Xiang hadn't told his parents about his little escapade at the palace. He didn't want to get in trouble. If he got in trouble his mother would take the bicycle away. Probably for good this time. Xiang knew he should be more careful but it was a racing bicycle. He couldn't help himself. He got another glass of pink punch and a lotus seed bun. The fizzy drink was delightful. He liked how the bubbles tickled his nose. He took a large bite of his pastry. Xiang felt like he was buzzing; he had a good deal of sugar since his arrival.

Xiang caught a glimpse of Lady Suyin through the crowd. Xiang stuck the sweet bun in his mouth and looked for an escape route. There was a break in the crowd to his right. Xiang didn't hesitate. He couldn't dodge her indefinitely, but if his mother caught him now she might drag him home by his ear. Xiang caught sight of Alphonse and made a beeline for his table. He took the sweet bun out of his mouth to greet him.


Sebastian Schuyler decided to eat his humble pie now rather than later. But first he got another bourbon and ginger. He didn't drink often. Or rather he didn't drink often in social situations. Alcohol always loosened his tongue. Sebastian found Alphonse seated alone at a table. The diplomatic attache approached the table as a raven haired boy joined the alchemist.

His eyes sparkled.

He laughed like he was getting away with something.

Sebastian wondered if it had something to do with the pamplemousse and bubbles. He wasn't as young as Sebastian initially thought but he certainly didn't look old enough to drink. The alchemist and the noble exchanged words in Xingese. Sebastian didn't catch them. He'd forgotten himself entirely.


"Hello Alphonse!" Xiang chirped.

"Hi Xiang. Your mom's looking for you,"Al lilted.

"I know, I know!" Xiang laughed and looked over his shoulder. Lady Suyin was on the prowl. Hiding in plain sight was his best chance of survival. "Can I sit with you?"

"Sure."

"Thanks!"

Xiang sat in the chair next to Al. He turned in his seat to watch the band perform. Madeleine Rousseau was a wonderful singer. Xiang liked playing cards with her, but more than that he liked listening to her talk about Creta and Amestris. He wished he could travel to Amestris. Xiang wanted to see Maddy perform at her nightclub.

"Did you need something?" Alphonse asked.

Xiang turned his head to look at Al. The alchemist wasn't looking at him. Xiang followed his line of sight. Alphonse wasn't speaking to him. He was speaking to the enchanting stranger in front of them. Xiang Zhang sat up straighter in his chair.

"Good evening, Mr. Elric. I wondered if I might have a moment of your time?" The stranger inquired in Amestrian.

Xiang's mouth went dry. He picked up his drink and took a quick sip; He wanted to ask Alphonse to introduce him. At the same time, he didn't want to converse in Xingese with Alphonse in front of someone who didn't know the language. Instead, Xiang pinched the fabric of the alchemist's pant leg under the table, tugging twice to get his attention. Al glanced at Xiang with a question in his marigold eyes. Tilting his head to whisper, Xiang swept his feathered fringe to the side with his fingertips.

"Is he your friend?" Xiang winced at the eagerness in his tone.

The alchemist tilted his head at question. Xiang allowed his fringe to fall back into place and averted his eyes. He learned that one from his sister.

"We've only just met," Alphonse mumbled.

"I hope I'm not interrupting..."

"You aren't interrupting," Al said.

Once again Xiang tugged at Al's pant leg. Al shifted his leg to free the fabric from Xiang's grasp and said, "Have you met Xiang?"

Xiang stood to offer his hand.

"Mr. Schuyler is one of the diplomats from my country."

The diplomat started with a stutter and clasped Xiang's hand.

"Xiang Zhang. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Xiang said.

Xiang made eye contact and smiled.

For a split second the handshake lingered. Long enough to inspire syncopation in his chest.

"Sebastian."


In the red light district of the Imperial City the emperor's spymaster waltzed into a whorehouse. Shu took a seat at the bar. He ordered a bottle of baiju and asked for two glasses. While Shu waited he decided to indulge in another vice. Only two cigarettes remained in the tin. Shu stuck one in his mouth. He spun the flint wheel of the lighter, receiving only a spark for his trouble. His hands shook. He hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. Instead the spy subsisted on nicotine and coffee. He flicked the flint again to no avail. A third attempt had him swearing under his breath.

The bartender set a ceramic bottle on bar then grabbed two small glasses from beneath the counter.

"Will there be anything else, sir?"

"Yeah, you got any matches?"

The bartender fetched him a matchbook from a box near the brass register on the back counter. A red lotus on a white background emblazoned the front of the cover.

"Thanks," Shu mumbled.

He tore one of the paper matches free. Shu struck it between the striker and folded back cover. The blacksmith cupped his hand around the flame while he ignited the end of his cigarette. He held the smoke in his lungs as he shook out the match; let the smoke out in a slow, steady stream.

For once Shu didn't have his finger on the pulse of the situation. Furthermore, his thoughts continued circling back to Lan Fan. He wondered how long Lan Fan intended to entertain the emperor's flights of fancy.

Not that it mattered.

It wouldn't last.

Meanwhile, there was work to do. Shu paid the man behind the bar. Glasses in one hand, bottle in the other, and cigarette in his mouth he went upstairs. Shu rapped on the door at the end of the empty hallway. A waifish woman answered.

"If it isn't the man himself," she marveled.

Shu smirked around his cigarette.

"You know you love me, Millie."

The madame tugged him inside by his lapel, and the spymaster kicked the door shut behind them.


Edward returned from the restroom to find Lan Fan struggling to get the cap off her lipstick. She couldn't get any friction with her gloves on.

"Need a hand?" Ed asked.

"Ha ha very funny," Lan Fan grumbled.

He rolled his eyes.

"You know what I mean." Ed snatched the item from her hands. He stuck his gloves in his back pocket and popped off the cap. The peachy pigment smudged on his skin. "You're gonna get this all over your gloves."

"If I remove them I'll never get them back on again," Lan Fan told him.

Ed stared at the lipstick then looked at Lan Fan.

"I can draw a perfect circle with my eyes shut," Ed declared.

Lan Fan blinked at him.

"Congratulations."

He ignored her sarcasm.

"If I can do that I think I can manage to color in the lines."
Edward tilted her chin up. Most of the lipstick had transferred to champagne flutes and coffee cups but a stain of color lingered. The theoretical alchemist touched up her lip color with painstaking precision. He twisted the tinted wax back into the tube and replaced the cap; Ed swapped her for the compact.

"Hold still."

Edward applied the fine powder to Lan Fan's fair skin with a delicate touch.

"There," Ed mumbled. "Don't say I never did anything for you."

Edward turned the mirror around for inspection. Lan Fan blinked at her reflection. Surprise was a good look on her. She caught him looking and blushed furiously.

"What?"

"Nothing," Ed said. He closed the compact and handed it to her. "Here."

"Thanks."

Lan Fan opened her purse one handed. Inside the handbag Ed spied what looked like an incendiary device.

"Hold on," Ed said.

"What?"

Lan Fan looked up from stuffing the cosmetics back into the clutch.

"Is that a bomb?" Edward whispered.

"No," she deadpanned.

"It looks like a bomb to me," he said.

Lan Fan looked at him like he was stupid.

"Flash bombs are fireworks."

Edward wasn't stupid but he gawked at her all the same.

"Fireworks are for children."

"And?" Ed prompted.

"This is a flash grenade."

Edward couldn't help but laugh.

"I don't even want to know how many knives you have."

"Enough," Lan Fan said.