A Lotus Amongst the Smoke

by ImperialArchangel

Ba Sing Se is a city of rot, neglect, and quiet suffering. But it is also a city of mundane kindness and simple joy. It is a place of untold possibilites, hidden amongst the refugee camps and towering walls. Zuko was only within its walls for a couple of weeks; but what if he had had more time? What if he had worn the mask of Lee for longer? Would he be able to take it off?

3. Chapter 3

A/N: Just a head's up, scene 2 will get a bit graphic. This won't be a regular thing, and the scene is important to the plot, but if blood makes you uncomfortable, don't read the second scene.

)ooOoo(

Breath in. Hold. Hold. Hold. Breath Out.

The chilly air swirled around Zuko, the autumn breeze slipping into the apartment and wrapping around him. He refused to shiver, letting his inner fire fend off the cold.

Breath in. Hold. Hold. Hold. Breath Out.

The wooden floorboards creaked ever so slightly, groaning as Uncle rolled over in his straw mattress. Zuko remained still, his legs folded underneath him.

Breath in. Hold. Hold. Hold. Breath Out.

He opened his eyes, watching the small candle in front of him. The only light in the small room, no more than a faint dot of yellow, struggling to illuminate the small corner he set it in. Compared to the ornate wax candles and drapery he had onboard his ship, this small block of tallow and string could hardly be called a meditative shrine. Certainly not one that his father or Azula would value. But fire was fire no matter its fuel, and as far as he could tell, they didn't even make incense or wax candles in the lower ring.

Scowling, he pushed the thought away, and recentered himself on his breathing. The candle flickered to the beat of his heart. His heart beat to the tempo of its flicker. And for a time, he let himself become the flame. So small, so alone. Yet ever persistent, burning softly in spite of the cold and wind. And so very hungry, licking at the wick, tasting the acrid tallow smoke, eager to burn bigger and brighter. He drew in another breath, and the flame grew larger, bolder. He released it, and the flame retreated. It filled him with warmth, down in his stomach. The sea of qi, Uncle had called it. But lately, it had been feeling like more of a puddle.

Zuko stared at the candle, almost longingly. For the past several months, this had been the closest he had been able to come to firebending. Quiet meditation, connecting to the flame, but in such a way that if someone saw it, they would have no proof he was a bender. It was so far from what he was used to, from what he preferred, where he would practice through martial arts. The jumping, the kicking, throwing fire out and drawing it back in like a ribbon dancer. He wasn't the most impressive or graceful, particularly not so by the standards of the royal family, but doing his drills brought him the peace of complete focus. But now…

A strong gust blew through the drafty apartment, and the flame was gone, leaving nothing but a thin wisp of black smoke, barely visible in the midnight shadows.

His eyes followed the smoke, watching it dissipate into the air of Ba Sing Se. Soon, nothing remained. The back of his throat tightened, but he didn't let his expression change, pressing his lips tight. The hairs on the base of his neck prickled, and fear tickled at the back of his mind.

The floor creaked loudly, and Zuko twisted his head, catching a glance of Uncle pulling himself up from his mattress. The man rubbed his eyes, putting on a heavy robe and scooting towards the younger man. "Nephew, what are you doing up so late?"

Zuko turned away, stiffening his back and sitting a bit taller than a moment before. "… Just meditating."

There was a moment of silence. Iroh looked at the unlit candle, and then his nephew. The man's expression was unclear, nothing but a silhouette, though Zuko could easily imagine his bewildered but polite smile. "… Would you like me to fetch the sparkstones?"

"No!" Zuko snapped back, a bit louder than he meant. He swallowed, and lowered his voice. "No. I can light it myself."

A heavy silence fell over the pair as he reached over the candle, igniting it with his finger. It was such a small motion, but the act took more effort than Zuko cared to admit. Just another sign that he hadn't firebent in far too long. But with the candle lit, its small, golden light trickled back into the room, faintly illuminating the pair. He looked towards his uncle, unsure of what to say.

"What is worrying you, Zuko?" Uncle spoke first, offering a comforting smile. He spoke softly, with a kindness and patience Zuko had become familiar with since his exile nearly a decade ago. The warmth in his voice almost brought some warmth back to the room.

Uncle had always been there for him. He was a lazy, tea-obsessed, old man who cared too much about paisho and the spirits, but he was also the one family member who decided to join him in his exile. He had called up his personal retinue and commissioned a steamer destroyer, drawing from his personal capacity as the brother of the Firelord to fund and man Zuko's expedition for the Avatar. He had continued to teach him firebending over the course of his exile, and when the pair had gone from exiles to fugitives, the man had never even considered not remaining by the young prince's side. The man drove Zuko crazy, but he was also someone Zuko could reflexively rely on like no one else. Even now, just having Uncle next to him calmed his nerves, like a sailor catching sight of safe harbor.

"Is this-, what did-, ugh." Zuko clenched his fist and growled, attempting to stitch his swirling thoughts into comprehensible words. Finally, he sighed and met his uncle's gaze, speaking with a timidity he hated. "How do you live without it? Your firebending."

His uncle quirked an eyebrow, and then let out a small but hearty laugh, before looking deeply into the tallow candle and stroking his long, ashen beard. "I don't live without it. I feed my qi into the fire at the teahouse, letting it burn hotter and heat the water. I breathe with the cookfire smoldering under the market stewpot, letting it burn slower and more evenly."

Zuko scowled, shaking his head. "Uncle, that's hardly even firebending. Those are drills meant for children."

"And yet, it lets my qi flow just as easily as any martial form." The man gave a simple, satisfied smile, the sort of gesture that offered Zuko do the same. "There is plenty of fire here, many things I can do to nurture my inner flame. It simply does not look the same as when we were in the Fire Nation."

Zuko shook his head again, trying to wrap his mind around it. "Fire isn't supposed to be bottled up like that, trapped, contained. Its nature is to spread, to grow in search of new fuel, or else it will suffocate in its own ashes. Firebendering is just channeling that hunger, wielding it."

That was how firebending had always been taught to him. It was aggressive and explosive by nature, wild and hostile. A successful firebender had to be bold and direct, directing the flames but not controlling them. To bend was an active thing, done with your body, mind, and emotions. Simply feeling the fire, through meditations or drills like Uncle had said, was something reserved for new learners or those going through rehabilitative therapy. To be passive with fire would only allow it to spread out of control or starve it of fuel, forcing it to peter out. Apathy was death. Motionlessness was death.

"The nature of fire is to consume, yes, and it will consume whatever we feed it; a well-fed fire will be perfectly healthy regardless of if it is raging across the forest underbrush or on a carefully crafted candle." Uncle gestured to the tallow-burning wick in front of them, as though it wasn't a mockery of firebending. As though it wasn't something that Zuko despised. "The heart of firebending is not how we outwardly choose to direct our flames, but what we choose to let them feed on inside ourselves."

"Well, mine can't feed on rocks! I can't nurture flames on serving tea and chocking down barley stew and hoping to remain unknown and unnoticed for the rest of my life!" He didn't care! He didn't care about the obscura and philosophy of fire itself, or how one should feed their inner flame, or any of that metaphysical bullshit! What he cared about was the fact that the Avatar was still out there, outside the city; that his sister was still out there, outside the city; that his nation was still out there, outside the city, living, changing, fighting for a future. And he was sitting here behind the walls of a city that didn't want him, watching the world spin away!

He was trapped, and no matter how much he thrashed, he knew it would mean nothing, because Ba Sing Se would swallow him completely. There was nothing he could do that could change that. Zuko was a fire hidden away, starving for fuel and suffocating in his own smoke. The young man choked on something he would never admit were tears, and stared at the pathetic candle. "What am I supposed to do, Uncle? I can't be Prince Zuko here, and Lee doesn't exist, so what does a second chance mean to me? What is it other than a slow, undignified death?!"

"Zuko, the second chance is your opportunity to make Lee someone you are happy to be." There was an intensity in the man's words, an unexpected firmness. "It is a rare instance when you have no expectations placed upon you by others, when-"

"But I do have expectations! I do have responsibilities!" Zuko yelled at his uncle, standing up. "I am not a child who can run away and ignore my issues! It doesn't matter if the people here don't know me, I am still Zuko, and I have still failed to recapture my honor and restore myself to my rightful place!"

Uncle was silent for a moment, stunned. And then, finally, he spoke, slow and careful. "… I am not asking you to forget those things. But living an honorable life, fulfilling your responsibilities, those can come in many forms in many places. I urge you to uncover those you may have here."

"What are my responsibilities, Uncle? What am I even capable of doing here other that serving tea and rotting?" Zuko spat the words, dripping with desperation and hatred, bile and fear. He looked down on the man beside him, begging for answers but despising the ones that he was giving. "Why did you want me to come here?"

The old general was quiet, peering at the flame, rather than at Zuko. The light of the candle danced in his heavy amber eyes, reflecting feelings that Zuko couldn't quite recognize. Uncle had always been old; even as a child, Zuko saw Iroh as the very concept of old, second only to grandpa – Firelord – Azulon. But Iroh always had an immutable youth to him as well, his aged wisdom complimented by childish antics like music night and paisho. He had an unwavering joy to him, something that Zuko both despised and relied on. But right now, in the flickering light of the tallow candle and so very late at night, in his silence, his uncle looked very tired, and very old indeed. The man stood, laying a hand on Zuko's shoulder, and looked into his eyes. Zuko finally saw a deep sadness there, a hurt that was much deeper than the words he had just said. The explosive anger he had felt moments ago was gone, dampened into guilt and worry. He opened his mouth to speak, to offer some apology, but Iroh spoke first.

"One's fond memories of the cherry blossoms shouldn't stop them from appreciating the lotus blooms. You will change and become new, no matter where you are. Your only choice is whether it is in the form of new growth, or spreading rot." With that, the old man crawled back onto his straw mattress. "Please, get some rest, my nephew."

Zuko sighed, and glanced back at the tallow candle. So small, so faint. A poor replica of what his life used to be. And so was he, in so many ways. He was a swordsman and a duelist, a bender, a soldier, a prince. He had honed his skills as a hunter and a spy, tracking the Avatar across continents and infiltrating some of the most well-guarded fortresses in the Colonies. He had faced down Kyoshi Warriors and Fire Nation Admirals, Water Tribe soldiers and even the Avatar himself. But his queue had been cut months ago, replaced by a shaggy mop of unwashed hair, and his dao swords hung by the door, uncared for and left in their sheath. His armor and robes had long since been lost, and instead he wrapped himself in a green peasant tunic and an apron. Whatever sense of royal prestige and responsibility he once held had been lost when the cherry blossoms fell and his ship had been seized by Azula. And tomorrow, he would wake up and serve tea in a small, ramshackle shop. The only part of Zuko that remained whole and unchanged was his scar, the angry red flesh that marked his greatest shame.

He didn't want Uncle to be right, but maybe Zuko had no place in Ba Sing Se. With no Avatar to hunt, no men to lead, no honor to restore… He had nothing to feed his inner flame, and sooner or later, he would burn away to nothing. Smoke in the wind.

The young man stared at the candle, suddenly aware of the weight that had been hanging from his heart for so long, like a wrought-iron chain, glowing from the furnace heat and wrapped around his soul. And he made a decision.

He was His Royal Highness Crown Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation, Son of Ozai, Grandson of Azulon, Heir to the Duchies of Kinai and Tatsuzu, and the Prefectures of Keiki, Morita, Kyumi, and Saito, and all of the diminutive titles therein. He was a soldier and a duelist, a hunter and a spy. A firebender of royal ability. But that Zuko had no place in his current life, and trying to live as him would just bring him pain and shame. He would restore his honor someday. He would find a way. Just… not now. So, maybe…

He reached out, pinching the candle and snuffing out the sputtering flame.

… Maybe he could let himself be Lee for a time. It would at least help him maintain his cover. Zuko swallowed something at the thought, maybe bile, maybe pride, and laid down on his familiar straw mattress.

He could only wonder, what lotuses could bloom in a slum like this?

)ooOoo(

It had been a quiet day at the mill.

Well, not quiet, per se. It was never actually quiet, thanks to all the machines. The power looms roared like they always did, pinging and clicking and grinding, all to the constant screech of spinning leather belts. It had just seemed less loud than usual to Jin, like it was all happening underwater. It was mundane. Unnoteworthy. Walking down the line of looms, she closed her eyes and dragged her fingers across the threads, focusing on their tension.

No knots.

No knots.

No-

"Ms. Jin?"

"Hm?" She paused, cracking open her eyes. A girl with sandy brown hair and deer-like eyes stood at the end of the row of looms, shifting her weight back and forth and nervously flicking her gaze between Jin and a set of power looms a few rows up. She held her shoulders tight, making her look all the smaller, despite being only a few years younger than Jin, and her hands were dirtied with dust and grease.

Oh, it was Huang's sister. Jin gave her a friendly smile, a gesture that seemed to take at least a little of the anxiety out of the girl's eyes, and waved her over.

Her feet clacking against the uneven stone floor, the girl rushed down the row to Jin, moving with stiff, fast steps. Jin wiped her hands on her tunic, leaving long, dark grease stains on it, and gave the girl a pat on the back. She tried to speak softly, not wanting to startle the tightly wound ball of anxiety that was Feifei, but there was only so much Jin could do when she had to compete with the power looms. "What's up? The looms treating you better now that you have a week under your belt?"

Feifei opened her mouth, then closed it and swallowed, apparently trying to muster some bravery, but all it did was kick off a coughing fit from the cloud of thread dust. It took a few moments for the girl to recover, but Jin didn't pressure her, continuing to leisurely strum the threads. After a few more noises that sounded like a set of lungs being hacked up, Feifei was finally able to speak again, though the words seemed to tumble out. "Uh, hey, I, uh- I know your busy with your own row, but- well-"

"Hey, hey, calm down, everything's okay. I can help you out." Jin interrupted the girl's rambling, firm but not harsh. Feifei paused, searching for words, until she eventually gave a sheepish nod. Chuckled, Jin dug a haphazardly stitched cloth mask out of her pocket and pressed it into the girl's hands. "And here, wear this. It'll keep the dust manageable until you get used to it."

A wave of relief rolled over Feifei's expression, and she snatched up the mask, slipping it on and taking a deep breath. "Oh, thank the spirits."

"Rude. The spirits didn't stitch that mask, mind you." Jin shook her head and clicked her tongue, her words dripping with faux-offense. She walked past the girl, thoughtlessly running her fingers along the threads as she made her way to Feifei's row of looms.

"Sorry, I just-" The girl stammered until she caught sight of Jin's coy grin, only then breathing out the tension in her shoulders. "Oh."

"So, what's going on?" Jin rubbed her mouth with her forearm, trying to wipe away the sticky, acrid taste of thread dust, but she knew it was a pointless task by now. Maybe it was the fact that she had just handed over the mask, but the nasty flavor had suddenly become more oppressive, coating her desert-dry tongue and throat. She concealed a scowl, suddenly wanting some tea to wash it down, or at least something to wet her mouth enough to spit it out.

Half jogging to get ahead, Feifei led Jin down her row to loom #7. "I have a pretty big knot on one of the looms, and I don't know what to do. I've disengaged the drive gears, but I don't know what to do from here."

"Where?" Moving with practiced speed, Jin stepped up to the machine, tucking her braid into her tunic and checking to see if the drive gear was disconnected. The belt was squealing as always, the high-pitched droning of old leather stretched too tight and under-greased ball bearings, but so long as the pulley was unlocked from the loom's crank shaft and idling, it would be fine for this topside work.

"Right here." Feifei stepped around Jin, pointing at a cluster of threads.

Closing her eyes and plucking at the fibers, Jin scowled. Four, five… Six? Six threads knotted. She stepped back from the machine, offering a sympathetic smile. "Ah yeah, this is a nasty one. It's probably better to just cut the threads and run through a new set."

"Ah, okay." Feifei nodded and glanced at Jin. And then the loom. And then Jin again. "… H-how do I do that?"

"Right, right, I'll talk you through it, don't worry. Here, use this." Reaching for her belt, Jin drew out her knife, a piece of forged metal about the length of her forefinger with a hooked tip. She flipped it around, grabbing it by the flat of the blade, and held it out to Feifei. "Be careful, I keep it sharp so that it doesn't fray the fibers."

"Y-yeah." The girl reached out carefully, holding its simple wooden grip with tentative uncertainty. "This is so nice, Huang's are always-" Feifei cut herself off and looked towards Jin, as though gauging the reaction of a sleeping platypus-bear she had just poked.

Jin chose to ignore it, offering a shrug and a laugh. "Yeah, Huang never took care of his. My brother gets a good deal from the blacksmith to maintain them, so I saved up to buy a better one. But let me guess, Huang still buys a new one from the company store each month, all because-"

"- Hiring someone to sharpen the damn thing is more expensive than just buying a new one." Feifei joined in, the pair speaking in the same stubborn, mocking tone. The two laughed, and Jin felt a certain warmth in her chest at the sound of Feifei laughing. It was just like before, when Jin would join Huang and his family for meals, years ago now. Something in her heart tightened, a deep longing announcing itself like a gust of cold wind through an open door, but she pressed the feeling down. Times like this, mundane happiness with old acquaintances, should make her happy for what she has, not desperate for what she'd lost.

"So just cut through those threads there – yeah, just like that, perfect." She watched as Feifei grabbed the bundle of fibers and hooked her knife around them, cleanly severing them. Jin moved to help, grabbing the loose threads and holding them steady as the younger girl set down the knife and pulled the knot out of the loom. Passing the loose threads to her, Jin took a step back, watching as the girl worked. "Now, take these, and feed them through the machine to the hooks at the bottom. Oh, and use this." Slipping her metal rod out of her tunic, she gestured to the panel at the bottom and passed the tool to Feifei.

"Thank you for all the help, Ms. Jin." Feifei bowed her head appreciatively before wrapping her hair into a loose bun and crawling under the machine. There was a distinct pop among the roaring machinery as the bottom panel came off, and Feifei held it and the rod up for Jin.

"Hey now, you don't need to be so formal." She reached out, grabbing the pieces of metal. In the panel, she could vaguely make out her own reflection in the dim light of the mill. Despite being carefully constrained in a braid, her hair was still far from tamed, and her jade eyes had slight bags under them. Giving unofficial training to the new workers had been taking a toll, but she was more than willing to do it. She glanced at Feifei, memories bubbling to the surface. Helping her shop at the market and cook, playing cards around the table, counseling her the first time a boy broke her heart. Huang had always been bad with his emotions, let alone others, so when someone in the house needed a shoulder to cry on… Well, Jin was never one to turn them away. Her smile became a bit softer, a bit more heartfelt. "I might've broken up with Huang, but you're still practically family. You're always welcome in the Qun household."

Feifei didn't say anything for a while. Maybe unsure what to say. Probably focused on rethreading the machine. Jin didn't mind either way, silently watching the girl work. But finally, almost too quiet to hear through all the noise, Feifei spoke up.

"So, Jin… Do you hate Huang?"

Jin opened her mouth to respond, but something in the back of her throat stopped her from speaking.

Yes. Maybe. She wouldn't forgive him, especially not after their… incident, a few weeks ago. It had been her fault, she had been selfish, but he had chosen to say those cruel things afterwards. Maybe he was just lashing out. He had always had a bad habit of it. But it wasn't kind and it wasn't right, and she didn't want to have to deal with that. She didn't want anyone to. Was that really hate?

No, no, that wasn't hate. If it was hate, would her chest still ache when she thought about him? Would she still want to wave when she saw him on the street, only to force herself not to? Would have hugging him that night have felt so safe and loving? Would she still worry about him occasionally, wondering if he was doing okay? Jin stared intently at nothing, listlessly stroking her braid.

"No. No, I could never hate him." It took her a while to respond, but when she did, the answer was genuine. It was stupid. She knew it was stupid. She and Huang had real differences, and their fair share of toxic traits that meshed in just the wrong way. By every measure, she had every right to hate him, and honestly… she wouldn't blame him for hating her too. But she couldn't. Jin couldn't hate anyone she loved, and on some level, she would always love him, or at least, the him she had spent a year of her life with. She wiped more dust off her mouth and nose, a truly pointless task, and sighed. "I take it he's not doing too well?"

"He's been feeling pretty bad, yeah." Jin couldn't see Feifei's face, but there was worry in her voice. "I-I know he can be a bit… harsh when he's upset. But he really does care about you."

"I know." There was a smile on Jin's face, but it was halfhearted, bittersweet. "Feifei, I'll always care about your brother, but things didn't work out between us for a reason. Things worked for us when we were younger, but now… they don't. Sometimes, that happens. He's… Well, he'd do better to move on."

The air was heavy, thick with more than just dust and noise. But there wasn't much more to say about it. In an odd way, there was a freedom in her words, the sort that came with finality. She had loved Huang, she would always love Huang, but she also understood that their time together had ended. Next time, she wouldn't take his cigarette. Next time, she'd make sure he got to spend time with Qing instead of her. She held her metal rod in her hand, slowly turning it over, looking at the chips and scrapes from years of harsh work.

Wait.

Wait, the rod! It wasn't between the drive gears!

Feifei piped up, her words deflated. "… Yeah, I guess you're ri-"

There was a loud metal pop, the pulley relocking with the crank shaft, and a wet crunch came from the loom. Feifei screamed, writhing on the ground. Jin lunged for her, grabbing her leg and pulling. She screamed louder, but her arm only continued deeper into the loom.

No, no, nononono! Jin snatched at the lever, planting her feet, trying to wrench it back, but whatever it had been connected to the pulley with had snapped. She pulled at it anyways, wrenching with every ounce of muscle she had, her breaths shallow and uneven, her lungs burning, her palms too slick to grip the lever.

Shitshitshit, no, this was her fault! She should've been paying attention, she should've-

It was like back then, with the girl. When Huang had stopped her from helping. She thought she could do something. She thought she could save her. But now she was here, and the lever was broken, and she didn't know what to do, and Feifei's arm was being – oh spirits that was a lot of blood, she could smell it, the metallic stench, and-

She wretched, covering her mouth, but couldn't look away.

Feifei was crying, screaming, wailing, making sounds that Jin knew were words but couldn't understand. Her hand was gone, devoured by the loom's gearbox, but the hungry machine wasn't sated, moving past her wrist. The threads left the loom stained crimson, weaving vicious patterns into the pale tan cloth. If someone didn't shut off the machine soon, then it would eventually reach her shoulder, and, and…

No. No, she wouldn't let this happen! Jin bit her tongue with all her willpower, wincing in pain but brought back to the moment by the taste of blood, hot and wet, like a copper yuan dipped in boiling water and dropped on her tongue. Maybe it stung, but it was nothing compared to what Feifei was enduring! Jin wouldn't let Feifei die. She refused. She refused to lose more family, no matter how distant.

Snatching the metal rod off the ground, she jammed it into the crank shaft on the side of the loom, and the machine screeched, crying out in pain. But the shaft still spun, and Feifei's cries only got louder as the machine ate more of her arm. It wasn't enough! She needed to snap the shaft off!

She kicked at the spinning metal rod, slamming it again and again, but her straw slippers and calloused foot failed to even dent it.

Dammit! Dammit, no! There had to be something! She had to disconnect the pully! Her cheeks were hot and wet, but Jin didn't know if it was from tears or sweat. Jin glanced down, but Feifei had stopped struggling, laying limp in a pool of sticky red. But next to the girl's free hand was the glint of forged metal.

Her knife.

Acting on instinct, Jin snatched up the blade, tightly gripping the slick wooden handle and catching the leather belt with the hooked tip. It slid through the old skin like soft tofu, and the belt came free, shooting a hair's width from her head and smacking against the stone wall. The machine slowed to a stop, even as its compatriots up and down the line continued to spin and ping.

Jin fell to her knees, her heart pounding in her throat, and looked over Feifei. The girl wasn't moving, her eyes open, but unfocused, drifting back and forth. She almost seemed to look at Jin, and maybe she said something, but the breath coming out of her lips was too weak to make sound. This was bad. Really bad.

Crawling over the girl, Jin tried desperately to ignore the blood smearing against her knees as she leaned over to see Feifei's arm. She grabbed Feifei's shoulder, shifting her to get a better view, but her skin was cool to the touch, far colder than it should've been in the hot, cramped mill, and even in the low light, Jin could see how pale she was. Her elbow was a shredded, stringy mess, and everything above it was deep in the loom's maw. And she was still bleeding. A lot. That… that was a lot of blood squeezing out of her mangled elbow, and it was bright red – arterial! That was an arterial bleed!

Without hesitation, Jin ripped off her tunic's sleeve and wrapped it around Feifei's bicep, pulling it as tight with all the force her thin arms could muster before locking it down with a knot. In the corner of her vision, she could make out a half dozen shapes, shadows, people gathering at the commotion. She saw their faces, but with her pulse pounding in her ears and her eyes shooting back and forth between Feifei's face and whatever was left of her arm, Jin didn't have the time to recognize anyone. But she didn't need to.

"You! Get Jiao! Now! Tell him to bring baiyao paste! And you, get over here and help me!" She barked at one of the people, but no one moved. "I said now! Her life is in your hands too!"

Twisting back to Feifei, she laid two fingers against her neck. There was a pulse. Weak but still there. Jin pushed herself to her feet, staggering, knees weak, but grabbed her rod and jammed it into the gearbox's upper panel, ripping it off. It was a mess of stained gears, splintered bone, and shredded viscera. Whatever was left of the arm couldn't be saved. She'd have to… extract Feifei. For a brief moment, she could see Feifei like she had before, small smiles and warm laughter, gathered around the dinner table. But the vision faltered, and all she could see now was the ghastly, crumpled up body in front of her.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to puke. She didn't give herself the luxury.

"Feifei… Feifei, I need you to bite down on this." She spoke softly into the girl's ear, in some vain hope that there was enough consciousness there to let her understand Jin's words, before ripping off another strip of her tunic and pressing it into the girl's mouth. "Just… Just trust me, it'll be over soon."

Feifei groaned, a low, pained sound that gave no indication of how awake the girl actually was.

The tourniquet was tight. The bleeding had stopped. Mostly. Enough. Her hands shook, clutching the knife with white knuckles, as she stared at the mutilated collection of flesh and bone that had once been an elbow. There wasn't much connecting it to the upper arm, at least. Maybe that was a blessing. The Forest Bride's boon, kind in its cruelty. Jin swallowed, marking with her eyes which cuts she'd have to make, before-

A familiar hand grabbed her shoulder. "Jin, Jin you don't have to do this. It's too late. It might be too much for-"

"I swear by every spirit in the Earth Kingdom, Huang, if you try to stop me, I am going to gut you like an otter-trout!" She whipped around, baring her teeth and holding her knife to him. The blade was splattered red. "I am going to keep her alive and you're going to spend the next month nursing her back to health, because she is your fucking sister and you're going to give a rat's ass about someone other than yourself! Am I fucking clear, you sack of camelephant dung?!"

The man stumbled back, unspoken words lost on his lips and shock in his dark eyes. Eyes that were so damn familiar, so damn spineless. Eyes that she missed so much and never wanted to look into again. Jin didn't want to hate them. Jin didn't want to hate. But on some level, she knew she hated that she loved a selfish, uncaring bastard like Huang.

"Now I'm going to cut off her arm, and when I'm done, you're going to get your friends and carry her to the apothecary as fast as you can!" Her words were harsh and clipped, spoken through clenched teeth, but before he could respond, she turned back to Feifei and set to work.

She hated it. She hated every moment of it. The way Feifei screamed. The way she had to hold the girl down. The way it felt as she dragged the knife through her friend's flesh, no different than wooly-pig meat. The way it never seemed to end. But it would.

Because Jin did what she had to.

)ooOoo(

There was a canal behind the textile mill. Apparently, it had been a natural stream at one point, a wide, shallow brook spotted with weathered river stones and old, shady trees. The land was soft and fertile, easy to work and revitalized by predictable seasonal floods that came with the rains. It had been the heart of one of the earliest refugee villages, back when the first waves had begun to flow into the City from Fenshan and Yuean provinces. It had been idyllic, a blessing from the Forest Bride, that such a naturally rich land would take them in after they had lost their homes to the invading armies.

But seeing the rapid growth of the village, city engineers from the Middle Ring were concerned about how the stream's frequent flooding could disrupt the new village's urban growth, so they decided to deepen and narrow it, employing benders to pound its soft banks into smooth, flat sandstone. With the stream chained into a canal, the floods no longer came, and year after year, the soil worsened, until no amount of care and moo-sow dung could make the crops grow. The only advantage, it seemed, was that the canal channeled the water into a fast-moving stream, perfect to drive the water wheels of the new factories Middle Ring financiers wanted to establish. And so, the village morphed into what Jin had known it as ever since she had immigrated: the Mill District.

Maybe it was true. Maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was childish naivety, but Jin hoped it was. If the district had been a refuge for those fleeing the war in the past, maybe it could be again.

Maybe, maybe, maybe. A word that came up again and again. But all that was certain was that there was a canal behind the textile mill, and its rushing waters spun the water wheels that drove the power looms. Power looms that had stolen limbs and lives.

She wretched, spilling the contents of her stomach into the canal.

"Hey, hey, you did good." Jiao leaned against the wooden railing and rubbed her back. She threw up again, and her brother grimaced in disgust, but didn't bother to look away. "It's a good thing you were with her."

"No-" Jin tried to speak, but she clamped her hand over her mouth, feeling the stinging heat rise in her throat again. More spilled into the canal before she steadied herself, gripping onto the wooden railing to keep the world from spinning. Her breathing was raspy and shallow, and her eyes stung, but if it was from the bloodshot or the tears, she couldn't tell. "No, it wasn't. I wasn't thinking. I didn't notice her mistake. The only reason she's alive is because you were able to stitch her up. She lost her arm because of me."

"And she kept her life because of you too." Jiao shrugged, tucking his hands into his pockets as he shivered against the autumn chill. "Jin, you know how things are here. It was bound to happen eventually."

"But it shouldn't." She wished she could've put more force into those words, but they were small, weak. Jin wiped the snot and grime away with her hand and smeared it off on her tunic, rubbing brown on red. "I'm not stupid, I know I can't change it, but this is my home, Jiao. Our home. Shouldn't we care about people more than just dismissing stuff like this that happens again and again?"

"You know what my answer is." Jiao sighed, shaking his head in resignation. "I'm never gonna tell you to not help folks, and I'm proud of you. Just… Don't act like it's all your responsibility. There's only so much we can do."

A few heartbeats passed where neither spoke. She stared across the canal, watching a man toss and turn in his sleep in a camp of homeless refugees. Jiao didn't seem to be staring at anything, just watching the ashy blanket of overcast clouds roll past. He slipped a cigarette out of his pocket, lighting it before tossing the match down the canal to join the piles of garbage gathered at the bottom. She glanced at the paper tube, and he nodded, passing it to Jin after taking a puff of it himself. It smelled like burning trash and tasted about as good, but the smoke filled her lungs and steadied her nerves all the same.

They looked alike, in so many ways. The same short, thin frame. The same long, thick hair. The same green eyes. The same heavy green tunics, stained red with the same person's blood. But where Jin had calloused hands, Jiao's were nimble and wiry, and where Jin had carefully braided her hair, Jiao's was drawn into a haphazard ponytail. He was only half a decade older than her, but with his goatee and the bags under his eyes, she wouldn't be surprised if people thought they were further apart.

"By the way, I heard you threatened to gut someone." Jiao coughed out some smoke, before giving her a smirk. It was coy, and just a bit proud.

"Maybe." Jin shrugged, averting her gaze. She vaguely remembered doing something like that, but it had all been such a blur. And if she had… shame trickled into her heart, weighing it down.

"You're more like her than you think."

She snorted, but it was tired and halfhearted. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"It's not an insult." Jiao offered nothing but a noncommittal shrug. "You're certainly as protective of your patients as she was."

"Wish she had been more protective of her kids."

"… Things were complicated, Jin."

"I'm sure they were. But we're here now, and she isn't. Mom made her choice." Regardless of her reasons, Mom had chosen to leave them, her seven-year-old daughter and thirteen-year-old son. Without an explanation. Without a goodbye. And so, the pair had made their way to Ba Sing Se, and Jin had decided to make the Lower Ring her family. A family she had failed to take care of. She scowled, glancing at her brother. "… How is Feifei?"

Jiao's eye's lingered on her for a moment, prying at her soul, the same deep jade as her own, but somehow darker. Heavier. She recognized the look, a sort of sadness peeking past steel that he always had when he looked at her and saw Mom. It made her heart ache in ways that she didn't want to think about. But he took another puff of the cigarette, and the look was gone, replaced with the cool, composed maturity he always wore. "She'll live. Let's head home."

"Okay." She let the cigarette tumble from her fingers, dropping into the canal's rushing waters. She wished it was a stream again.

)ooOoo(

"Happy Mid-Autumn Festival!" Pao, the owner of the tea shop, raised his glass of rice liquor alongside the half dozen servers. "To another successful season! Let's drink and be merry!"

The various servers, gathered around one of the tables near the front of the teahouse, raised their glasses with varying degrees of polite, if muted, celebration.

Pao's wife, a small, round woman, drove her elbow into Pao's gut with the subtlety of a water buffalo, and the man staggered, wheezing. "And, uh, per my darling's persistence, all of you will be receiving a bonus! I'll, uh, make sure to give it out during the party." The thin pole of a man glanced nervously towards his wife, and she gave a fierce nod, more of a threat than a sign of approval.

The servers toasted again, far more eager this time.

Lee hung towards the back of the room, sat alone at an empty table and nursing a glass of rice liquor as he watched the antics of the tea shop with disinterest. The two twin brothers, Liang and Jiang, were arm wrestling to the clear amusement of Beiye, a middle-aged woman with a large burn scar on her back, barely peeking beyond her tan tunic. Uncle was deep in conversation with Kanghuo, a leathery old man and the shop's old tea master. Apparently the two had harshly diverging opinions on the proper snack accompaniment to ginseng tea, though that didn't stop the man from offering Uncle a cigarette. Pao had migrated to behind the counter, carefully counting out silver coins into piles under the watchful eyes of his wife.

The young man sighed and closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair and taking in the sounds of the festival. The murmuring of conversation, the sound of crackling sparklers out in the night market, the distant music of an improvised street band. Faintly, he could make out the sound of feet slapping cobblestone, the sound of people dancing. Would Lee enjoy dancing? Zuko didn't. In court, dancing had been stiff and ritualized, with carefully memorized steps that Zuko had always gotten wrong. Maybe it was different here. But Lee didn't care to try, instead sipping from his glass of liquor. The liquid rolled slowly across his tongue; its natural sweetness complimented by the pungency of alcohol. It wasn't particularly flavorful, but it was clean and simple and just the slightest bit spicy. He had decided that it was something Lee liked.

"Are you enjoying your evening, Nephew?" There was a small thud, and Lee cracked open his eyes to see his uncle sitting across from him. The man was grinning that same friendly grin he always had, but Lee could see in the way the man's eyes would dart back to Kanghuo that their conversation hadn't ended in agreement.

"I'm not sure." The answer was plain, dry. Lee wasn't upset, he just… wasn't. Wasn't happy, wasn't sad, wasn't anything in particular. Just a bit numb. He swirled the liquor in his cup, listlessly staring at the clear liquid. "You and Kanghuo didn't see eye to eye?"

Uncle let out a huff, shaking his head in exasperation. "I respect the man in his experience, but he truly doesn't grasp the seasonality of tea accompaniment. Just as the type of tea matters, the snacks you ought to serve change just as much depending on the season! Ba Sing Se is colder than his hometown in Fenshan, so in autumn, you ought to serve pastries made with warm spices, like ginger! And beyond that-"

His uncle continued to ramble about… all of that, but Lee subtly tuned it out, just giving the occasional hum in acknowledgement. It was rude to think it didn't matter, but put simply, Lee didn't understand why it mattered. Was this the sort of thing Lee was supposed to care about? No, no, the young man hoped not, and thankfully none of the other servers seemed to be quite as tea-cognizant as his uncle was. He watched one of the streetlamps through the window, watching it flicker.

"And then he mentioned meat pies, meat pies!" Uncle paused, waiting to see Lee's reaction, but when one didn't come, the man simply laughed and shook his head, his expression softening. He glanced at the streetlamp, and then back at his young companion. "Nephew, you ought to join in the celebrations."

Lee frowned impassively, a motion more out of muscle memory than any distinct distaste. "Why? What are we celebrating?"

"Sometimes, the only reason we need to celebrate is because we can." His uncle shrugged, looking across the room of partying coworkers. Pao had dragged a small metal grill out from the kitchen along with some vegetables and sauces, and Baiye had set to lighting it with a pair of sparkstones, though she wasn't quite able to make the kindling catch. His uncle stood, going to help, but Zuko – no, he was Lee right now – grimaced at the sight. It wasn't like he could help. He was terrible with sparkstones, and it wasn't like Lee was a firebender.

He shook his head, and took another small sip. Celebrating just because you could was just another way to say you had nothing to celebrate. A fun oblivion to distract from the crushing weight of existence. Except he didn't find it fun.

"Oh, Nephew, here's this!" His uncle wandered back over, a small cloth pouch in hand. "The bonus Pao gave us!"

He hummed politely, offering an uninterested glance. "That's good."

"Here, take it."

"Why?"

"Go into the market, have fun." Uncle gave him a smile, gesturing towards the celebrations going on outside the window.

"… Okay." Despite his uncle's unclear reasoning, Lee took the small pouch from his uncle and slipped it into his tunic. The thing was light, so small that it felt more like a tip than a bonus, so Lee would just save it. But this was his chance to leave the party, and frankly, he would prefer the solitude of wandering the festival to the almost-company of his coworkers. Standing, he made his way out of the tea shop, halfheartedly reciprocating his uncle's small wave.

And so, he slipped his hands into his pockets and walked, bound for nowhere in particular. Through chattering crowds and past food stalls. Around children burning sparklers and families grilling meat in the street, offering it to passers-by. Lee saw it, of course, but he didn't interpret it. It slid past him; colors grayed and sounds dulled. Faces he didn't know, voices he didn't recognize. Never quite able to make eye contact with anyone. An indistinguishable mass of people that he simply passed through. And before long, he had shifted from the main streets to the back alleys. It was darker and quieter, and the only people he passed were headed home or already thoroughly drunk. He paid them no mind, thankful for the relative solitude. Until his feet stopped, and he looked up.

Lee was at the apartment.

Something about that, that in his aimlessness he still ended up here, that his feet had developed habits he had never recognized, made him clench his fists. That had to be Zuko who had guided his feet. The man who wanted nothing to do with this city, silently tugging at his path until he returned to his dwelling, prepared to slip into nonexistence until his next shift.

But then again, it could've been Lee too. What would Lee have chosen to do? Who would he have recognized? What choice did he have other than to go home and spend his time alone, quietly hoping to exist unnoticed and uninterrupted? It wasn't like his brief two weeks of dominance had led to him changing drastically from his princely brother. Or really, developing much of a self at all. It didn't take much of a personality to serve tea and sleep.

Lee, or Zuko, or whichever one he was at that moment, made his way up the stairs on the side of the building, wordlessly scaling the rickety steps. The door opened with a creak, revealing a cold, dark apartment. The darkness of the unlit hearth was only made darker by the market lights he could see from the window, and the empty silence was only made quieter by the distant sound of celebration.

He wanted to hate it. He wanted to despise the nothing he had become, the hollow shell that wandered the streets of Ba Sing Se with his face. He wanted to feel something about it, pain or despair or even loss. But he didn't. He felt nothing as he stripped off his tunic and washed off whatever grime he could scrape away with the cracked basin. Unconsciously, he ran his hand across the side of the stone basin, feeling the familiar scar that ran down its side. The water was frigid, but Lee didn't pay it any mind, letting himself shiver.

Maybe those were just the instincts of Zuko, clawing at the back door of his soul, whispering hateful nothings and screaming to be let back in. To slip back into that familiar anger and comfortable pride. But ignoring those thoughts had become unnervingly easy over the past few weeks, nothing more than a slight tingle at the base of his neck. Some days, he had even managed to go without thinking about anything at all from before Ba Sing Se. If the Lee that Zuko had built had become anything, it was effective at ignoring Zuko.

… But unfortunately, he had failed to become anything else. His throat tightened, but he couldn't pinpoint why.

Drying off, he reached down to grab his tunic, and a small sheet of paper fell out of one of the pockets. The young man picked it up, holding it up to the faint light of the market and squinting to make out the characters. Qun Family Apothecary.

Ah, the card Jet had given him. He had forgotten about that. Zuko hated Jet. Well, maybe hate was a strong word. He strongly disliked him, and certainly didn't trust him. But Lee… well, he hadn't cared enough to think of the earth kingdom peasant. He had been Lee's brief companion aboard the ship to Ba Sing Se, and apparently the man had respected Lee enough to offer him a place in his gang. Twice, in fact.

Lee paused, his face not quite able to form an expression that matched his thoughts.

He was the only one other than Uncle, wasn't he? The only one that knew Lee in some way other than passing. None of his coworkers talked to him, and Pao only spoke to him when he needed instruction at work. No one in the market knew him, other than maybe as Mushi's quiet nephew. Just like how no one knew Zuko, even after several months of existing, no one knew Lee either. He wasn't just a nothing-shaped mask to Zuko, he was nothing to everyone else too.

Other than Jet. To Jet, Lee was a fellow refugee and a skilled duelist. He wasn't someone Jet knew very well, or would even pretend to know, but he had an established opinion of him, an opinion that inclined him to invite him into the fold.

That… that was something Zuko could work with. Something Lee could grow from.

Lee didn't trust Jet. Zuko knew his type, cocky and controlling, and wasn't about to let Lee be willfully naïve. But the fact that Lee was a person to Jet was suddenly very appealing in a way Zuko couldn't ignore. He looked at the card again. The meeting he had been invited to was happening soon. Two days.

Grimacing, the young man looked at the dao blades hung by the door. Taking the sheath off the hook, he drew the blades out, his hands wrapping around their grips with a comfortable familiarity. He hadn't properly used them since he was onboard that ship. They hadn't been properly cared for, either, with the oil stained and clumping from the grit of the city. Lee decided at that moment that he would take far greater care of his blades than Zuko ever had. After all, they were now his main weapon, uncomplimented by the bending that Zuko took for granted.

While the sounds of celebration lasted well into the night, Lee's ears were filled with the ringing of leather honing metal. And, for the first time in months, the young man felt eager.

)ooOoo(

"Thank you, Jin, dearie. It's a blessing to see you here." Laopeng bowed her head as Jin filled her bowl with cabbage and radish soup. The old woman gave a wide, toothless smile, and tried to pick up one of the spoons on the table. Her nobbled old fingers could wrap around the thing, but whenever she tried to grip it and lift, her hands shook, dropping the spoon.

"Seeing you is just as much of a blessing, you know that." Jin reached down, plucking up the spoon and placing it in the woman's bowl. She took a glance around the weekend's morning market, watching the bustling of neighbors and friends exchanging wares and coin. Unlike most days, Jin herself was behind one of the stalls, tending the fire under a stewpot, while Liyang ladled soup and Yahui chopped vegetables. Jiao was off in the market, probably negotiating to purchase more vegetables. A large line had formed at their stall, men and women of all ages bringing their own bowls to fill, before migrating to the middle of the market, where several blankets had been laid out, under a large, shady tree. She waved the next person in line up, serving them as she continued to talk with Laopeng. "How's your sister doing?"

"Grumpy as always. She lost her favorite pickling jar, and complains about it no matter how many times I tell her it's in the same place as always." The elder laughed, then coughed, before reaching up and pinching Jin's cheek. She shook it, her pinch a bit too tight, but Jin just chuckled. "You should come by! Lao'ai recently bought a bag of chilies to pickle, I know how much you love dragon monk dumplings!"

"I definitely will, if I can convince someone to come with me." She stretched out the words, glancing over towards her two friends.

Yahui smacked the back of her cleaver, driving it through a particularly fat radish. "Unlike you, I like feeling my tongue, thank you."

"Are they really that bad?" Liyang scowled, pondering as he took the next bowl and filled it.

Yahui paused, offering a smile that was too friendly to look natural on her brooding face. It was a bit like seeing a tigerdillo grin. "Oh, maybe you should go with her!"

Liyang stared at her with bafflement, a mix of suspicion and abject fear entering his eyes. "Uh, actually I-, uh, I'm good."

"Oh, don't you see how little they care for me, Laopeng? It's truly awful." Jin shook her head, melodramatically sighing, before giving the woman a gentle smile and a hug. "Tell Lao'ai hi for me."

"I will, dearie." Laopeng embraced her, squeezing just a little, before picking up her bowl and turning to leave. "Oh, now who's this whippersnapper?"

Jin turned, catching sight of rotund man with a long gray beard that narrowed to a point and a stout straw douli hat hanging on his back. The man had a wide smile, and walked up to Laopeng, giving her a friendly hug. "Laopeng, it's lovely to see such a beautiful blossom such as yourself."

"Oh, stop it, you flirt." The old woman hugged him back, laughing. "I know you say the same thing to Lao'ai."

The man stepped away, offering an innocent look that only confirmed his guilt. "Is it wrong to recognize the beauty found in different flowers?"

She rolled her eyes and leaned over to Jin, motioning for her to squat down. Jin obliged, amused, and Laopeng whispered in her ear, loud enough to make sure the man heard. "Learn to recognize men like this. All sweet words and smooth moves. Good for a date, bad for a husband."

Jin snickered, but the man shook his head, his amber eyes filled with faux-pain. "Madam, you hurt me!"

"Good." Laopeng grinned impishly, an expression that fit strangely well with her weathered, wrinkled features, before hobbling past the man. "Paisho and tea tomorrow evening?"

"Why of course!" The man waved as his friend left, headed out of the market with her soup. "I look forward to your company!"

She snorted, but winked. "Yeah, yeah, don't get your hopes up."

There was a moment where the man simply smiled, seeming to enjoy the warm morning sun and humorous conversation, but eventually he turned to Jin and gave a small bow. "I apologize, I haven't introduced myself. My name is Mushi, my nephew and I moved to the city several months ago. I haven't seen this before, though. What does that character say?" He pointed to the banner above their stall, a simple tarp with black writing on it.

Jin bowed in return, smiling politely before continuing her work. "It's nice to meet you, Mushi. I'm Jin, and this is the Workers and Family Charitable Society, but we usually just call it the Chenjia Society. That character there, it means the sort of charity you give to family members." She chuckled uncertainly, and shrugged. "Most people don't recognize it since it's from the Dangfang dialect. My brother didn't realize it when he made the sign. We live and learn, though."

"Indeed we do." Mushi nodded, looking from the sign to the line of people, and then back to Jin. There was a joy in his eyes, and an infectiousness to his smile, that warmed Jin's heart. "I am happy to learn that people like you are here in Ba Sing Se."

She had heard countless people say similar things, having helped her brother with the stall for years, but the simple authenticity in the man's tone made her smile a little wider. Jin stirred the soup pot, lifting a small amount of the broth out and sipping it, before tossing in a pinch of salt. It was slightly sweet, the flavor of vegetables simmering, simple but soul warming. "I'm flattered, really. But it's how we survive. We take care of each other."

Mushi hummed, watching as Jin ladled out another bowl of soup to a young boy. "Perhaps my nephew would do well to help."

"Your nephew?" Jin pried, just making conversation. She appreciated knowing about everyone in the district, if only a little.

"Oh, his name is Lee. He's in a… hard time in his life. Coming to Ba Sing Se has been difficult for him." Mushi's smile didn't disappear, but it faded, softening. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully, tiptoeing around topics that weren't meant for company. Jin understood. "… I fear he may be losing himself."

"Well, if he does, he's bound to find himself as someone new. If he ever does want to help, I'd be happy to introduce him to my brother." She turned to the next person in line, but paused, her friendly grin dying. "Oh. Huang."

"Hey, Jin." He stood there, not quite able to look her in the eyes as he handed her his bowl. His hair was messy, and his stubble had shifted from carelessly charismatic to ragged and untended.

She hadn't seen him since… Since the issue at the mill. She swallowed, not quite able to look at him either, and poured him some soup. "Do you need a second bowl? For Feifei?"

"… No." His words were small, weak even. Weighed down by thoughts left unsaid.

Jin nodded. She shouldn't ask. It wasn't something to do here, now, when she had work to do. But she hadn't heard about Feifei at all, and… she was scared. "… Is she okay?" The words slipped out, almost without Jin realizing it.

Huang paused. The bags under his eyes suddenly seemed so much heavier. He opened his mouth. He closed it. He opened his mouth again. "Infection set in a few days ago."

"Oh."

Oh.

Jin froze, numb. Nothing felt… real, for a moment. The market was still there, the people and talking and moving. She could see them, hear them, but it was muffled and distant, like she was standing at the bottom of a pond. All she could hear was her own breathing, slow and uncertain.

Feifei was dead.

"I-I'm sorry… When's the bricklaying?" Jin picked up a rag, trying to clean off her hands. She could still feel the blood on them.

"We're not sure, she hasn't been cremated yet." He coughed, shifting on his feet. "I'll let you know, though."

"Thanks." She handed his bowl back, filled most of the way. "Here, have some soup. You may be hungry, but never starve."

"You may be cold, but never freeze." The words flowed smoothly, more a collection of familiar sounds than words with distinct meaning. Huang bowed a little, taking the soup. As he wandered off, Jin couldn't stop herself from watching. Her chest ached.

"A relative of yours?" Mushi spoke up.

Jin looked back at him, suddenly remembering the old man. "No, just… an old friend."

"What was that you said there? About hunger and cold?"

"What?" Jin paused, unsure, until she thought about the actual words Huang and she had shared. "Oh, you mean the Forest Bride's Boon. It's, just, uh… a mantra, in a way. Maybe a prayer. The Forest Bride is the local guardian spirit in this area of the Lower Ring. She… sustains us, even when things are hard."

"And things have been very hard." Mushi nodded solemnly, and she could see sadness in his amber eyes.

"Yeah, yeah they have been." Jin stirred the soup halfheartedly, more to just do something than the soup needing to be stirred. "She does what she can though. She loves this city, and she loves us. But sometimes, she needs a little help, so…" She jerked her head towards Yahui and Liyang, working diligently at the booth.

"You are a wise young woman, Jin, and I am sorry for your loss." The man clasped her shoulder, and despite only meeting him a few minutes ago, the gesture was reassuring to her, the unspoken support of someone who knew the same pains she did. "My nephew and I work at Pao's Tea House, near the Lower Ring wall. I would be happy to serve you, if you ever wanted to stop by."

"Thank you, Mushi." She bowed her head to him, truly smiling despite her heavy heart. "I think I will."

)ooOoo(

Lee lingered on the other side of the street, shrouded in the darkness of a nearby alley. Wrapped in dark trousers and a black tunic, he melted into the shadows with practiced ease. His linen footwraps, while scratchy and fragile, allowed him to move in silence, and his dao blades hung at his hip, diligently waiting for his command. The outfit felt familiar, almost a second skin, and it eased his nerves in a way that a green server's tunic never would. He moved through the alley at a relaxed pace, his hand resting on the dao blades' hilts, and scanned the building that Jet's card had directed him to.

It wasn't impressive, two stout stories boxed in by taller buildings, and any alleys it may have had long since crowded out by jerry-rigged wooden homes. The building was clearly older than the others too, its outer stucco flaking away to reveal simple mudbricks and its roof tiled with sun bleached wood rather than clay. But a simple wooden sign hung above the door, reading "Qun Family Apothecary," alongside some clearly recognizable drawings of herbs and medicine. If Lee thought they were meant to be decorative, they had clearly failed in establishing any aesthetic beyond quaint and homemade, but he had a suspicion that they were far more practical than that, meant for a clientele without the education needed to read.

The street itself was unlit, the lamps for the market long since extinguished, but a single oil lamp sat in the windowsill of the apothecary, unintrusive, polite even. It likely served a purpose Lee wasn't aware of, a signal of some sort. He narrowed his eyes, attempting to see inside, but most of the windows were too dark to see in, and those that weren't had a curtain drawn across them.

He scowled, but stepped out of the alleyway, approaching the door. The card hadn't provided any particular instructions other than the place and time, so hopefully knocking would be enough. Reaching out, he rapped his knuckles against the thin wooden door, deliberate and firm, and waited. There was movement, something scraping against the floor and a series of heavy footsteps.

"Name." The word was a simple demand, short and clipped and muffled slightly by the door.

"Lee." He only hesitated for a moment, making sure he said the right one.

Silence. A heartbeat passed. Another. And then the door creaked open, revealing a man just slightly shorter than Lee, with long unkempt hair pulled into a ponytail and a curly goatee. He had the physique of a bureaucrat, but Zuko caught sight of a knife, poorly concealed in the man's sleeve. The man looked him up and down, his gaze dry and cold, before giving a curt nod and jerking his head towards inside the apothecary. "Come on in."

Lee obliged, stepping in and following the man to the back of the apothecary. It wasn't in much better shape than the outside, but at least inside it was clearly due to age rather than lack of care, with a waxed service counter, a large wall of small herb drawers, and a carefully organized medicine-making table at the back. Near the windows, a cluttered table had been set up, a small lamp set in the center, and three occupants sat around it. Longshot, Smellerbee, and Jet. All of them were armed. Lee decided to not rest his hand on his swords' hilts, a show of trust, but he made no motion to acknowledge the three.

"I knew you'd come." Jet leaned back in his chair, a smug smile on his face. "You're not the sort to stick to the straight and narrow. Don't like licking boots that much."

"Say what you want. You said there'd be a job." The old wooden floor creaked under Lee's weight as he made his way to the table. Smellerbee nodded at Lee, pushing a chair out for him to sit in, while Longshot simply watched him, unmoving.

"And I didn't lie." The peasant rebel tipped his head to Lee, then shifted his gaze to the long-haired man. "What do you think, Jiao? Is he in? I told you about him before."

"Now, isn't that unique." Jiao spoke before Lee could sit down, leaning against the service counter and thoroughly ignoring Jet. The rebel frowned at the snub, bristling, but said nothing. The man quirked an eyebrow, pointing at the sheath on Lee's waist. "Dao swords aren't common in the Earth Kingdom. Where'd you get those?"

"Family gift." His voice was low and flat.

Jiao hummed, his eyes lingering on the swords before continuing to scan Lee. The man clearly had thoughts on them, but he moved on to the next question regardless. "So, I take it you're from the occupied provinces?"

"Dangzhou." Lee nodded, the lie coming out easy. Well, the new truth, in a way. Zuko had visited Dangzhou frequently during his exile, since it was a major Fire Nation refueling station in the eastern colonies. He had spent more time ashore there than anywhere else in the Earth Kingdom, enough to familiarize himself with the local culture and politics, so if there was one place Lee could be from, it was there.

"Another Dangfanger, huh?" Zuko's heart sped up, but Jiao's tone was sympathetic, not accusatory. "My sister and I are from Jianjiang."

"How'd you end up here?" The question was mundane enough on the surface, but Zuko knew what he was really asking. When did your home burn. When did you flee. When did you lose everything.

Jiao shrugged nonchalantly. "Battle of Jianjaing."

"The Earth Kingdom Army won that." Lee raised an eyebrow. It had been news even years later, enough that he knew it well even though it happened when he was a child. The Earth Kingdom didn't undertake many offensive campaigns, and even fewer were successful. After the Fire Nation garrison was crushed and the field armies routed, thousands of colonial settlers had been forced to evacuate to Dangzhou, fleeing the approaching green-clad armies. A few of his sailor's families had been amongst the colonial refugees, but Zuko doubted the man in front of him was a Fire Nation settler.

"It doesn't matter if the winner threw stones or set it on fire, we still lost our home." Jiao stated the fact plainly, almost carelessly, and moved on just as easily. "Which division did you serve in?"

Division? Lee shook his head. "Never served."

"Really?" Jiao grunted, surprised. "You certainly stand like a soldier, stiff-backed, and that scar doesn't look like an accident."

"… It wasn't. My father was an officer. He instilled… certain values in me." Zuko didn't have time to conjure a new lie and erase that history. In a way, it wasn't a lie for Zuko. The Firelord was the supreme commander of all of the nation's military forces. But now, it was a new truth for Lee, one he hadn't been expecting to adopt.

Jiao nodded, seemingly sated by the explanation, or at the very least, not caring to push further. "Bender?"

"No." The word, so easy to say, made him sick to his stomach. His inner fire flickered, unamused. But Lee wasn't a bender, no matter how much Zuko hated denying that part of himself.

The tempo of questions paused, and the older man simply hummed, taking it all in. Finally, he glanced at the thoroughly agitated Jet. "You vouch for him?"

"Easily. He works cleanly, quickly, and quietly. And he has no qualms about doing work under the table." Jet set crossed his leg over his knee, leaning forward with a casual ease that was too smooth to not be intentional, and side-eyed Lee. "Or am I wrong?"

Lee's lips pressed into a thin line. He was beginning to dislike Jet just as much as Zuko did. "You're right enough."

"Fine. Take a seat." Jiao's words were curt and simple, and he moved behind the counter, reaching into one of the herb drawers. He pulled a rolled-up piece of parchment from it before making his way to the table, unrolling it to reveal a map of the Middle Ring's southern neighborhoods, dotted with X's and notes in an indecipherably messy cursive. "Do you know what this work is?"

Lee's eyes darted back and forth over the map. Banks. Wealthy estates. Warehouses. Guard posts and checkpoints. Sewer access holes. He scowled at the thoroughness of it. "I was told acquisitions, though I assume it's a bit more complicated than Jet mentioned."

"You assume right." Jiao grabbed some small stones off the table, setting one in each corner of the map to keep it unrolled, before finally sitting down between Lee and Longshot. "I run a local charitable organization that provides food and medicine to the unfortunate. However, both of those are always in much shorter supply than demand, particularly with how the Fire Nation has been choking out the City's supply lines, and the influx of refugees is occupying plenty of farmland."

Lee snorted. "Are you hiring me to swipe cabbages?"

"We're all eager for a fight, Lee, don't worry." Jet piped up, grinning wolfishly. He packed his pipe, sipping in some smoke before offering it to Lee. He ignored it, so it was passed to Longshot instead.

"Nothing so mundane." Jiao continued with the same concise tambor of a royal minister speaking to his subordinates. "Stealing from cabbage merchants wouldn't help anyways; it would just increase the price and scarcity of food in the long run."

For a brief moment, Zuko heard Azula in the man's clinical analysis, but clearly the man was far from similar. The thought of Azula hosting a charity was almost laughable. He scowled. "So, what are we doing?"

"The Middle Ring provides plenty of opportunities to secure luxury goods that are in high demand outside the city walls. Jewelry, silks, fine liquors, even manufacturing machinery and schematics. You and your friends-" Jiao jerked his head towards the three freedom fighters, and Lee grimaced. "-retrieve them, I pass them off to a fence who can get them out of the City, and we use the cash to purchase the needed foodstuff. You get some food and a bit of coin for your trouble."

"See, Lee? Simple operation. Lets us stretch our legs, harass the Dai Li robes, and get some money too. And for Miss 'we need to go clean' over here, we get to feed the Lower Ring without hurting anyone. At least, no one who can't handle a few missing trinkets." Jet laughed, a malicious sound, and Smellerbee responded with a muttered insult and a puff of smoke in his face. He coughed, but didn't stop laughing.

Lee took a moment, looking over the map and turning the strategy over in his mind. It made sense, in a roundabout sort of way. Zuko's first inclination would have been to steal the food directly, but Jiao was right about that strategy's unsustainability. But Zuko knew the nobility, and if the noble houses of the Earth Kingdom were anything like those of the Fire Nation, they made a habit of holding vendettas and making liberal use of police. "That sounds risky. Wouldn't the guards or Dai Li notice the thefts?"

"Not unless we're sloppy." Jiao grimaced, a memory clearly bubbling to the surface. "The Dai Li expect a certain amount and caliber of crime, so as long as we don't target anyone too important or hit too predictably, we can slide under the radar."

Lee nodded, considering it. Trying to blend into the passive level of banditry was far from silly if he thought about it. Ba Sing Se was a big city, likely millions of people, and many of them had to be desperate enough to resort to crime. It didn't matter how big or sophisticated the Dai Li was, there was always going to be a margin of error, crime they couldn't prevent or intercept. The goal wasn't necessarily to go completely unnoticed, but rather to remain unimportant. "What about the budget inconsistencies? Doesn't the Dai Li monitor your charity's ledgers?"

The man shook his head. "The prefect reviews our finances, not the Dai Li, and the man is either incompetent enough or sympathetic enough to overlook the number of large, anonymous donations we receive. It's far from perfect, but so long as you're careful-"

Jiao cut himself off as the door to the apothecary creaked open, and everyone twisted towards the sound. Lee's hand fell onto his swords' hilts. But rather than the Dai Li, it was simply a young woman, hair tied up in a puffy ponytail and green eyes very similar to Jiao's.

She looked at the table's occupants, pausing briefly on Lee, before glancing at Jiao. "… Another late-night meeting?"

"Charity work never rests." The man offered a tired, heartfelt smile, a completely different expression than he had been wearing moments ago. The easy transformation unnerved Lee, but he said nothing.

She nodded and yawned, headed for the stairs at the back of the shop. "I'll just head upstairs."

"Get some rest." Jiao waved, and she waved back, making her way up the stairs.

Upstairs, a door opened, then closed. Lee caught Jiao's eye. "Relative?"

He nodded. "Sister."

Lee hummed.

"She hasn't reported us yet." Jet shrugged, giving a laissez faire smile.

"So, you in?" This time, it was Smellerbee that spoke, and she held out the pipe to him. Lee looked at the carved wood, and then her, catching sight of the quiet intensity and harsh earnestness in her dark, almost black, eyes. Jet opened his mouth to interrupt, but a sharp glare from Smellerbee shut him up.

Lee didn't know these people; he certainly didn't trust them. Spending the past few minutes with Jet had actually made him trust the man even less, and while Jiao was clearly straightforward and clean-cut on the task, Lee wouldn't be surprised if the man was just as straightforward in cleanly cutting ties and throwing him to the wolves. But Smellerbee… There was something in her scowl, a weight and honesty that spoke of comradery, uncomplicated and direct. In a strange way, she seemed far more "Earth Kingdom" than any of the others.

… Lee chose to trust her. He took the pipe, unceremoniously taking a puff. It tasted like woodfire, almost sweet and slightly spicy, a flavor Zuko appreciated and Lee tolerated. "What's our first mark?"

Lee, duelist, philanthropic thief, refugee from Dangzhou, and son of an officer. It wasn't much, but it was a start, and it was infinitely better than Lee, the faceless tea server.

)ooOoo(

"Woah, woah, careful there." Jin held Yahui by the hip, keeping her voice low and guiding her friend around shard of shattered glass left in the middle of the street.

"Liyang is a dick. He shouldn't be allowed to drink." Yahui sneered, wobbling slightly with every step.

"You're just upset he won." Jin snorted, smiling even as she shook her head. The party had been crazy enough, but when a few of them decided to play a drinking game, it had really gotten out of hand. Jin had sat on the sidelines, spending the evening with her thoughts and a cigarette, but now the party was long since over and Yahui needed help getting home. She held her friend by the hand, leading her through the dark, quiet streets of the lower ring, and enjoyed the chill air.

"He's a kid! I'm an adult!" The smaller woman grumbled, curling her lips into a grimace as she focused intently on kicking a pebble along the dirt street. For a few moments, Yahui was blissfully quiet, until she kicked the pebble too hard, and it flew down the street, out of reach. She huffed, and turned to Jin, leaving hard against her shoulder. "I should be able to hold my drink way better than him!"

"Adult or not, he's still twice your weight." Jin groaned, hefting Yahui's arm across her shoulder and squinting to make out the road in front of her. Normally, the streetlamps would be burning all night, but with the cost of oil going up, the prefect had decided that the lamps would be put out after the night market. She glanced over at Yahui, giving her a sly grin. "Though, I'm not really sure how much of an adult you are, getting into fights with Liyang, playing with dolls…"

"You're meeeeean. They're good to practice stitchiiiiing." Yahui whined, glaring at the taller woman, and Jin snickered at her expense. She knew it wasn't the kindest thing, but it was fun to tease her friend when she was drunk. She was normally so cold and put together, so needling this looser, sensitive version of her was fun. And she wouldn't remember it tomorrow, anyways.

… Jin sighed, letting her grin fade. Yahui wouldn't remember it anyways. She just needed to get her home safe.

Jin was tired.

The two were quiet for a bit, the only sounds being the small plodding of their feet as they made their way towards Yahui's apartment. For not the first time, Jin wished her friend didn't live at the base of the middle ring wall. It was so far from everyone else's houses. She turned another corner, onto a bigger, cobbled street, and-

Jin squeezed her fist, holding Yahui closer.

Three of Dai Li agents and… Someone. She couldn't see who. But they were in earth cuffs, shoved to the ground by one of the agents. Their wide-brimmed douli hats cast thick shadows over their faces, but even in the dark, Jin could make out the gold trim of their robes and the distinctive peacock feather hanging from the officer's hat.

Swallowing her fear, she kept Yahui close to the edge of the street, walking quickly and silently. The pair walked around the three agents, and Jin didn't look at them. Just in case any spirits were actually listening, she prayed that the agents wouldn't pay them any mind.

A dozen paces, and like that, they were past the agents. The three hadn't even glanced towards the women. Jin let out a tense breath, and looked over at her friend. She was staring at the Dai Li agents. Not afraid, but… There was a depth to that stare, a level of focus despite how drunk she was, that made Jin uncomfortable.

"Jin, Jin, you're my friend, right? I wanna tell you a secret." Yahui jerked to a stop, tugging at Jin's tunic. She had a soft, somber expression, messy locks of black hair hanging over chestnut eyes.

Jin looked over at the three agents. They didn't look back, hauling whoever they had snatched to their feet. The body was limp. "Uh, this might not be-"

"Shh shh shh, it's-" Yahui stumbled over her words, grabbing Jin's shoulder and leaning in close. Yahui's breath rolled across Jin's face, and the taller woman scrunched her nose, able to taste the rice liquor "It's important."

She frowned, but nodded. It would be faster to just let her say whatever it was than to argue.

"I haaate this city."

Yahui stretched out the words, filled with disgust and malice, and her brown eyes pierced Jin with an unbridled intensity. She clamped down on Jin's shoulder like a vice, and the taller girl sucked in a wince. Yahui trembled ever so slightly, and in the dim light of the moon, Jin could make out tears trickling down her cheeks. "It stole her, you know? My sister. In the middle of the night. Dragged her away. The city stole her from me. They stole her from me."

Jin moved on instinct, wrapping Yahui in a hug, stroking her hair, cooing comforting nothings into her friend's ear. She didn't know what. They weren't important. No, she just needed to get Yahui back to her apartment before she-

"Did ya hear that, you cocksuckers!" Yahui wriggled out of Jin's arms, shoving her away. Stomping over to the three agents, the small woman held herself with the bravery only a drunkard could muster, and spat at the officer, nailing the back of his metal douli. Holding out a hand, only one of her three fingers stayed up. "I know you took her!"

The three agents paused, turning, and the officer began taking slow, steady steps towards Yahui. Jin couldn't see his whole face, but his lips were twisted into an unamused scowl.

Bad. This was bad, bad bad bad!

"I hate you! I hate your prissy robes, and your stupid walls, and-"

"Sorry about that, officers, she's just…" Jin swept up behind her, clamping a hand over her mouth. She tried to smile politely, but she couldn't even convince herself that it wasn't fake. The woman's tears were pooling on the top of Jin's hand. "She's just had too much to drink, she doesn't mean what she's saying. I'm, uh, just taking her back to her apartment."

The man stopped, only a stride away, and scanned the pair. His gaze landed on Jin like a falling courthouse, burying her, choking her, judging her. He said nothing, but she could see his hands moving inside his sleeves. Preparing handcuffs. That had to be it. He was going to take Yahui. Maybe her too. Arrest them, and drag them away. Maybe they'd reappear a few days later, different than before, or maybe they'd never come back at all. She would just be gone. Jiao would never know where she was, but he would know what happened. Jin squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for his cold stone gloves to grab her and Yahui.

A heartbeat passed.

Another.

"Get home safely."

Her eyes shot open, just fast enough to catch the look on the man's face as he turned around. Unconcerned pity.

And with that, he was moving down the street, rejoining his companions.

Yahui twisted and squirmed, trying to slip out of her grip, but Jin only squeezed harder, unwilling to move. Her jade eyes refused to blink, watching the three agents shift around the corner. Even for a few moments after, her feet were made of rock, melted to the ground just to make sure her knees didn't give out.

The agents were gone. Somewhere in the distance, a stray dog barked. The crisp evening air was suddenly fridged, and she repressed a shiver. Jin swallowed the bitter bile in the back of her throat. Her limbs were stubborn as stone, but she forced them to move, her feet pattering against the cobble.

She dragged Yahui through the streets, ignoring the drunk woman's complaints and heading straight for the apothecary. It was closer, and there was no way she was walking any further than she had to. Not tonight. Not after that. She didn't speak a word, only focused on breathing. Every few steps, her head twisted around, checking behind her.

Finally, after no time at all and a short eternity, she saw her brother's shop. The candle in the window was lit, but she didn't care, slamming open the door and hauling Yahui in behind her. And as soon as the two were through the door, she swung it shut, peering through the peephole.

The dark street was empty. No one. No Dai Li.

Jin let out a breath, hot and shaky, and collapsed against the door. Her arms wrapped around Yahui, but the woman seemed to have acquiesced, limply accepting it.

She saw Dai Li agents every day. Patrolling. Talking with the prefect. Wandering the market. They were just part of the tempo of life in Ba Sing Se. But seeing them at night, alone, silent… pinning a body to the ground. That was different. Jin didn't know who it was. Even if it hadn't been pitch black, she probably wouldn't have known. The district was too big for her to know everyone. But someone would be missing tomorrow. Someone wouldn't be going home tonight. Maybe not ever. And Yahui-

Her breath caught in her throat, and she held the woman tighter. Yahui reached up, patting Jin's back.

When had Yahui had a sister? She never mentioned it. She never mentioned any family. Jin thought she had simply immigrated alone. But if the Dai Li had arrested her sister… Jin couldn't even imagine it. Knowing that, seeing them every day. And Yahui had almost disappeared too, stolen away by those agents. What if Jin hadn't been there? What would've happened? Would she had simply not shown up at work? No answer, no explanation, just… gone? She had already lost Feifei. Losing Yahui too would be too much. The edges of her eyes burned.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" A hand touched her shoulder, but Jin flinched away, shielding Yahui with her arm.

No, no, she didn't need to. That was Jiao. She was in his shop, she knew his voice, she was safe. There were definitely others here too. She could feel their stares. Wiping her cheeks, she pushed herself and Yahui up, steeling her expression. She didn't want to meet Jiao's gaze, but she forced herself to, looking deep into his dark eyes. "Just… ran into some robes on the way back. Yahui said some stuff she shouldn't've."

Jiao frowned, but in the soft, worried way he always did. He grabbed her shoulder and gave it two squeezes, jerking his head towards the stairs at the back. "… Go, get some rest. Take Yahui for a bath in the morning."

"But work-"

"Will still be there." He spoke softly, but Jin could see the firm patience in his eyes, in the way they trapped the flicking lamplight. "You can miss a shift."

"… Okay." She nodded, swallowing her tears and guiding Yahui by the hand. The woman followed easily, yawning. "Come on, let's get ya upstairs."

She paused at the bottom of the stairs, glancing at the table of people. There were four other than Jiao; she recognized all of them. She didn't know them, but she had seen them in the apothecary before enough times. The guy with the hook swords and the pipe, the woman with the face paint, the man with the douli and the quiver of arrows. More recently, the man with the large face scar. And from the looks they were giving her, the four clearly recognized her.

Jin wasn't stupid. Whatever her brother was doing with these people, he was playing with fire. Jiao didn't think that she was, either. They both just knew that if she didn't ask questions and he didn't give an explanation, she was technically innocent. Distant enough so that, if it all came crashing down, she was just another unknowing bystander that helped with the Chenjia Society. Jiao wasn't a crime lord; Jin knew that much, at least. But she was also aware that running a charity wasn't viable without some sort of income that they definitely didn't make at an apothecary. Whether or not Jin agreed with his methods… didn't matter. He had made an informed choice.

But… Did they know? Jiao had decided the risk was worth it. But what about the others? Did the woman with the face paint know that the Dai Li could make her disappear? Did the man in the douli realize that, if the Dai Li caught him, he could suddenly become someone very different? Had Jiao told them the risks? She wanted to believe that he did. But considering how often she saw new faces in his evening meetings…

Jin locked eyes with the man with the face scar. His gaze was harsh, the lamplight dancing in his golden pupils. But also worried, in the quiet way of a stranger.

She smiled at him slightly, almost out of instinct. It was hopelessly fake.

He didn't smile back, but gave a curt nod. Recognition. Acknowledgement. A sign of care between two people that never spoke. He frowned the same way Jiao did.

Maybe he knew. Maybe he didn't. But at least he was doing something. Choosing to do something, instead of just reacting. Putting himself in danger for others' sake, rather than messing up and getting someone killed. Like had happened with Feifei. Like what had almost happened with Yahui. Like would probably happen again soon. All of her fear, all of her adrenaline, trickled into her gut and settled as shame, heavier than lead. She broke away from his piercing gaze, staring at the scuffed-up floor.

Jin dragged herself and Yahui upstairs, laying down on one of the sleeping mats with the smaller woman and drawing the threadbare blanket over them. It wasn't much, but it was certainly better than the other girl trying to walk home alone. And, if Jin was honest, she appreciated feeling Yahui's warmth. Being alone tonight… Jin didn't want that.

For a while, they just stayed like that. She listened to Yahui's breathing, and the dull sound of voices downstairs. She listlessly wondered which one was the man with the face scar.

"You didn't dance tonight. At the party." Yahui's voice broke the relative silence.

"Huh?" Jin looked over to see Yahui, half-asleep, bleary chestnut eyes peeking out from under the cover.

"You love dancing. Why didn't you dance?"

The question was so basic. So unimportant. It would be so easy to lie. But after tonight, she wanted to tell someone the truth. And after all, Yahui wouldn't remember any of this tomorrow, so Jin could indulge herself a little.

"… Because, sometimes, it's really hard to love this city."

)ooOoo(

A/N: Hope y'all enjoyed my accidental 15,700-word chapter. This is what I get for writing the last scene first and then just writing back up to it. Made a slight change to the name, since I finally decided on a proper set of motifs and finished plotting the rest of the story. The next update will likely come in either the last week of December or the first week of January, since this time of year is so busy.

FFN Guest: Don't worry, Katara isn't going to be a factor in any of this romance. I've never been a fan of love triangles, and frankly, considering the time and situation, I don't see either her or Zuko particularly liking each other.

ToolAssistedRat: I have to confess, it is the strangest feeling on earth hearing someone talk about how much my writing has impacted someone. I don't know how to put it, but I guess… I've never felt like my writing really mattered? Like, I enjoy it, of course, but hearing you say that it's nostalgic, that it impacted you and led to you meeting a friend, that it influences how you write, is truly bizarre to me in a way that warms my heart. My writing is really just a way for me to process stuff going on in my own life, so I just toss it online for fun, never expecting it to have value beyond casual enjoyment, but knowing that it can feels strange, in a good way.