to do numerology problems!”
Just having stepped from being a student into the role of tutor, a young man, refreshed and clear-headed, finally spoke what he had wished to say for some time:
“Class dismissed.”
The hearts of the students felt heavier and more muddled than the raging sandstorm outside.
Though the life in the Western Regions had changed greatly since ancient times, cultural customs lived on, passed down generation after generation.
No one dared defy the mighty powers of Heaven and Earth; no one would move out in such weather.
They said one must move in harmony with the times.
Yet culture is culture.