“Past life?” Jace asked. In his years as a student, Master As had never said anything about having this skill.
“Yes,” Master As answered.
“A past life.”
“It is said that every soul is given four lives. One to plant, one to wait, one to harvest, and one to enjoy the harvest.”1
He raised a single finger. “But we do not know which life we are currently living. Nor do we know which connections still linger from our previous selves. The memories—long buried—may still linger through your instincts, your fears, your desires.”
Zeno crossed his arms. “And you can show us this?”
“I cannot show you,” Master As said gravely. “But I can guide you. Through the ancient methods passed down to me by my ancestors.”
“Are you certified?” Doha blurted out. He had seen this on the internet before, and he even looked up courses online!
“Those who are certified are frauds,” Master As said with distaste. “This gift is not one learned. It is inherited.”
“Oh, I actually want to do this,” Doha said, eyes lighting up with a grin. “This is cool.”
“Me first!” Minji raised her hand, her excitement bubbling over. “I want to try it!”
“Very well,” Master As said. He pulled a rocking chair—seemingly carved from the same tree that stood in the middle of their courtyard—and placed it at the center of the room. “Sit here, child.”
Minji skipped over and sat down, brushing her palms on her knees nervously.
“Close your eyes,” Master As instructed, his voice dropping into a gentle cadence. “Breathe in. And out. In… and out.”
The others gathered around. Zeno leaned against the wall, arms crossed, but watching intently.
“Feel the earth beneath your feet. Let it ground you. Let it take the weight of your thoughts. Good.” Master As moved behind Minji, his hands hovering just above her shoulders.
“You will go down now. Not into sleep… but into memory.”
“Let your breath out slowly. Let your mind drift back. Further. Beyond your name. Beyond this skin. Beyond this time. Where are you?”
There was silence.
Then, Minji spoke.
“I… I see a courtyard. There’s a clothesline with baby clothes. I’m folding them.”
Her voice changed.
“What are you doing?” Master As probed.
“There’s a child crying. My son. He wants to be held all the time. He cries when I put him down. He’s so small. But he’s healthy.”
Zeno straightened slightly. Jace had gone completely still. Eli and Doha turned to each other with wide eyes.
Minji wasn’t one to act for things like this.
Master As nodded, eyes closed. “Go on.”
“My husband left us. The villagers say he was drafted to the border. I haven’t seen him in over a year. I don’t know if he’s dead or just… gone.”
Minji smiled, her eyes still closed. “We’re happy. I sew clothes for others. I also sell herbal balms at the market. I live with my mother. She helps me take care of my boy.”
“Wait, this is legit,” Eli muttered, and Doha nodded enthusiastically in response.
Master As turned slowly to the group. “Her soul remembers. A soul that has already waited. Her past life was a season of patience, of love through struggle.”
Zeno furrowed his brows, watching Minji’s peaceful expression.
She looked different somehow, aged not in appearance but in essence.
Minji let out a soft sigh.
He raised a hand above her forehead. “You may return now, Minji. With the blessing of memory.”
Minji’s eyes fluttered open slowly.
“Did… did I say something?” she asked, her voice trembling.
Everyone was quiet.
“You were a mother,” Master As said softly. “A really good one.”
Zeno was frozen, his mind racing with questions he didn’t have the answer to.
Then, Master As turned to the rest of them with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Who’s next?”
***
Just like that, it had been found out that Eli was a healer in his past life, and Jace was a beggar.
Doha was currently being analyzed, but compared to the others, he didn’t have concrete answers.
“You may return,” Master As said, and his eyes snapped open.
Doha was excited as he got out of the rocking chair.
“What am I?” he happily exclaimed.
“You were a sponge in the sea.”
“That’s it?” Doha asked, incredulous.
“That’s it,” Master As answered.
“What? That’s not fair. Then, why did it feel like I was dying?”
“You were probably dried up. Died like a rag on a rock.” He waved his hand lazily. “Next.”
The others were already doubled over in laughter, muffling their snorts with their sleeves.
Doha stood there, affronted. “That’s my past life? A sea sponge?”
Master As did not even spare him a glance.
“Next,” he chimed, turning to Zeno.
Zeno hesitated. “I think it’s time to call it a night.”
“No,” Master As deadpanned, already gesturing toward the wooden rocking chair in the middle of the room. “It’s your turn.”
Zeno didn’t move.
Master As tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. “Come now. There’s no reason for you to be having a hard time. Unless…”
He stepped closer, his voice filled with curiosity. “Are you hiding something?”
Zeno’s brows twitched. “I’m not.”
“We’re all tired,” he added quickly, scanning the group.
“No,” Master As said again. “Your soul is burning through your body. You are curious. I can see it.” He leaned in. “You want to know.”
Zeno clenched his fists, lips pressed together in a thin line.
“Besides,” Master As continued, gesturing vaguely with his hand,
“You’ll all have a full rest. Sleep in until noon. I won’t bother you until then.”
Zeno exhaled slowly and moved toward the chair. He sat, and the old chair creaked as he leaned back.
Master As placed a hand on the backrest, gently rocking him.
“Close your eyes,” he murmured. “Let your thoughts fall silent.”
Zeno obeyed, albeit begrudgingly. His heart was beating strangely fast.
“Let your breath slow… drift back… further back… further… Where are you?”
Zeno frowned. He didn’t want to answer. He didn’t think anything would happen—
Until the chair disappeared beneath him.
The room dimmed into velvet.
He felt something—fabric? A cloak? The weight of something resting on his shoulders, and beneath him, were wooden planks squeaking due to footsteps.
A spotlight bloomed in his mind.
Zeno’s lips parted before he even realized he was speaking.
“I’m on stage.”
“Where?” Master As’ voice sounded far now.
Zeno tried to look around. He saw oil lamps lighting the archways above him. Red velvet curtains. He was wearing lace sleeves—dark wine-colored ones. A mask lay in his hand, delicate and gold-framed.
“I… I’m in a theater. Performing,” he muttered.
The crowd roared. He turned, and in the far rows of the gallery, nobles leaned forward with eager faces.
A woman with red hair in tight curls looked at him, and with a single glance, he knew his line.
“My lady, if love be war, then let my sword be yours,” he said aloud.
Gasps from the crowd filled the room. The woman smirked. It was an old line, but he delivered like it came from his own chest.
Zeno’s breath caught. His voice wasn’t even the same.
He felt horrified.
At that moment, he realized that this memory didn’t come from one of his past missions.