A/N: Sorry for the four month delay, folks. Life has been tough; much happening. Honestly I'm only posting this on FFN for completeness' sake, since I get pretty much no views or comments on this site. AO3 is where it's at guys, but whatever. Here is chapter four; it's a lot more dialogue-heavy and not very action-oriented, but it sets up pretty much everything for the remainder of the plot.
The trek from the city gates to the tea plantation is a well-worn path to Aang now, having taken it countless times in the past few weeks. He's continued to sell tea leaves in preparation to leave this place and seek out his brethren. Zuko accompanies him every day, steam figure bathing the cups that Aang brews for customers, and sometimes it's hard to keep himself from bantering with his ghostly beloved and sparking everyone's suspicions.
He's managed pretty well; so far there have been no repeats of his first day when Gao Sheng accosted him for selling tea. Aang enters the house with a bounce in his step, not noticing how the gentle wind that always inhabits these fields seems more distressed and violent today.
Aang… A warning breathed across the nape of his neck before he stops short. Someone is here.
She stands with her back to the entrance, so at first all Aang sees is a long black traveling cloak shrouding her figure, large hood let down to reveal her hair collected in an austere topknot, symmetrical strands from the nape of her neck braided upwards with gold thread and filigreed clasps. A woman of no small means, then, but without the usual entourage of servants and guards that typically accompany an aristocratic lady—how strange.
She doesn't react to his approach, though he's made no effort to keep quiet. She can't be that engrossed in whatever she's doing, which speaks to her being utterly confident in her ability to counteract any attack. She doesn't seem like a casual traveler looking for shelter; she has a reason for being here.
He steps closer and readies himself to split this awkward silence, but she beats him to the punch.
"You've done quite a thorough job of reviving Zuko's dreams, haven't you?"
She faces him at last, and it is like looking at the tea spirit come to life: a sudden, stomach-dropping realization that yes, he once existed, as solidly and unabashedly as she does now, standing here before him. Those same sharp eyes, that thin-lipped smile, Zuko's flesh and blood.
She tilts her head in mocking allusion to his continued silence, and he gathers his words in a hurry. "You… you must be Azula." His accurate deduction stands at odds with his uncertain utterance.
"You're wondering how I know, of course." She holds up The Classic of Tea. "As Crown Princess, it would be sorely remiss of me not to have spies in the capital where the merchant ships dock, regularly reporting any illicit activity back to me, right Zuko?"
Aang blinks rapidly, trying to catch up. She found out about the tea leaves, damnit—Gao Sheng was right to tell me off—but she came all the way here just to warn me? She doesn't want to implicate me?
And finally: she addressed Zuko directly. Can she sense him, or even see him?
"Zuko?" he asks of thin air, both to prompt her to divulge more, and to see if Zuko himself will join the conversation.
After a pause, Zuko's voice emanates from their surroundings. I don't want to talk to her. Don't brew any tea for her, either.
"But, Zuko…" He's at a loss as Zuko's voice withdraws, his tea spirit become a grouchy recluse. Clearly, he doesn't want Azula to see him, but why?
"Don't bother," Azula says silkily, setting the scroll down. "Of course he's in a foul mood. As far as he's concerned, I stood by and let our father kill him."
"Explain." He's in no mood for beating around the bush.
"Five years ago, a traveling merchant named Shen Zhong reported Zuko to our father. He told the Fire Lord that Zuko had been in contact with surviving Air Nomads, and Ozai sent his pet Yuyan archers to find out more. They captured him, but the Air Nomads escaped. I was away in the Earth Kingdom at the time and didn't receive the news until it was too late."
So far, nothing surprising, except… "How did Shen Zhong find out?"
"Afterwards, I conducted my own investigation and personally interrogated him, as well as the Yuyan archers. The merchant confessed to buying tea leaves in Zuodu, at which time he noticed that Zuko's hand was injured, bound up with torn-up silk cloth bearing the telltale patterns of an Air Nomad thangka. You understand why this observation was so devastating."
Of course Aang understands. His people had cultivated the practice of painting thangka, images of deified figures of Air Nomad history, to guide monks and nuns in their meditation. The iconography and the custom of painting on silk were a unique tradition, and something as delicate as textiles could not have survived so many years after their makers were dead. This could only mean that Air Nomads were still alive and practicing their arts. If Aang remembers correctly, the monks of the Northern Air Temple and their disciples were most skilled in making thangka. (1)
A question occurs to him. "How did Shen Zhong recognize the thangka? I didn't think Fire Nation merchants did much business with Air Nomads, not that we would ever sell them objects of spiritual significance." Even discussing this intangible cultural tenet with an outsider doesn't feel right.
"Not while they were alive," Azula says. "After Sozin burned the air temples into oblivion, a few surviving artifacts were peddled throughout the land as curios divorced of their original context. Most were falling apart from damage, but rich families still bought them for the prestige of owning a rare 'air tapestry.'"
She smiles passionlessly, lips pressed into a severe line at his disgusted expression. "Your people are hardly the first to be displaced by the Fire Nation's scourge. Before Sozin's predecessors conquered the caldera and the sacred islands, they were inhabited by a now-extinct civilization known as the Sun Warriors. Now you Air Nomads have gone the same way."
Yeah, that's… not exactly endearing you to me. Aang holds his tongue, sour with distaste. He can't think of a way to productively counter Azula's cool retelling of her nation's bloody history. "I see."
"You don't sound surprised."
"Zuko told me."
So that's how he was outed. In their initial confrontation and misunderstanding, or perhaps later on, Zuko had sustained an injury, prompting his new friends to tear apart a thangka to bind his wound. Aang doesn't miss the irony: members of a dying race sacrificing a sacred work of art for one whose forefathers nearly wiped them out. But conversely, perhaps it's symbolic of the potential for peace. These were surviving Air Nomads who recognized that no object is worth more than a human life, and that the intrinsic value of their culture rests with their people, not with material possessions that can be remade.
Aang almost wishes he had the excuse of being a grumpy and wronged tea spirit, to avoid talking to Azula. No other conversation has been so draining, so quickly. She doesn't seem inclined to bring any harm presently, but he can't put a finger on her intentions otherwise.
He takes a seat on the ground next to the table, laden with tea leaves and utensils, all waiting for him to return to his work.
"Why are you here?" Aang says. He sorely misses the tea spirit at his side, but he will respect Zuko's wishes not to let Azula drink the tea and see him.
"At first, I had no plan in mind beyond investigating the tea leaves. I've felt unsettled of late, what with our father being gravely ill, and the uncertainty of our nation's future."
Aang absorbs this shocking news as Azula sits down across from him. She picks up a stem of fresh leaves from the basket that he plucked this morning.
If Ozai dies, what does that mean for the world? Could there be peace between the nations, without the instigator of war? He agonizes. Then, meanly, selfishly: Could Zuko and I live openly, as the Avatar and ghostly beloved?
Azula continues. "He doesn't want to leave the nation in my hands because of my previous role in abetting Zuko while he was alive. Instead, he intends to marry me off to some nobleman with great military honors or a high civilian post, though he hasn't decided who yet. No matter who it is, the future Fire Lord is bound to redouble the war effort, which has wavered in recent years."
With sure fingers, she pierces an eyelet in the base of one tea bud, threading the stem of another stalk through it, linking them together, and plucking another bud to elongate the chain. Her steady motions belie the precariousness of the situation she describes. Aang hardly knows what to say. Being unable to choose your own life partner—it sounds horridly unjust, but he senses Azula will not react well to sympathy.
"You didn't come all the way here just to ask marriage advice of your dead brother," he deduces. "Do go on."
"My plan hinges on Zuko's restoration to favor—yes, even if he's dead. Especially if he's dead."
"?"
"I won't bore you with the details, but essentially, Zuko was banished for daring to suggest that we should end the war and restore peace with the Earth Kingdom. At the time, he wasn't completely without support within the court. Nevertheless, our father was incensed and punished him cruelly.
"Fire Lord Ozai's councilors are now divided. Some are beginning to see the toll the war has taken on our people and the relatively few benefits we have managed to score. If it came to starting a rebellion, though, I can't rely on their support to overthrow him. Old habits die hard; this dynasty is still too deeply engraved on their hearts, and I can't do this alone."
"It's not like Zuko can help you, either. He's dead; he has no body," Aang points out.
"According to the family tree in the palace's Hall of Records, he's still alive."
"What?" This doesn't make any sense.
"After Zuko's defeat in the Agni Kai, the official proclamation of his demotion and exile was only posted in the capital, though news trickled out with time. It never specified where he was exiled to, though those close to the throne knew. Not even the residents of Zuodu were aware of his identity. What's more, it was shame enough on the royal family that the Crown Prince spoke out against his father in a war meeting. Rescuing a bunch of waylaid Air Nomads—an overt act of treason—would reflect too poorly on Ozai's reign. He never publicized Zuko's death, and to this day, everyone thinks he's still alive in exile somewhere.
"Thus, my original plan was to compel our father to publicly acknowledge that he had Zuko executed, that he was wrong to burn, exile, and kill his son."
Her tea leaf chain is now some dozen-odd links in length, and Aang wonders at the contrast between her inscrutable expression and her restless hands.
"Sounds… unlikely," he hazards. Zuko snorts softly, listening in despite his defiant reticence.
"Indeed. But by revealing the truth of Zuko's death, I would achieve three simultaneous objectives. First, I would seek justice for my brother and honor him in death as I could not do in his lifetime.
"Second, force Ozai to retract his commitment to the war. It would be an insult to Zuko's memory to continue investing in the war that he died trying to end. If you are to be a sovereign, you must be one to the very end—no Fire Lord does things by halves. If he feels true remorse for his actions, he will acquiesce.
"And finally, with this leverage, I would be able to refuse the arranged marriage but still succeed my father into an era of peace and prosperity."
Silence grips the room, almost mocking in the wake of Azula's grand statements. Outside, cicadas buzz cheerfully, and the floorboards creak as evening cools them. No other sound dares to pierce this grim shroud.
"It sounds so easy when you put it like that." Aang plucks at the finished tea leaf chain that she's set aside, dangling it from one finger. He loops it once upon itself, just the right size to form a verdant bracelet. "But it all hinges on you getting your father to agree. How were you planning to do that?"
"I hadn't gotten that far," she says sullenly. "But I have more of an idea now."
"Do enlighten me."
"Oh, I will. But before that, there is a place you need to see."
She stands abruptly and sweeps out the door, dry leaves rustling in her wake.
"Zuko?" he asks again, wanting to check in with his tea spirit. A petulant pause, then…
Go on, the spirit encourages, sounding resigned. She means you no harm.
"I meant, are you okay?"
Zuko's hesitation is more pronounced this time, but when he speaks, his voice is lighter, less burdened. Not exactly, but I'll be fine. It's not every day that your sister appears out of the blue promising to avenge you. I want to know how she's changed, what's spurred her onto this path… what makes her think that she has any chance of success.
Aang nods, dragging an errant fingertip through a tray of newly dried tea leaves, the closest approximation of a comforting touch that he can give Zuko at this point.
To his surprise, Azula leads him through the mountain forests in the direction of the lake, their path sought by feet that clearly know their way among these trees.
"The royal family used to come here when I was a child," she explains. "Fire Lord Azulon kept a vacation house in the middle of West Lake, though he himself rarely ventured out here. Zuko and I spent our summers on its shores catching dragonflies—well, more like incinerating them for firebending practice, in my case."
Er. He appreciates her honesty, even if he's not quite sure what to make of that.
The forest grows denser and darker until he can barely make out what's ahead. They walk for at least half an hour before approaching a widening of the way, the path leading to a walled off courtyard, the entrance to a small compound. It is nowhere near as grand as Lingyin Temple; from a stone's throw away, he can make out two separate buildings, their halls low and unassuming, grey walls and dark eaves dusted with leaves and debris from many years of abandon.
"What is this place?" Aang asks.
She indicates a plaque set above the entrance, hidden from sight amid a crawling trellis of wisteria. It reads "The Temple of Yue Fei", but it doesn't look like an Air Nomad temple. He's not at all sure what he's meant to make of it.
Azula relents, breaking her silence. "Centuries ago, Yue Fei was a captain who defended our islands ably from invasion by the western Earth Kingdom navy and pirates. He was loyal and capable, filial and fearless, in all ways the model upon which subsequent generations should have molded themselves."
"Why do I suspect things went spectacularly sideways for him?"
"He was rather like Zuko that way," she concedes. "Blameless to a fault; impossible to find any blackmail or dirty laundry on. He rose through the ranks rapidly until he commanded nearly the highest position in the navy. But the Fire Lord grew wary. Yue Fei had rendered many services to the nation, but he could just as easily seize power, given the extent of his military might." (2)
"But did he have a reason?"
Azula enters the courtyard, and Aang follows. "No reason is needed, not when the Fire Lord suspects you. His prime minister took the hint and framed Yue Fei for some alleged act of treason. He was summarily executed, despite public protests, for no other crime than being single-mindedly loyal to his country." (3)
She glances back at him, frowning pointedly at the black headwrap and broad hat he always wears to disguise his identity. Thinking that she means for him to remove his headwear in a place of worship, he hastily complies.
She shakes her head, somewhat amused. "Your tattoos," she says, gesturing towards them. "A mark of your mastery of airbending, if I remember correctly."
"Yep, and we shave our heads as part of our dedication towards pursuing that mastery."
"Even so." She stops before a statue in the courtyard, a stately man holding a spear, armor carved in stone worn by years of rain, gathering moss in crevices. "In Fire Nation culture, such bodily modifications are used as punishment. Cutting the hair, piercing the flesh, and tattooing the skin disrespects the body that your parents gave you. It is the deepest violation of the self."
At the base of the statue is carved the words: "Serve the nation with utmost loyalty."
"These words were tattooed onto Yue Fei's back by his own mother, after he once deserted the army as a young man. Such was her censure that he took the words deeply to heart and returned to his post. This memorial stands in recognition of the devotion with which he served his country." (4)
Aang reflects on the example of Yue Fei's tattoos and parses the nature of Azula's parable, the direction it is taking, the topic du jour.
"Ozai sought to teach Zuko the same lesson, but on his face."
It's hard to maintain the conversation after that bleak statement. Azula turns away, ostensibly to examine an inscription on the wall behind the statue. Aang's not sure what it says, perhaps a eulogy to the life of Yue Fei, a beacon meant to guide future generations in righteousness, yet hidden away in a dark forest far from querying eyes.
Aang has an idea—he hopes Zuko will forgive him. He's taken to carrying around a small rucksack with a tin pot and two bowls in addition to his pouch of tea leaves, a makeshift tea set for whenever he's away from home. As Azula solemnly inspects the writing on the wall, he sets up camp in the courtyard, building the base of a small fire in the center.
"Would you care to do the honors?"
She glares at the pile of kindling as if insulted at being called on for such a trivial task. Nevertheless, she sets it alight with a brilliant blue flame, Aang is surprised to see.
It's the height of humid summer, and with enough moisture in the air to bend into the pot for tea, Aang soon brings the water to a boil. Azula remains staidly uninterested in his ritual and volunteers no comment until Aang asks:
"Why do you want to end the war?"
He anoints one bowl with tea leaves, their dry tinkle weak and mild compared to the fortitude of her response.
"Because I don't want him to suffer the same fate as Yue Fei. Because I don't want him to have died in vain."
She says this as Aang pours boiling water into the bowl, idly returning to watch him at last. It is at this moment that eyes, shadeless but not lifeless, meet eyes, golden and quivering, in a gaze that spans life and death.
"Zuko," she whispers.
"Azula," he answers wearily. "Fancy seeing you here."
Aang hovers, wondering if he's intruding on an emotionally charged sibling reunion—perhaps he should step out? He looks at Azula for some indicator, only to see her deep in thought, frowning at Zuko's ghostly form.
"Er…"
"Who else can see him?" she demands.
"No one, as far as I can tell. We've tested it in town."
"Not that I particularly want to be seen by anyone," Zuko ribs gently. "Aang's good enough for me."
Before Aang can burst into flames from that oblique but damned cute compliment, Azula douses him in metaphorical cold water with her next line of thought.
"There is one person who needs to see Zuko."
"Who?" Zuko and Aang both wonder.
"Fire Lord Ozai."
"My plan remains unchanged, at its foundation." Azula's accepted a bowl of tea, but Aang does not drink, leaving the remaining bowl to sustain Zuko. "Morale is already low on both sides of the war. It's essentially being sustained by Ozai's own obstinacy and that of those closest to him. To uphold my own legitimacy as heir in the eyes of the people, I need him to reverse his decision to punish Zuko and prolong the war."
"And you want me, insubstantial as I now am, to bolster your case with him and guilt him into retracting his decree?" Zuko translates.
"Yes. With this tea, and the ghost of you confronting him on his deathbed, it would be like seeing you in the flesh long after you'd died, like a vengeful wraith come to claim its dues." She sips her tea placidly despite her grisly pronunciation. "It's as close to alive as you'll ever be."
Her words strike a deep pang of sorrow in Aang's heart as he considers the faded facsimile of life that Zuko is reduced to. There is no way he can ever become alive again—can he?
"Is our father really that kind of a man?" The steam agitates itself as Zuko pins a skeptical gaze on his sister. "Do you think seeing me again will fill him with enough remorse to admit that he was wrong and lose face before the people?"
"You speak as if I know him better than you do."
"Don't you?"
She has nothing to say to that.
"What about the merchants you discovered smuggling the tea leaves? Was it Shen Zhong's doing this time around?" Zuko asks.
"My informants are still investigating that." Azula looks slightly irked that she can't provide him with a definitive answer. "Nevertheless, they keep me up to date about which ministers' households receive illicit shipments, whether these be gunpowder, substances, and in this case, tea leaves imbued with my dead brother's spirit. It's always good to have blackmail material handy."
Aang wonders if it was that streak of trickery that's kept Azula alive and in Ozai's good books when Zuko succumbed to much worse. He can't say he wholly trusts her just yet, but if they're dealing with someone as devious and morally bankrupt as Fire Lord Ozai, they'll need her wits.
"What's more, I've noticed that within the past month, said ministers have become far less vocal about further measures to support the war. On the whole, those ones that were most aggressively passionate about increasing militarization in the Earth Kingdom have become much more passive, to the point that my eyes and ears report that employees in the Ministry of War no longer spend much time drafting memoranda but instead sit about twiddling their thumbs and—you guessed it—drinking tea."
"How scandalous," Aang remarks, somewhat bored by all this court gossip.
"My point is, if Zuko's energy is indeed inhabiting these leaves, widespread distribution throughout the land would effect the change we need faster than an ideological campaign. Tea leaves sell better than treasonous, anti-war messages."
"Subtle capitalism over overt pacifism?" Sadly, it's not at all unlikely, Aang reflects. People can shut their ears and refuse to listen, but they'll listen to their wallets and their taste buds all right.
They return to the plantation in thoughtful silence, Zuko's presence in the fields greeting them despite the loss of his steamy corporation.
"It will be Uncle Iroh's birthday in a few weeks—he would have been sixty. I'll use that as an excuse to induce the Ministry of Rites to relax the tea embargo and declare a national Tea Appreciation Festival, with every household, great or small, being eligible to receive a per capita supply of tea leaves sourced from here. This should be enough for our domestic operations." Azula observes the wide sprawl of hundreds of tea plants decked out over the hillside. "Zuko would be proud."
Ahem, I'm right here. And I am proud, Zuko says pointedly. Proud enough to point out that you need to compensate Aang for his work, considering that he'd be the sole legitimate supplier of tea leaves in the nation.
"Yes, of course." Azula waves an impatient hand, eager to move on with her plan.
"Um, don't worry about it; you can discuss the details with Zuko." Aang hastens to avoid a conversation about sums and subsidies and taxes and trade routes that will likely make his eyes cross and his eyes swim. I'm an Air Nomad, for guru's sake. Money is not my forte.
"I'll need help with the harvesting, though. There's so much…" He scans the fields, their lush bounty dazzling and overwhelming.
"I'll take care of it," she promises enigmatically. "In fact, you won't need to lift a finger, because you'll be coming with me in a few days to visit some old friends. Their home in Taku would be perfect for transplanting and growing a new crop of these tea plants. That will form the basis of our work in the western Earth Kingdom, where the density of Fire Nation colonies and outposts is greatest. Distributing the tea leaves in these areas will increase the spread of Zuko's legacy of peace."
Guru, there's so much to unpack, Aang thinks tiredly. Leave the plantation? Transplant the tea bushes? Conquer the western Earth Kingdom with tea? He settles on the question that he thinks might be easiest to answer. "I once visited Taku over seventy years ago. The mountain was too densely populated to sustain much agriculture on its peak. Where are you thinking to grow the tea?"
"Times have changed." Azula restrains herself from sounding condescending, a great feat. "The city of Taku is now abandoned, after losing its inhabitants to war, famine, plagues, and emigration. It's completely empty, save for an old herbalist and her young medical assistant who live at the top. I happened upon them when I was stationed at Pohuai about three years ago. They're very capable horticulturalists; I imagine they'll have the mountainside teeming with tea in no time."
"And these are the old friends you want me to meet?"
She doesn't deign to answer, instead gesturing towards the fields and terraces. "Which ones would you consider taking with you?
"Probably those three." He indicates three particularly large and luxurious bushes located in the fourth row from the foot of the hill. They've always been his favorites, nearly twice as tall as the plants around them.
"Very wise of you," she quips, and Aang's not sure what constitutes 'wise' in this situation until she adds, "Those are the ones where Zuko's body is buried."
She's right, Zuko confirms without prompting. They flourished even after the rest began to suffer from lack of cultivation, because they drew nutrients from my body.
"And you didn't think to tell me this?" Aang exclaims, somehow both elated and horrified at the knowledge of Zuko's final resting place.
You never asked.
Azula declines Aang's offer of the bed that night. After he goes to sleep, she sits outside under the gazebo, a weak crescent of a moon shining down on the fields, and brews herself some tea. Blue flames cast an eerie glow on Zuko's faint outline.
"You're a magnet for trouble, you know that," she scolds, almost fond. "First the Air Nomads, now the Avatar himself. How do they find you?"
"You're one to talk. Aren't you?"
"Hmph." She doesn't want to tell him the truth right now, but perhaps she doesn't need to tell him at all.
"I'll teach him firebending when we visit Taku."
"How generous of you," he says drily.
"It's just a formality—the Avatar should know all four elements, but he doesn't have the time to master firebending at this rate. Our father doesn't have that kind of time. That's why he's so keen on getting me married as soon as the Ministry of Rites deems it appropriate."
"I see." He sounds like he's withholding something, like he still wants to gauge her trustworthiness before making any damning pronunciations. It seems that death has made him both farsighted and taciturn.
"How long will it take for the new transplants to yield a decent crop, O Wise Tea Sage?" she inquires. She sips delicately from the second bowl of tea, feigning unaffectedness but hoping for a reasonable answer.
"Three months," he says after a short pause. "Accounting for the difference in climate, topography, and various unpredictable factors, I estimate three months on the outside."
"Three months," she repeats wearily. "I can hold off the marriage for that long, I think."
The faint moonlight gleams on the surface of the bowl of tea, its shimmer almost like intoxicating wine. It makes for a luridly sentimental Azula, she reflects self-presciently.
"The moon goes round the mansions red
Through gauze-draped window to shed
Her light upon the sleepless bed.
Against man she should have no spite.
Why then when people part, is she oft full and bright?" (5)
"I didn't think you were an avid scholar of Dongpo's work," Zuko remarks of her recitation. "Or of any poet, for that matter." (6)
"There's a time and place for everything. Besides, he was right. It's months until Mid-Autumn, but the moon remains decidedly contrarian." She gestures at the heavenly crescent. "At times of parting, the moon is full and harmonious. Conversely, at times of reunion, like now, it's miserly and stingy with its light. Talk about not being able to read the room."
"Please don't insult the moon spirit, or she may curse the land never to bear tea leaves again." There's no worry in Zuko's voice, though, only amusement at Azula's trivial grumbles over the moon's inability to provide mood lighting. "You love someone else, don't you?"
… how, Zuko? You were never this quick to catch on in real life.
"It's like looking in a mirror," he explains, her silence telling. "That is, like looking in a mirror when I was alive. I don't think I would produce a reflection as I am now. But back to the point—whoever it is that you love, it's likely not someone you can openly be with. I know that feeling well."
Obviously, you're made of steam and tea leaves at the moment, she longs to point out.
"Is it… one of them?"
She sighs, her long breath ruffling the edges of his image but not dispersing it entirely. "No. But you're on the right track."
She can divulge this much to him, and if she's being honest with herself, this is how they've always been. Supporting and understanding each other without knowing all of each other's secrets. They do not need to know; they need only stand together.
1) Air Nomad thangka: Typically the thangka are small enough to roll up and carry about conveniently. I debated whether it wouldn't be more realistic for Zuko's Air Nomad friend to just tear a strip of cloth off his sleeve or something to staunch the bleeding. But in the previous chapter, I described their clothing as nondescript, so it wouldn't give away their identity to a discerning merchant like Shen Zhong. *shrugs* sometimes I'm just not in a very creative mindset.
2) Yue Fei: 岳飛 was a general and folk hero of the southern Song dynasty in the 12th century who lived and died tragicly as described here. He was famous for fending off the invasion by the Jin dynasty, which was controlled by the Jurchens, a northern nomadic people. However, at the height of his achievements, he was recalled from the battlefield and ordered to be executed. There is indeed a Temple of Yue Fei at West Lake in Hangzhou, which is where he was recalled and imprisoned, because Hangzhou was the capital of the Song dynasty during Yue Fei's time.
3) "No reason is needed": 莫須有 mò xu you, literally meaning "from something, nothing", aka making up false crimes in the absence of any true charges. It is said that the scheming minister (Qin Hui) who devised Yue Fei's fall from grace gave this excuse when asked what crime Yue Fei had committed.
4) "Serve the country with utmost loyalty": 盡忠報國 jìn zhōng bào guó. The story of Yue Fei's mother tattooing the four words on his back is something of a folk legend, and I thought I read that she originally did so after he deserted the militia as a young man. However, other sources say that she tattooed him after some rebels/bandits invited him to join their group, as a reminder to always remain upright and not cave to these small-minded people. Other versions say something along the lines of him hesitating to return to his army post after his father passed away because no one would be home to take care of his old mother.
5) The verse that Azula recites is from "Water Melody" by Su Shi, a Song dynasty poet and official who lived in the 11th century. He wrote this poem when stationed in an outpost far from home and was missing his brother, Su Zhe, on Mid-Autumn Festival, a day when families like to be home together to enjoy the full harvest moon. It's fitting that Azula recites this poem when mourning the distance between herself and her brother, but I guess Zuko reads more into it and interprets it as her missing her unknown beloved. Trust me, it sounds more elegant and logical in Chinese.
6) Dongpo was Su Shi's chosen art name, hence he is commonly referred to as Su Dongpo. Dongpo pork (a sweet, red-braised pork dish) is named after him, though there is no evidence that he came up with the recipe. Mm, it's so good.