Warning: Despite the deceptive title, this chapter is kind of gross. There's a funny spin on it, but really. It's just nasty.

Black Jade

CHAPTER THREE

Of Farewells, Friends, Flowers, and...a Cult?

Daiyu poked at the burn with a fretful frown at her reflection in the mirror and winced as a sluggish droplet of puss wound its way down her face.

It was just getting to its worst stage in the healing process, the hump before the true healing finally set in. Iroh had given her an introduction to the ship's medic, and the man had offered her a typical burn salve that helped sooth the worst of the pain and puffiness, but it still didn't stop the area from looking abjectly ghoulish. It would've been tolerable if it was somewhere else on her body, somewhere easily concealable, but with the blisters finally reaching their fullest pustule stage, she looked like a creature out of a nightmare.

In essence, it looked a lot worse than it really was, but Daiyu could confess to being somewhat vain. Despite her downplaying her looks when Iroh had complemented her, she knew she was uncommonly pretty. Her Water Tribe roots gave her something of an exotic facial structure, with wide, high cheekbones, cat-shaped eyes, and full lips. The beige, even skin tone set off the proportionate features very nicely, so Zhao's parting gift stung in more ways than just the physical one, as much as she hated to admit that it affected her at all.

With the undeniable parallels in their circumstances, she couldn't help but turn her thoughts to Zuko when they landed on the subject, accompanied by a substantial surge of admiration for him which was happening more and more frequently the more she really got to know him. She was quickly starting to think of him as a dear friend, though she doubted he thought of her as anything but irritating. More than that, although he was proving to be the most irascible person she'd ever met, impetuous, impatient, tactless, tea-hating, and completely horrible at any game involving strategy, Daiyu was beginning to see him as the best chance they had of coming out of this war and saving any face—as dark and ironic as that sounded. She knew Iroh saw it too.

Zuko was the Fire Nation's only hope of maybe turning things around someday—and none of them knew it.

Though she felt she had only just come to know him truly in the past handful of days, Daiyu knew she would serve and fight for him if he asked her to. It was something of a stunning realization, for three years ago, if someone suggested that she might devote all her loyalty and allegiance to crown prince Zuko she might have just laughed herself insane. She still might, because even if he was the only hope of their home ever coming out of this with the chance of recovery, he was still only the glimmer of one—the barest potential of one.

He had a long way to go before he was ready to save anyone.

Though she didn't hold that against him.

Not even when she ran into him in the corridor outside her room and he took one shocked and horrified look at her face and said, "AH!"

Coming from someone whose own healing process must have been gruesome beyond words and who could not have looked any better than herself at one point, it reminded her comically of a child checking for monsters under the bed and the monster being the one to scream.

Once again, it tweaked her humor at just the wrong moment, and she started laughing.

This action tugged at her tight cheek muscles in just the wrong way and...

"AHH!"

That afternoon, when they'd reached yet another port, General Iroh invited her to dine with them for lunch. Seeming unable to contain himself, Zuko slapped down his chopsticks and began in a conversational tone that hid a deep well of resentment, "Did you know, Uncle, this morning, one of Daiyu's blisters exploded all over me?"

Clearly, he had not forgiven her yet.

She had to try very, very hard to contain her laughter this time.

"That is most unfortunate." The old man gave a sage nod, his eyes gleaming with concern as he took in the condition of her burn. "I still remember the state of your wound as it healed, Prince Zuko. I was so worried that I stayed by your bedside day and night. I could not eat, or sleep—I could barely bring myself to leave you long enough to brew a cup of tea. At one point, I was afraid we might even lose you." Zuko rolled his eyes as if to say 'here we go' while the general waxed on with genuine tears of affection brimming behind his pouchy eyelids. Daiyu could not help the smile that tugged at her lips when he continued, "When you first started to show signs of blisters, I knew the worst was almost over. This part of healing means new growth, and it was such a relief—I do not know how to tell you." Zuko started to fidget with embarrassment, looking at anything but his over-sentimental uncle. "I was so glad that I decided to celebrate with a rare blend of white dragon tisane. You might not remember this, since you were still foggy from a heavy regiment of pain medicine, but as soon as my delectable—and insanely expensive—tea was done steeping, one of your blisters ruptured and splattered right into it!" Both she and Zuko made emphatic groans of disgust, which only grew louder when the old man declared, "I drank it anyway! After all, it would be a crime to waste such a pure, precious brew over the addition of a few harmless body fluids, ha-hah-ha!"

"Uncle, that is repulsive," Zuko said from where he held his head in his hands. Without looking up, he shoved his plate away, muttering, "And you've ruined lunch."

"It didn't ruin the flavor at all, actually," Iroh assured them, tugging on his beard in thought, musing, "In fact, I think it might have even enhanced it somehow..."

"That is pretty foul, I have to admit," Daiyu agreed, her voice shaking with suppressed mirth. She was still trying so hard not to laugh, her shoulders trembling with the struggle of it.

In an abrupt motion, Zuko looked up to send her a sharp glare. "I don't want to hear a word out of you. You're just as much at fault for ruining lunch as Uncle! Just looking at you makes me sick! Have you considered wearing a bag over your head?!"

Still choking on her effort not to laugh, Daiyu strangled out, "Have you?"

Dead silence fell over the room.

Then, all at once, the ridiculousness of the conversation seemed to sink in, and he let out a snort.

"You look awful," he said.

"You look so awful," she returned.

"You look like a slimy, parasite infested sewer-pentapus lived on your face for a year then laid eggs in your skin."

"Well, you look like a dragon let out a great, big, giant, flaming ball of belch and then tried to lick you afterwards."

"You look like the belching dragon tried to give you a ride, and then you fell off and skidded on your face all the way to Ba Sing Se," he retorted.

"Oh yeah? You look like the Avatar's bison sat on your head. Then farted."

"Now, you have both ruined my lunch," Iroh interrupted them with a loud sigh.

It was just their luck that the cook chose that moment to bring in the second course.

As he set down a plate of fish in front of Zuko, the solemn man imparted, "Sir, the Avatar has been sighted on Kyoshi Island."

The prince shot to his feet in an instant, "Kyoshi island?! That's close! Uncle! Ready the rhinos!"

Blinking in alarm at the sudden shift things had taken, Daiyu felt a sinking sensation in her chest as she realized, "...I guess that's my cue to take off then. Good luck with the Avatar, Prince Zuko. Really." She smiled and stood with a short bow, first to him, then to Iroh. "I'll be praying to the spirits for you, wherever I end up."

"You're leaving?!" For a moment, Zuko looked stunned. Then with a shake of his head, he seemed to put things back in order. "That's right, you're leaving. I want you off ship before I return with the Avatar in custody. I don't trust you not to snatch him and run off back to Zhao."

"Really now, I was just starting to think you were smart..." She frowned at him. "You have to know that he's the last person I'd like to see get his hands on the Avatar. You can't let him get ahold of him, Prince Zuko. He can't win." A surge of conviction nearly overwhelmed her as she impressed upon him, "If you won't accept my help, that's fine, but promise me you won't let him win!"

His face smoothed into a deeply serious expression—even more serious than his 'capture the Avatar' face.

"You were there at the Agni Kai," he pointed out.

Daiyu gave him a grave nod.

"Both of them."

A heavy hush fell over them all.

Then he said, "then you know I won't lose."

Her eyes gleamed as confidence soared in her chest at the surety and conviction behind those words and she gave him another sharp nod.

"Good."

She thought she might be able to go without regrets then.

"It's a shame," Iroh remarked, patting her shoulder as she hauled her fully packed travel bag over it. "I had hoped we might send you off with a more proper farewell, with music and dancing—at least a good meal with some roast duck—but all I have is this."

He pulled something out of his sleeve, opened her palm, and placed in it a single, polished, white lotus tile.

"A small token for you to remember me by." He grinned at her touched expression. "And who knows? Perhaps it might bring you luck...or even lead you to new friends." He closed her fingers around the tile and said, "Your destiny is in your hands now."

Unable help herself, she threw her arms around the old general, tears gathering in her eyes. "You've been so kind and taught me so much in such a short time, and...I don't even have anything to give you in return."

"Ha-hah, don't be absurd!" He patted her back before releasing her and tucked her arm around his elbow before continuing their walk down to the gangplank. "Your presence alone has been a great gift. You know, I don't think I have heard Prince Zuko smile or laugh as much in all the three years we have been away from home?"

"Really?" she wondered softly, feeling her heart twist a little at that. With a wry curl of her lips, she admitted, "To be honest, I don't think I have either... I keep thinking more and more that everything that's happened so far has been a blessing disguised as a curse."

"Wise thinking," the old man nodded. "True wisdom is learning to accept life's tragedies as they come and frame them in a way that allows one to see things in a better light—even when the path is dark."

She smiled. "I'm going to miss your proverbs."

"And I am going to miss that pretty smile," said the general, placing a hand over his heart. "But I will keep the warm memory of it right here."

She laughed. "I see the rumors of General Iroh being a ladies' man were true."

"Now, you see, the thing about rumors is that the truth is usually much more interesting..." He trailed off as they reached the ramp to the dock where the prince stood with his arms crossed over his chest, looking more tempestuous than ever. "But that is a story for another time. What's that you have there, Prince Zuko?"

"Here." He shoved something into her chest, muttering, "It's not a bag, but it'll do the job."

She looked down in astonishment, barely catching the red and white painted mask before it fell. The elegant, swirling red strokes lined the eyes, the cheeks, bisected the lips, and on its brow rested an upturned crescent moon. It reminded her of statues that dotted along the Jiang Hui River back near the country house she had spent her childhood in with her grandmother—a river spirit that the local rabble venerated, the bitter old crone had told her.

"That's right," she remembered suddenly, and smiled at the prince. "You always did like the Fire Days Festival, didn't you? I didn't know you collected the masks..."

He shrugged, looking away from her. "There are lots of things you don't know about me."

"Because you're the dark and mysterious, heroic prince of the Fire Nation? Battling dragons, and Avatars, and assisting poor, lost damsels in distress?"

"You're no damsel," he pointed out, not rising to the jibe or her humor. "And I'm no hero."

She tilted her head and gave him a genuine smile.

"You'll always be my hero," she disagreed. "And you'll always be my prince." With that, she gave him a deep bow and added, "If you ever have need of me, just send out the word. Even if your banishment lasts forever, you'll always have a loyal subject in me." She sealed this statement, lighting her first and second fingers in the formal vow, "This, I do so swear, until the world ends in fire."

Par for the course, anything involving any sort of ceremony or formality made him resemble a disgruntled baby boar-q-pine that just had its quills pet backwards. But to his credit, the uneasy look on his face only lasted long enough to be replaced with determination.

"I'll send word after I capture the Avatar. When I return home, so will you. This, I do swear," he said, and Daiyu's eyes widened, "until the world ends in fire."

It was rare that royalty returned the vow of fealty. It was not necessary—the promise of a sovereign to their subjects was implied—but in doing so, he paid her a great honor. It was a sign of great favor, and if they had been at home among the court, people would have been talking for weeks. And probably planning a wedding too if the rumor mill was still as wild as Daiyu remembered. And to make matters worse, if the weepy-eyed grin on Iroh's face was anything to judge by, she thought she might have spotted a great mover and shaker of that very mill in the flesh...good grief.

How did Zuko always manage to make even the simplest of things so awkward? She supposed it was a special talent.

Determined to ignore the faux pas and preserve her sovereign's dignity in any way she could, she proceeded to place the mask he'd given her over her face and bow once more, to him, then to Iroh.

"May the great spirits grant you victory in all things. Until we meet again, your highnesses."

"Stay safe!" Iroh called after her as she turned, tugging the hood of her wine-red travel cloak over her head. "Stay warm! And don't talk to strange men!"

"She talks to you," she heard Zuko grumble at his uncle, and she smiled beneath her mask.

"Hang in there, Lieutenant," she said to poor Lieutenant Jee as she passed the man on the gangplank. "Try not to get dead. I really do think the universe is trying to tell you something."

"If you figure it out, let me know," the man muttered back as he triggered the mechanism that disengaged the plank from the dock. "Until then, there's nothing for it but to pray my request for reassignment goes through..."

"Good luck with that!" she said, and the man groaned.

She couldn't do much to commiserate with his unhappiness, because as she stood at the docks, waving, and watching the ship pull away, all she could really think about was wishing to be back on it.

The Rusty Hook Inn at the fishing town was a grungy little place. Serviceable for her purposes, she supposed—it was neutral territory, and beggars couldn't be choosers—but still sort of a dump. The whole town was one if she was being honest. She didn't think it even had a name. Perhaps the only nice thing about it was a little flower shop located in the sparsest corner of the petty hamlet. It seemed a strange thing in a town with little use for frivolities. At any rate, she didn't want to think of staying for too long. But she needed to start somewhere.

Wherever that was eluded her at the moment, though.

Leaning over the bar towards the grizzled innkeeper, she slapped down the wanted poster she'd collected from the notice board down at the docks. The artist's interpretation of Jeong Jeong's severe, scarred countenance stared solemnly up at them.

"I don't suppose you have any information for me." She cut right to the chase. "Rumors, hearsay...anything at all?"

The man gave her a cursory look, taking in the hooded cloak and mask, but raising a dubious brow at the sound of her feminine voice, unimpressed.

"What are you supposed to be, a jilted-lover-turned-bounty-hunter?"

"Not exactly." She didn't elaborate.

She felt her irritation spark when the pencil-stashed man gave her another deliberate onceover and shrugged. "Depends. I might remember something. I might not. Are you going to buy anything or just stand there and look pretty?"

She cocked her head and thought, screw it.

"That depends on if you have any plum wine in stock." In fact, a bottle of the stuff chilled was starting to sound better and better. And though a backwater place like this was unlikely to have ever even heard of a freeze box, it would be better than nothing.

"Sophisticated taste, eh? This is getting interesting—you from one of the cities?"

"I grew up in the country, actually. My father didn't allow me to the royal court until I was ten." Taking out her pipe and starting to pack it, she leaned forward like she was conspiring with the best of friends and whispered, "Probably scared I'd embarrass him."

The bartender's eyes brightened with the promise of a story. There likely wasn't a lot of action in this sleepy little harbor town so far from the front lines. She didn't think he would be so curious about her business otherwise.

"Ah, a noble born out of wedlock? Scandalous."

"You have no idea."

"Don't tell me that's your real father," he tapped the wanted poster as he set down a lukewarm bottle of wine and a chipped, green saucer of dubious cleanliness.

"Ha! I wish." She pulled off her mask and grinned as the proprietor flinched at the sight of her, nearly backing into the wall of colorful liquors behind him with a sound of alarm. "Too bad I'm not that lucky."

She had to admit, vain as she was, her gruesome appearance was beginning to grow on her. It served as a great deterrent to the trolling losers hanging around the bar, and an excellent boost to her lacking intimidation factor, which was a form of vanity in itself, really. The bartender swiftly found something—anything—else to do that involved not looking at her face. While he was busy doing that mysterious thing (which might not have been a thing at all) she lit her pipe while no one was looking. Fire benders might not have been strictly outlawed in the neutral territories of the Earth Kingdom, but they were certainly frowned upon, and she wasn't looking to get herself chased down by a lynch-mob.

An inglorious end such as that wasn't exactly what she had in mind when thinking of taking destiny into her own hands. But as someone intimately familiar with the transient nature of life, how fast the light of someone's flame could burn out if someone even sighed the wrong way at it, she knew it was entirely possible. Destiny only belonged to those who played it smart enough not to die before they got there. Letting out a rueful stream of smoke that diverged and wafted towards the cracked ceiling like two twin viper bats, she wondered if she'd make the cut. Considering she was drinking and smoking at a bar in the middle of the day, it probably didn't paint a good picture of her life expectancy. She was starting to think she might have a problem...

Then again, the pipe used to belong to her grandfather, who her grandmother told her lived to a ripe old age before he went and got himself killed trying to slay an evil nasty dragon. (Her words). Perhaps it was irony that he had carved the pipe itself, just a little shorter than her forearm in length, so that its bowl and chamber resembled the open, roaring mouth of a dragon, where the stem was its body and tail. For someone who hated dragons enough to hunt them as often as her grandmother said he did, he sure seemed to love them. He had them carved all over his affects, including the box containing his carving knives. These were the only two things her grandmother left to Daiyu when she died, and even that was a shock. The bitter old woman had never seemed to like her that much. Then again, the reclusive noblewoman didn't really seem to like anyone, including her own son.

So, while she hated everyone...at least she hated them all equally?

As for Daiyu, she hated bitter, angry old people. They were the worst.

Speaking of which...

From a dark and shady table of the establishment, an old man was practically glaring daggers at her. Eyeing her pipe uneasily, she dumped the ashes into the tray provided for customers and just hoped he hadn't seen her light it earlier. Really, what was that guy's problem? Frowning, she tucked the pipe away in her cloak and resolved to find out.

Venturing closer, her hackles straightened out a little when she saw the old fisherman had a face that was just naturally set in a nasty expression—the guy could give Zuko pointers, and that's saying something. But as her eyes grew used to the gloom in the smokier side of the room, she saw that he also had a folding pai sho board set out on the table in front of him. The familiar sight of it made her smile after so many games on the prince's ship.

"Are you waiting on another player, or just working out new strategies?" she asked, trying to be pleasant.

Instead of answering, the man just grunted and tossed a careless hand at the seat in front of him in way of welcome.

"Oh, er...thanks?" She took it cautiously and caught the clinking bag of tiles that he tossed at her just in time. "Okay then. A game it is."

At first, she tried out a few of the strategies she'd come up with when she played with Zuko, but the old man was downright vicious. Even when she played with Iroh, a grand master of the game, he was more concerned with teaching than just grinding her into metaphorical pai sho dust. And it didn't feel like losing to Zuko either, where she would graciously concede defeat after a well-matched crusade. This was just pitiful. For three matches, without a single word exchanged between them, the old geezer consecutively slaughtered her each time. If this was how Zuko felt every time he played, she could see why he grew to dislike the game so much.

At the beginning of the next match, she thought, screw it.

She hadn't used it in an actual game yet, but Iroh swore up and down on these formations...

Smiling at the thought of him, she fished around in her pocket until she emerged with the polished white lotus tile and placed it in the middle of the board with a decisive clack.

She almost jumped when the old man spoke with a voice like a bullfrog.

"Finally."

When he placed down a rhododendron tile next, she narrowed her eyes at him. Did he know this gambit? When Iroh had taught it to her, he'd given her the impression that it was an esoteric knowledge type thing. If that was the case, how in the world did this backwater fisherman know about it? But it didn't matter. She was already resigned to defeat... Might as well own it and see it played out to the end.

The old man matched her tile for tile, and she scrunched up her nose until she was all but snarling in frustration. One by one they fell, and to Daiyu, it seemed for a time that the only sound in the world was that of the tiles furiously clacking on the board. Then, all too soon, the game came to a screeching halt.

A draw? she marveled to herself, and at the daisy-petal-shaped display the tiles had made on the board.

"Welcome, initiate," the old man grumbled, then handed her back her lotus tile. "They told me we might git some new blood in soon. You'd best come with me, girl." He started clearing off the board, sending squinty eyed looks around the taproom. "Ain't safe to talk here."

Bewildered, but intrigued despite herself, Daiyu gave him a slow nod and went about reassembling her bag of tiles. After she'd handed it back, with a certain sort of reverence and ceremony that surprised her the old man placed the pieces and board back in their case. When she didn't follow right away, he beckoned her out of the tavern with an irritable look. Sliding her mask back on—though it was fun for a little while, she didn't intentionally want to alarm anyone or form any more of a lasting impression than she already had—she tossed a few birds-eye coins on the bar and slipped out into the deepening afternoon.

She followed him because she was curious.

But also because she was confident that she could kill him and make it look like an accident.

She probably wouldn't even feel too bad about it; he really did just whip her ass that horridly at pai sho. What's more, she suspected, with the intent to humiliate and demoralize her. A small, petty part of her would always low key despise the old man for that.

Was it a good reason to kill someone? No.

But if he led her down some dank and dirty alleyway and tried to shank her, she couldn't say she wouldn't privately enjoy thrashing him within an inch of his life just as he'd thrashed her on the pai sho board. He'd probably survive.

Probably.

But instead of a filthy alley that smelled like stale piss and rotten fish, the old man instead waved her over to the oddball little flower shop.

"No, no—not the front door! Are you daft, girl?" he hissed at her, tugging her roughly behind the building. She was just getting her hopes up for a good shanking when he knocked a very precise rhythm she didn't quite catch on the door.

A slat slid open at eyelevel, revealing two glittering orbs that narrowed, and someone whispered, "Who knocks at the garden gate?"

"One who would taste the fruit and learn of its mysteries," the old man hissed in her ear with prompting of encouragement in the form of a boney, jabbing elbow that might as well have been a shank.

Alright, she was just about to yeet the fuck out of here. What the heck had she gotten herself into? Was this...did Iroh intentionally get her involved in some sort of weird pai sho cult?!

Life takes one to strange places, she mused. How did she get here, again? Oh, right.

"Um..." She was actually a little afraid to back out now. Screw it. "One who would taste the fruit and learn of its mysteries...?"

The door swung open wide, spilling out golden lamplight to reveal a squat little old woman who it seemed had to stand on a stool to reach the door slat.

"Oh! Bao Ha, hello!" she squeaked, blinking at them in surprise through round spectacles that made her look like a cat-owl. "Is this the new initiate? How exciting! We heard one might be coming, but we weren't sure when, or where, were we?"

"This is the one," the old man, Bao Ha, confirmed in a grim rasp. "Matches the description down to the last detail."

"I do?" she couldn't help but ask as he badger-frog marched her into the back of the shop by her shoulders.

"In," he grunted at her. "First rule of the White Lotus—business and secrets are to be discussed only behind the garden gate. That clear?"

"Clear as creeping crystal," she muttered. "Actually. No. Not clear. Not clear at all." She jerked her shoulders out of the old man's grip and rounded on them both as her frustration and uneasiness reached their heights. "Would one of you please tell me what in the fiery blazes of Agni's ass-chaps is going on here?"

"Ooh, your sponsor didn't tell you anything?" the old woman piped from her stool, still blinking at her like she'd just dropped out of the ether. "Well ain't that neat? A stickler for the old ways then, hey?"

"As it should be. Her sponsor is a grand master," Bao Ha grumbled, his face curdling into an even sourer expression than his 'normal' face. "The Jasmine Dragon."

"Oho! Now, that is something," she remarked, bending over on her stool with her hands on her knees to get a better look at Daiyu, though there wasn't much to see what with the mask and hood. "There must be something extra special about you if you know a grand master. And if he sent you our way, then that must mean you need our help, eh?"

"Um..." Did she? If this 'Jasmine Dragon,' this 'grand master,' was Iroh, then he must've trusted them. To some extent. Could they help her? She didn't have much hope, but if there was a chance... Still a little hesitant, she reached into her cloak and pulled out the wanted poster. "Can you help me find Jeong Jeong?"

Both Bao Ha and the old woman looked up from the wanted image and gave each other a significant look. "The Deserter..."

Clearly, they knew something...

"Why are you looking for him?" Bao Ha barked at her, eyes glinting with mistrust.

"Not for any nefarious purposes, I swear!" She held up her hands.

"Now, Bao Ha..." the old woman admonished him. "Is that any way to treat a newcomer? She wouldn't be here if the grand master hadn't judged her worthy of teaching our secrets."

He glared at Daiyu, and she glared back at him through the slats of her mask until he finally looked away in disgust.

"She plays the game like a saber-tooth moose lion in a pottery shop."

"Well you play like you're trying to eviscerate your opponent—and then wring them out of every last ounce of dignity while you're doing it!" she exploded back at him.

The old woman chuckled at them and patted Bao Ha's shoulder. "That's because he used to play like a saber-tooth moose lion in a pottery shop when he was young. But we had that sorted out in no time, didn't we, dear? All it takes is a little practice."

"Or a miracle," he grumbled, still sending Daiyu stern looks.

"Anyway," Daiyu grated out, "as much as I like playing pai sho, with a player who isn't a malevolent old wolf bat—" The old woman stifled a snort at that, and Bao Ha shot her a betrayed look "—can one of you please tell me what it has to do with...all this?"

"It's how we communicate and identify other members of the White Lotus," she explained with a toothy grin. The startling sharpness of them made Daiyu a little uneasy. "Quite ingenious, really. Makes it easy for us to scrape beneath the notice of the unenlightened—very few of them appreciate the cryptic arts."

"So...that's what this White Lotus cult is about?" She glanced between the two elders with a skeptical tilt of her head. "Appreciating the cryptic arts?"

"Oh, no-no-no, ha-ha! That's more a condition of entry of sorts, and not even a strict one," she laughed, shaking her frizzy, white head. "No, that's usually just a common trait developed over time in the Order. But our true purpose..." she continued, her gleaming green eyes taking on a devout gleam.

"Chula—" Bao Ha tried to interject, a warning in his voice.

"—is to preserve the balance of the world!"

"...Oh." Wasn't expecting that, honestly. "Well, that's...very nice." Her hackles slowly started to rise again. "I take it you're not big fans of the war, then?"

"The war is a nasty business," Chula said in a sigh, clucking her tongue and shaking her head. "Good people suffering everywhere—and not just here in the Earth Kingdom. There's the Water Tribes, of course, and yes, even in the Fire Nation. The White Lotus exists to promote the balance between all nations. A true neutral entity."

"Oh, that's a relief." Daiyu let out a sigh and slid off her mask, bright caramel-colored eyes on full display in the lamplight. "For a moment there, I was a little afraid you might try and have me chained up and hung on skin-hooks in your basement."

"Don't be ridiculous, you silly thing!" she cackled and waved a hand in dismissal. Then her eyes glimmered with the spark of danger. "We only do that to firebenders."

Just as Daiyu felt her stomach turn over, the old woman laughed even harder.

"Just kidding!"

Instead of just Bao Ha, she thought she might devise a plausible accident for two now...

Tentative update schedule is every other weekend.

Apologies for any mistakes. This story has no beta, and I'm a college student with a busy schedule outside of school too, but nobody cares about that, so... Anyway!

Thanks so much to DeludedMeliorism for the lovely comment! You might be someone who actually relates to busy college life. (Those finals tho, damn! Thanks for the reminder, by the way—you saved my bacon. Well, my grade at the very least. I owe you one!)

Fun Facts!

When developing Daiyu's character, I tended to imagine her as a younger Gemma Chan. Feel free to picture her however you like though.