When it came to the Sage of the Blue Mountain, there were certain things that were Known and certain things that were Supposed by the people of the valley. It was Known, for instance, that the Sage never lied; it was Supposed that the gods had cursed him so for blasphemy, so that his tongue might never again speak falsehoods of Heaven. It was Known that within the Sage's mountain sanctuary there was a reflecting pool so still and so pure that the wise might look upon it and see all things that are and have been; it was Supposed that the Sage, so wise and discerning, needed it not at all.

Moreover, it was Known that the Sage never descended from his mountain perch, and that the people of the valley liked things exactly that way. They willingly reaped an occasional but ample profit from the pilgrimages before those devoted began the hard trek up the mountain to ask the Sage a question of their choice (after the proper offerings, of course.) It was Supposed that the Sage preferred such an arrangement as well, though no one was foolish enough to waste a question's worth of offerings for idle curiosity.

It came about that a woman of middling age and stern features arrived at the village in the valley. She traveled alone, the people of the town noted with surprise, with not even a strong son to guard her from bandits. She wore the garb of a peasant, though not one in desperate poverty, and bore neither religious sign nor symbol, as the pilgrimages were wont to do. When asked about her origins, she was polite but curt with the townsfolk, asking only for provisions and a small basket of mangoes before she moved on up the mountain. Unsettled by the distance in her gaze, the villagers accepted her coin and gave her what she had requested. The next morning saw her gone before the sunrise, her distance taken with her.

The woman traveled up the mountain neither slowly nor swiftly; while her steps were chosen with care, she did not hesitate to take them. Implacably she scaled the narrow path up the cliff face, where a single misstep had sent the unwary tumbling for hundreds of feet before perishing. Stony-faced she made offering at the shrine of the patroness of the mountain range. She did not hesitate to bathe in the frigid, clear waters of the sacred stream, which are so clean and so pure that they are said to wash taint from one's very soul. Even when the winds howled and heralded a stormy night the woman did not cower; instead, she huddled with a small fire in one of the mountain's many caves, using the sharp edges of the blue shale of the mountain to keep her uncomfortable and awake throughout the deadly cold.

It was thusly that the woman arrived at the Sage's mountaintop home the next day at noon: battered, to be sure, but unbowed. Her feet trudged the same, steady pace up the incline, crunching through ice until she reached the craggy shelter. There she paused and surveyed the view before her: a backdrop of clouds and snowy peaks, a foreground of gray and blue that was as tranquil as the storm was violent. Gripping her provisions, the woman paused and took a deep breath, coming to a stop before the sacred bell that would announce her presence.

Then, with resolve collected, she rang the bell three times.

For several minutes, there was no answer; the woman had been told to expect this and waited in place as the sound of the bell slowly faded away to nothing in the clear air. Eventually, a rough voice called out from the inner shrine:

"Well, what exactly are you waiting around for?"

The woman blinked for a moment at the coarseness of the tone; hearing it was more akin to listening to the farmhands curse than any holy man she had ever met. Nonetheless, who else could be here at the desolate peak than the Sage of the Blue Mountain? She walked from the bell, uncertain for the first time she could remember, and stepped in the open sanctum.

It was Known that the Sage's forms were as wildly variable as the mountain winds; the villagers had heard from many a pilgrim how the Sage had appeared to them as a heavenly maiden, as a gout of fire, as a twisting naga with a voice like a torrent of water. The woman had steeled herself to resist any of these frightful forms, or the wizened figures of an ancient scholar, or any manner of things. What she was unprepared to face, however, was a chubby, balding man little older than herself, slouched in the lotus position in the center of the room. A patch of acne sat upon his round jaw; his robes had a stain on their lower folds. The utter mundanity of it was such that for a moment the woman didn't notice that he sat upon the seeing pool without so much as a ripple.

"Get on with it." The Sage gestured vaguely. "I'm a busy man and I haven't got all day. Well. To tell the truth I'm none of those things, but that doesn't mean I like being gawped at like a teenager in a pleasure house."

The woman started, then bowed deeply. She proffered her three offerings: her grandmother's fingerbone, a lock of her son's hair, and the basket of mangoes—it was Known that the Sage, regardless of form, was fond of them. After laying them out one at a time, she bowed in the fifth way, as her village priest had instructed her, and fixed her eyes upon the rough stone lining the seeing pool.

A long moment passed. Then:

"A worthy offering. Ask your question, seeker, and be answered."

Rising from her bow, the woman kept her gaze politely averted.

"How do I become a sage?"

"It is a simple matter. First, enter the forest and examine the trees. Learn well which trees warp as they grow, how the wood twists and straightens. Memorize the ways of the hammer, the saw, the rope, the awl. Strengthen your arms until you can draw them, and cast your gaze at the bones of a house and boat. See their interconnection and learn them well, preferably with assistance from the one who made them."

The woman frowned. "And what do I do after that?"

"After that, you will have all you need be a modestly skilled carpenter. You may then happily abandon this 'sage' nonsense, as it is a pointless occupation suited only for those unable to find proper work."

For a very long moment, the only thing which could be heard was the sound of wind sighing across the peak.

"Holy one," the woman said with exacting care. "I was not joking."

"I know. That's the problem, or at least part of it. I take it you don't like my answer? Few do, after all."

"Your answer is confusing," she replied. "Is it a question of my worth? Of my attachments to this world?"

"Your attachments? Feh. What could possibly attach you to this world, when your husband and children were taken by plague, your farm taken by flood, and your village taken by war? Really, it's a wonder you didn't seek transcendence sooner, if only to alleviate that awful loss."

The woman stood speechless, for the Sage had named the reason she had come to the mountain as casually as the valley people spoke of the coming rain. The Sage watched her with sharp eyes, then gave a heavy sigh. "You're not going to go away, are you?"

"I cannot, holy one. I have lost everything in my life. Only the holy path will relieve my suffering: it is Known that sages neither need nor take families or communities. Will you help me?"

The Sage seemed to contemplate this. He watched her without blinking for a long moment.

"There are many ways to become a sage, woman. This is yours: you will achieve it this way, or you will not. Either way, it is all I will give you. If you wish to be wise, first kill your husband and children, then your mother and father. Once you have managed that, kill yourself. Last, but most importantly, kill me."

The woman frowned at these words. "My husband and children have been dead for nearly a year, and my mother and father have been gone even longer. How could I kill the dead? Why would I even wish to kill them, when their loss is what gives me such pain?"

"Why indeed?" Was the cryptic response.

"I don't understand."

"Clearly you do not, or you would have stopped pouting, eaten one of these fine mangoes, and left already."

For the first time since the death of her family, the woman's stony expression showed anger. "You're mocking me, and you have been since I rang that bell. Enough with these riddles—I came here for an answer and I'm not leaving until I get one!"

"Is that so?" The Sage drawled. "Fine. I won't make you leave—hunger or cold will do that far more efficiently than force. If you're going to stay, then at least move out of the way so you don't make a nuisance for the next seeker."

She trembled with indignation, then jerked her head down in what could only loosely be called a bow and stalked to the side of the shrine. There, she took a seat and fixed the Sage with a severe look. Meanwhile, the Sage continued to watch the entrance with exactly the same expression of boredom.

In such a way the day drew to a close: the Sage watching nothing, the woman watching the Sage. The light faded from the Blue Mountain; the cold began to seep into the woman's bones and she began to shiver with discomfort for the first time since she began ascending the mountain, but she remained unmoving, for where else was she to go?

The night passed between them in silence, the chill stealing all but the most fitful of rests from the intruder. As the sunlight of a new day crept into the mountain shrine once again, the woman was astonished to see that the Sage had changed forms in the darkness. Instead of the chubby man upon whom the sun had set, a muscular, disheveled brute sat upon the seeing pool. There was dirt under his fingernails and a laborer's calluses upon his hands and feet. His brow was heavy and his eyes dull. In place of the perpetual contempt of the previous form, this man gazed on the world with surly, unpleasant resentment. Under one arm was the woman's offering of mangoes; the Sage ate one so sloppily that the juice ran from his mouth and dripped from his chin.

Unsettled by this change, the woman shifted in place and looked to the entrance, for a time losing herself in the chill of the air and the shifting clouds beyond. A time passed; the silence remained unchanged as the sun rose, reached, and passed its zenith.

Eventually, the crunch of ice underfoot caught her attention. The bell outside rang three times, and a man entered. His garments were well-made and meticulously kept; the woman noted the traces of ink still lingering on his fingers. The newcomer started a little at the Sage's appearance, but swiftly recovered his composure and spared the woman barely a glance. Bowing precisely in the fifth way, the man placed his three offerings before the seeing pool: a bottle of expensive palm wine from the south; a tome with an elaborate, incomprehensible inscription upon it; and finally, a beautiful statuette of the goddess of knowledge.

The Sage inspected the offerings critically. Then, with a rough voice and provincial accent, he spoke. "A proud offering. Ask your question, seeker, and be answered."

Rising from his bow, the man lifted his gaze to meet the Sage's. "What is the highest end of scholarship and how might I reach it?"

The Sage took a bite of mango and glared at the man. "Fool!"

The man blinked with surprise. "O great Sage, how am I a fool? I have devoted years of study to the high and esoteric, made mastery of tongues long lost to the world, and led others—"

The Sage threw the half-eaten mango at him. It bounced off the man's head with a wet thud, leaving an orange smear. The man, for his part, seemed too stunned to react.

"Fool! Fool! Fool!" The Sage hooted the word like a monkey, drowning out the man's protests with sheer, stubborn volume. The man, now clearly enraged, stood from his bow and tried to shout back. The Sage responded with yet more shrieks of "Fool!" accompanied by vigorously pelting the furious petitioner with yet more mangoes. Eventually, the man's resolve broke and he retreated, cursing the Sage with astonishing venom as he retreated down the Blue Mountain. Supplicant thusly repelled, the Sage gave a crude grin and tossed the now empty basket of mangoes to one side.

The woman watched the event play out with increasing incredulity. She did not attempt to speak to the Sage for the remainder of the day.

Night came, and dawn followed. The woman's stomach rumbled with hunger and kept her awake, but she dared not move from her place. As the light of the morning sun illuminated the Sage yet again, she saw their form had once again shifted. In place of the brute, a common harlot sprawled on the seeing pool. Her clothes were as garish as they were ill-fitting, and the flesh they revealed by the shift of the fabric was scarred by pox. Despite herself the woman stared at the sight; for her part, the Sage continued to resolutely ignore her unwanted guest, instead watching the door with half-closed eyes and a sullen expression.

The day passed, and in time the sound of crunching ice was heard outside the shrine once again. The bell rang out three times in quick succession, and another man stepped through the stone entranceway: a kshatriya in full regalia. He wore armor made of shining metal scales that threw painfully bright reflections of sunlight into the woman's eyes. A straight, double-edged sword was strapped to his side, and a knife handle protruded from each of his boots. For a moment he sneered at the Sage before noticing the way she sat upon the water; apparently satisfied by this display of supernatural ability, he nodded curtly.

Without bow or preamble, the man removed three offerings from his pack: a robe of fine, saffron colored silk clearly fitted for a man; a curved sword of expensive, flexible steel; and a bag of golden coins, the top left open. The Sage sat up as he worked, surveying the precious gifts with a sullen expression. Eventually, she nodded reluctantly.

"An...acceptable offering. Ask your question, seeker, and be answered."

"My enemy has raised an army against mine, and they now make for my stronghold." Bitterness colored the man's words. "How can I defeat him and stop him from doing so again?"

The Sage yawned. The man's lips thinned with displeasure. "You kill him, obviously. It will not stop all your enemies, but if you do it properly it will stop that one. I should think a general like yourself would know at least that much."

"How do I kill him?"

"Any number of ways. Slit his throat, maybe, or set him aflame, or poison his meal. Once you decide to kill him, the method is really a matter of taste."

The man bristled. "He has brought an army against me! How can I fight through an army and kill him?"

"By losing. First, you lose your city. Then, you lose your title. Then, you lose your courage. Then, you lose your skill as a warrior. Once all these have been lost, you will kill your enemy."

The man snarled and kicked the bag of coins aside, sending precious metal scattering across the shrine. "Insolent whore! I will never lose my courage!"

The Sage inspected her nails. "If you say so. It hardly matters to me, now does it? Either I'll be right and you'll have no reason to return, or I'll be wrong and you'll have no ability to do so. Either way, you'll no longer be making a nuisance of yourself in my shrine."

The man fumed for a long moment, then turned on his heel and stalked out of the shrine, not before snatching up the sword and the robes with another curse. The Sage returned to her sprawl, gazing blankly at the rough stone ceiling of the shrine. The woman watched him go with a pensive expression, and then looked back at the Sage without saying a word. In such a way the night passed, and morning followed.

As the morning sun rose to reveal the chubby man the woman had met on the first day, she smiled. Rising from her place with creaking bones and sore muscles, she hobbled over to the bag of spilled coins and plucked three from the ground. Turning to the Sage, she laid them on the ground and bowed in the fifth way.

"Ask your question, seeker, and be answered."

The woman looked up at the Sage. "May I look into your seeing pool and see the scholar and the warrior?"

The Sage made no movement for several seconds. Then, he gave her a slow, sly smile. "It is not my seeing pool, woman, and it never was. Look, and see what you will."

With those words, the Sage fell into the seeing pool with barely a splash and vanished into the unseen depths, leaving only slowly stilling ripples. The woman stepped to the edge of the pool, and then, with a flash of inspiration, stepped onto it. She walked to the center of the pool and looked deep into its shining waters.

As with the slowness of a dream, deep within the seeing pool she saw an image. The scholar stood in a room of fine construction, speaking with wild gesticulation and fervent tone to a group of elderly scholars, each the paragon of learning.

"The Sage of Blue Mountain has gone mad!" He railed. "I brought to him our highest question, that we might finally end the great debate and devote our study to its highest possible purpose. However, he refused to answer me—he simply shouted "Fool!" again and again like a child, hurling fruit at me until I was forced to flee."

"Silly boy," one of the scholars scoffed. "Sages do not go mad. You must have angered him by conducting the offering improperly. Any truly learned scholar would not bring such nonsense back to our place of knowledge."

"I performed no error!" The man snapped. "He behaves like a drunken fool in the market, not a wise man!"

"Don't be ridiculous," another answered. "What you're describing is simply ludicrous. Why, I imagine you didn't ask the question with the exact format we agreed upon, and spoiled the entire investigation."

"I would never!" The man insisted. The scholars continued to chuckle; as the woman watched, increasingly vehement protests elicited only further negations, rationalizations, and unsubtle barbs against the capability of the petitioner.

It was only then that the oldest and most learned of the scholars added his voice to the fray, calling out "Fool!" in a creaking voice that the man paused in his protests and stared wide-eyed around him. The sneers and the jibes went on, but the man seemed deaf to the insults, his hand reaching up to rub the spot where the Sage had pelted him with a mango, lost in thought. It was then that the woman withdrew, a growing suspicion kindling within her.

A second time she gazed into the seeing pool: a city's proud avenues burned. Soldiers in scale mail charged through a market, alternately roaring battle-cries and laughing in victory. Here, one kicked in a door—there, another overturned a table, sending piles of costly spice up like smoke. The people of city ran amok with great cries of fear, and many bodies dotted the ground. Amidst the carnage rode a general, sitting proud atop a mighty warhorse, satisfied with the destruction being wrought around him.

As the woman watched, a peasant man, eyes wide with fear, fled from a solider, coming across the path of the general. With a contemptuous swipe, the general attempted to remove the peasants' head—but the man ducked, and the swipe slew the soldier pursuing him instead. Seeing his chance, the peasant grabbed for the fallen soldier's sword and gave a wild swing at the invader. The general raised his weapon to block the assault, but the untrained attack had gone wild. Instead of meeting the general's weapon, the spear struck the warhorse in its meaty shoulder, and the injured animal reared up in fear. The surprised general tumbled from its back and struck his head on the stones of the street as his mount fled.

It was only then that the woman recognized the peasant man—he was in fact the warrior supplicant, stripped of his armor and air of arrogance.

The image faded, and the woman stood on the seeing pool, considering what she had just seen. As she understood, she burst into ringing peals of laughter, laughter so clear and so bright that it wrung tears for her husband, her son, her village, and herself out of her eyes in great convulsions. The tears fell and melded seamlessly with the seeing pool, and she continued this way for a great while.

As the laughter slowly died away, the bell rang three times. A woman, dressed in the elaborate robes of a pilgrim, poked her head around the corner and eyed her with some concern.

"O great Sage," she ventured. "I have traveled great distances that you might answer—"

The woman raised her hand, and the other fell silent.

"This is what it is to be a sage," she said, stepping off the seeing pool. "It is to destroy not worldly attachments, but our own illusions of what is. It is to Know that the only difference between Knowing and Supposing is our own pride, for the world is grand and our path is strange. Aspire, then laugh at the foolishness of the aspiration. Kill the Sage you've built in your mind."

Plucking a mango from the ground, the woman walked past the pilgrim down the mountain and was never seen again.