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?

4. Chapter 4

Ba Sing Se was… Ugly. Unpleasant. Dull.

Lee's opinion of the city, he was coming to realize, was far from controversial. Despite his uncle's insistence that there was a certain beauty to be found everywhere, as far as Lee could discern, his general distaste for the grimy existence he was forced to eke out in the slums of the Lower Ring was shared by his de facto companions. Jet certainly didn't make his opinions hidden, though Lee was beginning to think the man would counterfeit opinions on the spot just to tell others about them, and while Smellerbee tried to be open-minded about her new life, Lee could clearly see how the small things irritated her. She complained about the lack of trees often. She claimed to feel exposed without them, though if Lee was honest, he had been feeling more claustrophobic than anything. Longshot…

Well, Longshot didn't really talk. Presumably the tall, plain man had made his opinions clear, as the other two had 'responded' to him during their conversations, but for the life of him, Lee couldn't figure out how, since he had never heard the man utter a single sound in the past few weeks they'd been working together. Half a dozen heists, and not a single word. It was obvious that the man was mute, but Lee's question was more in the realm of how the man communicated, not why. The Kyoshi warriors, ever innovative, had developed a silent language of hand signals and expressions, but as unfamiliar as Zuko had been with the language itself, he had seen enough during his raid on the island to recognize that whatever Longshot was doing clearly wasn't that.

Lee paused, squatting on the unlit tiled roof of some Middle Ring villa. Whose it was didn't particularly matter, it wasn't his target. But it was near the one he and Jet intended to infiltrate, and provided a clear view of where Longshot and Smellerbee were, near the governor's mansion. He grimaced, pushing his long, unwieldy bangs away from his eyes as he scanned the moonlit skyline. Lots of well-built family homes with carefully tended courtyards and sturdy stone walls, and the roads were certainly wider and cleaner than in the Lower Ring. All of them were brick-paved too, even the alleys. Though notably, he never saw quite as many Dai Li agents around. Apparently, their constant protection was a privilege given exclusively to the Lower Ring. He sighed, watching his breath curl into the air as thin mist.

… The Middle Ring wasn't particularly pretty either. All tan tiles and green accents, with a splash of gold for the particularly wealthy households. Was this what Lee was supposed to aspire to? Was this the wealth that he and Mushi were supposed to value? He took a moment, looking down into a nearby courtyard with a square, stone gazebo, but he couldn't imagine himself sitting in it, satisfied with his life. Maybe Uncle could, but that man could be happy anywhere he had tea and someone to talk to. He let out a firm puff of air, feeling his inner flame smolder. He suddenly missed the sharp edges and deep reds that had been omnipresent in Zuko's life.

"Signal." Jet raised his spyglass to his eye, stepping up to the roof's ridge.

Lee joined him, squinting to make out the orange dot of light a several blocks away. It was faint, a hardly noticeable dot from at this distance, but he could see it flickering. "What're they saying?"

"Carriage arrived… Whole family, with kids… two servants." Jet focused, translating, before cracking a wolfish grin. "Looks like everyone's out at the governor's gala tonight."

"Of course." Lee sneered, standing up. The target was some Middle Ring industrialist the Earth King recently ennobled, though Lee doubted the title alone guaranteed the old blood nobles' respect. "No one likes the sniveling politics of court more than new nobles trying to masquerade in old traditions. Galas are perfect for parading around children in need of suitors."

"Sounds like you have some experience." Jet raised an eyebrow, giving a sly, almost pitying smile as he put away his spyglass, though the gesture didn't have a drop of sympathy. He pulled out a matchbox, striking one and holding it up, before rapidly covering and uncovering it. It took a few moments of silent focus, but once the message was sent, the man blew out the match and tossed it.

"Unfortunately." Lee snorted, pulling his black cloth mask over his nose and mouth, but the crude scowl on his face softened, a familiar face bubbling to the surface of his mind. Long, black hair, brushed straight and tied into neat buns. A narrow nose and a small but firm scowl. Smokey yellow pupils set in thin, sharp eyes, like a leaf of gold atop undisturbed snow. Mai.

Zuko had spent plenty of time at public outings; galas, speeches, countless informal court activities. Even the day he spoke up in his father's war room was just another part of his gradual integration into court politics. The tough, red skin around his left eye tingled at the memory, as though responding to a summoning. But, as the crown prince, such court politics were both his duty and education. The course of a prince was to be gradually given more focus and responsibilities at court, serving his father as his right hand, until the Firelord passed on and the prince assumed his predecessor's post, powers, and responsibilities. His own life was far from a perfect reflection of that process, but it was what Zuko would undoubtedly return to. Eventually.

He scowled, thinking back to his friend.

Mai had no such excuses, no such luxuries. Her time in court was political theater, not an education. She was nothing but a pawn, without any promises of power or respect to justify her performance. Her parents were simply wealthy commoners, industrious enough to build a domain of steel mills and coal mines. Regardless of their low birth, their work fed the imperial war machine, and Firelord Azulon had considered them valuable enough as allies to grant her father's requests for a noble title in the colonies. But an Earth Kingdom city and a steel company was no mark of true nobility in the Firelord's court; that legitimacy only came from old blood, earned through combat and service. So, they paraded around their one daughter from the moment she was old enough to be introduced in court, fishing for some old nobility willing to arrange a marriage deal. After all, in the cold calculus of politics, there were plenty of old-title nobles whose time, wealth, and influence had long since abandoned, and who'd be more than happy to strike a deal.

… And it had almost worked, though not in a way anyone had expected. His heart ached, the feeling of an old bruise, badly healed.

"Didn't peg you as the noble type." Jet scoffed, a harsh sound that broke Lee's stream of thought.

"I'm not." Lee shook away the memories, putting away his past life to focus on the present. Zuko missed Mai, but Lee had never met her. "I just know enough to hate their pompous traditions and courtly politics."

Even for Zuko, that wasn't really a lie.

"Don't we all?" The other man simply shrugged, but he quickly turned, leisurely dropping down to another nearby roof. "It's go time."

Lee grunted in acknowledgement, following him, and the pair quickly made their way to their mark, jumping from roof to roof, climbing and falling, unseen in the dark of the new moon. The air was cold and still, asleep and uncaring like the rest of the city, and his straw soles pattered against the smooth rooftop tiles, nearly silent. His swords, hanging from his hip, rattled in their sheath, and he leapt onto the target villa's outer wall. His hands, wrapped in thin, black gloves, gripped the rough stone tiling, and he pulled himself over the top, softly dropping into the grassy courtyard. Jet landed behind him a moment later, just as quiet.

Lee scanned the villa, inspecting the various smaller buildings that outlined the courtyard. A gatehouse on the south edge; unlikely to have a guard, but Lee would rather not find out. A collection of small, one-story buildings to the east, encircling a smaller, secondary courtyard; guest and servant houses. A two-story building on the northern edge; the main house. Lee sneered at its obscene opulence, tacky jade and copper interlaced into its front columns, but moved on from it regardless. Their mark wasn't in there. The western edge was one long, thin building, no poorer in craftsmanship but notably less decorated. The office and workshop. He glanced at Jet, jerking his head at the building, and the man nodded. The two moved quickly, staying in the inky shadows that pooled at the edges of the courtyard, until they finally reached the workshop. Lee pressed on the door, but it didn't budge. Bolt lock. He scowled.

His sword glided soundlessly out of its sheath, and slid easily into the crack between the door and its wooden frame, the butt of the blade resting on top of the metal bolt. One stiff swing, and the silence was broken by the sound of splintering wood. The bolt clattered to the ground, and the door creaked open, revealing a small shop littered with unfinished machinery and paperwork. He turned, nodding at Jet, and the man nodded back, moving to watch the door.

Stepping inside, he rushed to the desk, pulling open the drawers and rifling through their contents. Not here. Not here either. Just some legal paperwork, a few letters, a few bottles of ink… Would it be in the main house's office? No, no, Longshot had apparently said the man only ever did work in the workshop itself, and Longshot's record of scouting was solid, though Lee suddenly wished he didn't have to rely on Smellerbee's translations.

Lee leaned down, tugging at the last drawer, but it simply rattled, refusing to open. He squinted at the thing, gold eyes glistening in the dark, and caught sight of a keyhole. Snagging a pair of needles out of his back pocket, he pressed them into the keyhole, methodically poking and twisting until he heard just the right series of clicks. Another yank at the drawer, and it opened eagerly.

Finished design documents, each wrapped into a proper scroll and stamped with the machinist's seal. He unrolled a few, squinting in the low light to check their titles; blast furnace designs, maps of coke and sulfur coal deposits northwest of Ba Sing Se, even the schematics for… a high-pressure steam engine.

Lee paused, his eyes going wide.

Zuko had seen this before.

"It's one of my father's designs," Mai said, lazily unrolling the scroll on the desk. The teenage girl lounged in the narrow desk chair, resting her chin in her hand as her eyes scanned over the scroll of schematics. "Apparently he's going to present it to the Firelord."

"That's why he's back in the capital?" Zuko strode into the study, his motions confident despite his distinct discomfort. Compared to the spring sun of the courtyard, the cool shade of the office was a welcome change, but… well, he had never spent much time in Mai's family estate, let alone inside the family patriarch, Ukano's, office. He scowled, feeling mildly like an intruder as he stepped into the comfortably large room. The walls were lined with rows and rows of carefully sorted scrolls, and the back of the room was dominated by the desk that Mai had made herself comfortable at, a squat piece of furniture made of rosewood and covered in measuring instruments and writing implements. While Zuko had only seen the inside of his own father's office a handful of times, it was unimaginably ornate compared to the almost utilitarian sparseness of this room. He moved closer to Mai, leaning over her to get a look at the complicated schematics. "What's it for?"

Mai shifted out of the way to let him see, but the movement was slow and unconcerned, complimented by a shrug. She gazed impassively through the window, watching a court of small black birds gathered near the cherry tree. "Some sort of engine, I don't know. He's convinced it will 'revolutionize our nation's coal production capacity,' whatever he means by that."

"Coal?" Zuko frowned, looking from the schematics to his friend. He leaned against the desk, picking up a chunk of whittled graphite and turning it over in his hand. It left a powdery black stain on his hand. "In the colonies, near Omashu?"

"Yeah. If the Firelord approves the funding for my father's request, he'll go to Omashu to oversee it. Which would mean I'd have to go too. Ugh." She drew in a slow, deep breath and sighed, watching the birds. A servant walked past, and the small creatures took flight, fleeing the courtyard. Mai's eyes didn't move, but her expression twisted into a grimace. "I can't stand that city. It's so boring."

Zuko looked at her expression, and felt a dull pang in his heart. Mai was far from the most expressive person, with her attitude measured by degrees of scowl, but that grimace was a heavier gesture. She complained constantly about the idiosyncrasies of court, but the letters she had sent from her time in Omashu had been blatantly miserable; no friends, no school, nowhere to go, just a private tutor, a family too busy to talk to her, and a palace full of mildly resentful servants. He glanced out towards the courtyard, catching sight of the cherry blossoms, before turning back to Mai.

"Maybe I could talk to my father, there are plenty of spare rooms in the palace. And your father can be reasoned with." His voice was plain and blunt. Going back to Omashu might not be a pleasant prospect for Mai, but she was endlessly practical, and Zuko had long since learned that any appeal that didn't speak to that practicality wasn't going to convince her. "You could stay there, continue attending the academy with Ty Lee and Azula. It would let you continue your education, and help you connect to the court more, and your father would approve of that."

"Court connections, hm?" Mai paused, her grimace fading as she turned to him. She quirked an eyebrow, looking him up and down. "And I suppose that would mean spending time with you, too? I can see how you requesting it specifically could pique his interest."

Zuko cleared his throat, setting his hand on top of hers. "Well, both your father and I would gain something out of it."

She shook her head, gracing him with a small, dry smile. It made Zuko's heart flutter. But she slipped her hand out from under his, standing and stepping out the office door. "You're too earnest. You'll make a terrible Firelord.

"Hey!" Zuko shot up, grimacing, and barged through the door to follow her. "I'll be an amazin-"

The moment he stepped through the door, his words were cut off by a pair of lips pressing against his. His eyes shot open wide, but before he could react, she pulled away, giving him a cold, wry smile. Zuko tried to say something, but his heart was pounding like a dance drum, and her golden eyes bore into him, locking his tongue in place.

"Of course you will be. You care so much." While Mai didn't look at Zuko, she leaned against him, grabbing his hand and running her thin thumb over his knuckles. Zuko didn't resist, letting her fiddle with his fingers. Her words were cold and flat, indistinguishably neutral if Zuko hadn't been able to see the small grin on her face. "But you'll need someone who cares less. Just to make sure you keep your head on your shoulders."

Zuko looked into her eyes, just able to parse the tenderness behind their sharp edge, and for a moment, their future seemed so clear. He could see it so easily, him sitting atop the Firelord's throne, and Mai as his lifelong ally, friend, wife. Partner. She would be someone he could trust with anything, and he would be the same for her. And, with her strength and his own, he would rule over the Fire Nation, the greatest civilization in history, and guide the rest of the world in sharing that greatness. Her gaze, gentle care hidden behind a harsh bulwark, filled him with a particular joy, the subdued, quiet kind that thrived hidden away from the world.

He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back. He chuckled, a soft sound, and returned her coy smile. "And you'll be the one to do that?"

She sorted, rolling her eyes. "Who else could it be?"

"No one." Zuko silently mouthed the words, tightly gripping the scroll in his hands. His throat was tight, and his chest hurt, a dull, aching pain. He hadn't seen her in years. Before his time in Ba Sing Se, before the Siege of the North, before his exile, before he had his scar… It felt like more than a lifetime ago. Back when things had been so much simpler. Not perfect, far from that, but clear cut at least. He was the prince of the Fire Nation, with a defined role and set of responsibilities he was gradually growing to uphold. But now…

Unconsciously, he reached up to his scar, running his fingers along the red, leathery skin.

Zuko was an exile, a refugee, hiding away in the capital city of his nation's most powerful enemies, scraping by in the slums by serving tea and, now, petty theft. Purposeless. Disgraceful. Dishonorable. Lee clenched his jaw, shaking his head, and turned back to the scroll. Focus on the moment. He couldn't afford to reopen those old wounds now.

It… it was the same design. Exactly. Even the handwritten notes along the were the same, word-for-word, though the characters were smooth cursive, completely unlike Ukano's distinct, blocky handwriting. Where had this come from? Who had drawn it? Were there Earth Kingdom spies at the Firelord's court? Or were these stolen later, from Mai's father in Omashu? He held the scroll up the thin beam of light coming in through the window, scanning the document.

There, right there, that was it. A seal and stamp at the bottom left of the scroll. 'Produced by Minazo Koji, the Department of Foreign Studies and Acquisitions, Cultural Affairs Ministry, Ba Sing Se University.' That… no, it didn't sound like an Earth Kingdom name, but the idea of a Fire Nation citizen in Ba Sing Se… His head spun at the revelation, but he steadied himself. Answers could come later. Either way, he needed to get it back to Jiao and-

"Thieves! Guards, guards, where are-" A young man's voice rang out in the courtyard, only to be cut off by the sound of a skull cracking and a body dropping.

"Lee?" Jet ducked into the workshop, hookswords glinting in the faint moonlight as he hissed into the dark. "Lee, what the fuck are you doing? This isn't a book club! They saw us!"

"Shit!" Lee hissed, shoving the scrolls into his bag and slamming the drawer shut. It was time to go. "Any guards?"

"Not if we move fast." Jerking his head back towards the door, Jet rushed out the door to the courtyard, and Lee followed close behind, gripping his bag tightly. A servant's body laid on the ground, completely motionless; Zuko couldn't see much in the midnight darkness, but there was enough light to see the dark pool forming around the man's head. He simply leapt over the body, bound for the far wall. As quickly as the pair had snuck in, they snuck out, climbing over the wall and darting into a nearby alley. Jet jammed his hookswords into an unremarkable section of brickwork, prying it up to reveal a manhole, and Lee crawled down it, dropping into the dank, cold sewers.

The manhole cover slammed shut, and Jet landed behind him with a soft splash. A few moments of dark silence passed, only broken by the sound of the pair running across wet brick and panting. The frigid air stank of sewage sludge and sweat, and the brick access path was slick with mold and slime. But eventually, the pair stopped, and Jet struck a match, providing just enough light for the pair to see each other. Tugging his hood and bandana down, Jet revealed his mess of dusty brown hair and a furious glare. "What the hell was that, Lee? You disappeared into the workshop, ignored my signals when that guy came into the courtyard, and I find you doing what? Reading. And now we left a body!"

"There wasn't supposed to be anyone in the estate. Longshot's scouting was wrong." Lee's defense was short and clipped, spoken through clenched teeth. Even he knew it was just an excuse. But he wouldn't give Jet the satisfaction of him admitting it.

"So fucking what?" Jet's knuckles were white squeezing his swords' metal hilts. "It wouldn't have mattered if you hadn't spent ten minutes jerking off! We would've been in and out!"

"I wasn't distracted." Lee grit his teeth, closing the distance between the pair with an aggressive step.

"Bullshit. Lee, you fucked up, and put both of us in danger. No, all of us. Smellerbee, Longshot, and Jiao too. If I have to cut someone loose, I know who it's gonna be." Flicking his sword around, he held the sharpened metal pommel at Lee. Its tip was freshly stained red.

Lee snarled, his hand falling to his swords' hilts and his body falling instinctively into a defensive stance. "Put down the swords."

Jet laughed, a rancid sound that seemed to fit particularly well with the smell of sewer rot. "Make me."

Lee narrowed his eyes, glaring at his supposed comrade. Jet didn't flinch, simply giving a violent smirk. The sewers were hauntingly silent.

Was this his life now? Was this who Lee had grown into, what Zuko had fallen to? A street thief arguing over pride and scraps in a literal Ba Sing Se sewer? It was disgusting. He hated it. And somehow, it was an improvement. At least now he was doing something, not just rotting away for months as he served tea, existing without purpose, shunting his responsibilities to hide away as a peasant. This wasn't what he wanted. None of this, and it never would be. Even his exile hunting the Avatar had been better, because at least then he had a mission, a purpose, a crew and a target. He hated this place, he hated this life, and he wanted out! But where would he go? What would he do? The Fire Nation knew him as a traitor, the Earth Kingdom knew him as a scourge, and even if he could find a ship to commandeer, he had no crew or safe harbor. Zuko was trapped. His hand tightened around his dao blades' hilts, shaking with rage.

But… But maybe there was a way. Or at least a step forward. An opportunity. Zuko's inner fire crackled at the thought, eager for new fuel. His grimace softened, the skeleton of a plan coming together in his mind. But to achieve it, he would need to focus, and importantly, not burn his bridges. He took a deep breath and breathed out his fury. He didn't let all of it go though, catching the last wisps of his rage and locking them away in his heart. Fuel for his smoldering flame. Fuel that he would need.

Lee let go of his swords and pulled himself out of his stance, standing tall. Jet raised a questioning eyebrow, his grin bleeding cockiness. Lee ignored it, swallowing his pride for a moment. Maybe that would have been enough to set him off when he was in exile, but times had changed, and he had come to accept that allies were few and far between. And trustworthy ones… He could think of exactly two. Jet wasn't one of them.

"I found something valuable." He spoke clearly and harshly. "A lot more valuable than just schematics."

Jet grunted. "Spit it out."

Taking off his bag, Lee pulled out the steam engine scroll and held it out to Jet. "These aren't Earth Kingdom designs. These were stolen from the Fire Nation."

"How would you know?" The other man narrowed his eyes, yet to drop his own stance as he looked between the scroll and Lee. In an odd way, it made Lee feel a bit of haughty pride. Between the two, it was clear which had more honor in diplomacy.

He sneered anyways, putting on an air of stories too long to tell. "I lived in Dangzhou. I met more settlers than I wanted."

"Fine, so what about it?" Despite his words, Jet's scowl seemed far from satisfied with the answer.

"It came from Minazo Koji, at Ba Sing Se University." Slipping the scroll away, Lee hung the bag back on his shoulder, before continuing his pitch. "Consider how much this will fetch for Jiao. Now think about how much an entire stockpile could fetch. Imagine the food that that could buy. If you could organize a heist like that…"

There were a few moments where neither spoke, Jet weighing the idea in his mind. Lee watched, seeing the quiet calculations between the man's eyes. But he waited, confidently patient. He was never as good as Azula, but he knew enough about people to recognize exactly how much the chance for a big catch would appeal to a man like Jet. But a man like Jet especially liked to think that they were in control, and that the decision was theirs to make.

Jet narrowed his eyes, scanning his companion's face. Lee simply scowled, unwilling to tip his hand. But finally, the Earth Kingdom peasant grinned, a hungry, vicious thing, and hung his swords on his belt. "You know this doesn't make up for the problems you just caused."

Lee smiled, a wolfish thing that was more similar to Jet's than different. "I wouldn't expect it to."

"You're so reasonable." Jet's grin grew, and he casually stepped towards Lee, clapping him on the shoulder. "And I should be too. After all, we do all make mistakes. And up until now, you've been the best thief I've ever seen. Other than myself, of course."

Lee snorted, a calculated half-laugh, though if he was honest with himself, he wasn't sure how fake it really was. "Of course."

"I think we scored more than just a few scrolls tonight, my friend." Jet swung his arm over Lee's shoulder, guiding him through the sewers, and Lee didn't resist, humming in agreement.

They certainly had. But while Jet was thinking of a big cash out and enough money to buy barges worth of potatoes for a ghetto that would never have enough food, Lee had his eyes set on a bigger goal.

No, no, not Lee.

Zuko did.

To track down this Mr. Koji, and rather than rob him blind, strike a deal. He would never be accepted back in court, at least not for the foreseeable future. But if Mr. Koji could get a scroll out of the Fire Nation, then maybe he could get one in. And a single letter to a friend may be all that he needed to find true sanctuary. A first step.

Zuko wanted out of Ba Sing Se, and Lee may have just found out how.

)ooOoo(

The afternoon's weather was uncaringly mundane. Not particularly sunny, nor particularly shady; not unseasonably warm, nor bitterly cold. It was just a bit chilly, just enough for Jin to see her breath as thin, pale wisps, and an occasional breeze would decide to rattle the dead, fallen leaves, but those were nothing out of place for Ba Sing Se at this time of year. There was nothing exceptional about it at all. To the infinite universe, today was nothing special.

That hurt Jin more than it should've.

Her steps were slow and methodical as she made her way through the unfamiliar back alleys, careful to make sure her hanfu skirt wouldn't touch any garbage or grime. It was a simple garment, pure white cotton without any intricate designs or ornate stitching, but all that meant was that even the smallest stain would be impossible to ignore. Jin had had it for years, but unfortunately the two had to dip into their savings to have it retailored, and she had to buy an entirely new sash for it too, thanks to the industrious appetite of a few moths. The new sash was gorgeous, made of fine silk and dyed a cool, dark shade of teal that complimented her jade eyes, but as much as she wanted to, Jin couldn't make herself appreciate it. She tugged at the sash's knot, making sure it was taut.

… Had it been woven by hand? She faintly hoped so, but she could recognize the stiff, tight weave of the fabric, the feeling of cloth that had been uncaringly knit together by a power loom. Hopefully Feifei wouldn't be too upset.

Unconsciously, she reached to stroke her braid, before mentally slapping the hand away. Jiao had spent nearly half an hour on the unwieldy, four-strand braid, and if her fiddling caused it to fray, or worse, made the lotus flower he had woven into the base of the braid fall out, he would never forgive her. She looked to her brother, but the man was distracted, reading an address off a card and trying to navigate a set of streets with seemingly no sense of organization.

Compared to Jin, Jiao was hopelessly underdressed. With such short notice and so little money, he had only been able to find a cheap, overcast gray linen hanfu and a basic sash the color of worn-out catagator leather. At least, that's what he told her. It wasn't necessarily that she doubted him, but the man did have a habit of complaining about any clothing whose cost wasn't measured in copper yuan, and she wouldn't have been surprised if that ugly hanfu had literally been the cheapest one the tailor had. The last time the cheapskate touched silk, he had just about broken out in hives. But to his credit, Jiao had wrapped his long hair into a formal bun, and had gone so far as to properly shave off his goatee out of respect. It was more than he did for any festival. Jin sighed, weary and exasperated, and shook her head.

"Here we are." Jiao broke the oppressive silence between the two as he turned a corner, and Jin followed closely, timidly raising her gaze from the dusty path. The alley they had turned into was identical to any other: claustrophobic, dirty, and vaguely smelling like shit. The buildings on each side were narrow, hardly wide enough for a door and a staircase, but improvised additions stacked three or four stories tall, stealing the afternoon sunlight from the pathway below, while unnumbered entrances poked through the walls, blocked off by repurposed wooden planks or sackcloth hung from sticks.

The only thing that distinguished it from the alley that came before and the alley beyond it were the people, packed from wall to wall, a shifting sea of white robes and green sashes. The words of dozens of muttering voices bounced off the tight alley walls, forming into a quiet cacophony, while the noises of the outside streets were muffled, kept away by the stone foundations and wooden walls of the surrounding buildings. A few folks with instruments were gathered at the back edge of the crowd, including a lanky boy with a tsungi horn.

"There's a lotta people here." Jin joined her friend, slipping her hands into her sleeves. A few rows up, the crowd parted, leaving a gap in front of one of the makeshift doors.

"Yeah." Liyang glanced at her, chewing on his lip and shifting the tsungi horn on his shoulder before looking back towards the gap in the crowd. For the first time Jin had ever seen, his wild, bird nest-like brown hair was neatly combed, and while he fit into his hanfu, the pants and sleeves were just a bit too short, awkwardly stopping short behind his wrists and ankles. "Lots of people are gonna miss her."

Jin looked across the crowd. Dozens of faces she knew, plenty more she didn't. Mill workers. Friends. Family. Neighbors. Looking back at Liyang, she could see the red in his dry eyes. "Especially you?"

Liyang tried to say something, but his voice caught in his throat, and looked away, gripping the brass horn with white knuckles and squeezing his eyes shut tight. Eventually, he just nodded, rocking his head back and forth as he forced slow, deep breaths.

"Me too." Her chest ached, a deep, dull pain like a bruise on her heart, and she reached out, placing her hand on his shoulder and giving two firm squeezes. He reached up, giving her wrist a squeeze of its own, and half-smiled at her. She didn't know everything about the two's relationship, but… well, Feifei and Liyang had been close. She looked down at the tsungi horn, its bronze sheen dulled by the alley's shadows. "Did they ask you to?"

"Her mom, yeah." Liyang nodded, sucking in a sharp breath before slowly, painfully letting it out. There was doubt in his brackish brown eyes. "… What if I mess up?"

Jin shook her head, giving him the most reassuring smile she could muster. It was almost painful, forcing a smile when her chest was so tight, but she did it anyway. Even in times like this, she needed to do what she could to give others strength. "If your heart's in it, people will hear it. That matters a lot more than the notes. And I know your heart's in it."

He didn't say anything, but he seemed to let out a breath that had been holding a lot more than air, and ran his hand along the curved bronze. There was a ripple of movement and murmurs through the crowd, and the two turned to see the cloth over the door getting pushed to the side. Liyang took another deep breath, steading himself. "It's starting. Talk after?"

"Yeah, definitely." Jin gave him a quick pat before pressing into the crowd next to Jiao. "And you'll do great. Don't worry."

A heavy hush fell over the crowd, and all eyes fell to the door as the family left their home. Unlike everyone else, their hanyus were a deep evergreen, nearly black, with simple smoke-colored sashes and heavy hoods, the color of the forest after a fire. First, her siblings stepped out, led by Huang, then her father, and finally, Feifei's mother, holding a small, tan brick, her daughter's name etched onto the surface. Holding Feifei. An unbearable weight fell onto Jin's shoulders, invisible bags of stone hanging from her white-clothed shoulders, but she forced herself to remain standing.

No words were spoken. No words were needed. Liyang's tsungi horn rang out, a long and sorrowful wail, simple and earnest, and the crowd parted. Jin moved with them, pressing herself against the alley wall to make space as the family passed, one after another, following Feifei's mother. For a brief moment, her eyes met Huang's, and he simply nodded at her, melancholy appreciation in his heavy eyes. There wasn't a drop of malice in the look, but his gaze burned her anyways, like hot ash shoveled onto fresh wounds. She smiled back, a small, pensive thing.

Jin didn't want to be seen. Not by anyone. Not by her family. And more than anyone, not by him. She knew it wasn't her fault, she knew that accidents like this happen all the time, but… still. Her fists clenched, white-knuckled and hidden away in her hanfu's loose sleeves. Her throat tightened, but her expression didn't change.

Feifei's family passed, steps slow and heads low. Then, a priestess, her bronze censer gently swinging on its rope as the scents of cedar and lavender tumbled from its burning contents. Next, the musicians, led by Liyang. With their first steps, a chorus of bamboo flutes and clay ocarinas joined in Liyang's despondent tune, while a pair of leatherbound drums set the mournful tempo. Finally, the crowd began to follow, wrapped in a cloak of silence. The procession moved at its own pace, stepping to the beat of the drums, through the alleys, to the streets, down the boulevards, past the markets and shops, along the canal that fed the mill. Bound for the Middle Ring Wall.

As the mournful parade moved, passersby paused to watch. Some bowed their heads, offering prayers. Others remained respectfully silent, pausing whatever business they were doing so long as the procession was in sight. Jin was certain not to meet eyes with any of them, hiding in the center of the parade. As they approached the mill itself, a crowd of workers gathered, hundreds of men and women stopping their shift to give a goodbye to a fellow millworker, if only briefly. The power looms screeched, ringing through the walls of the factory, but the singular tsungi horn of the procession sang true, its sound unbroken and undisturbed by the looms' vicious mockery.

With every step, it became harder to stand, her feet heavier, her knees weaker. Jin's hanfu was suddenly unbearably hot under the late afternoon sun, the purity of the white fabric burning her skin despite the chilly wind. She couldn't see her fellow workers staring at her, but she could feel it. The judgement. The glares. The silent accusations.

You were supposed to be watching.

She was! She had been there to help Feifei, taking time out of her own job, time that no one else had been willing to give.

Then you should've kept her safe.

Jin had tried! She had been there, teaching her, and even when it had all gone so wrong, she had done everything she could to help-

That's a sorry excuse and you know it. Everything, really? Don't lie. Did you watch her closely like you should have? Did you visit every day to check her bandages? Did you attend to her as she healed, applying the medicine she needed?

Well, she had done what she could, but with work and the Society, there was only so much time in the day and-

No. No, you didn't. You didn't pay attention, too busy thinking about yourself to realize she had stuck her hand in an unsafe machine. You shoved the responsibility to care for her on Huang, someone who you knew wasn't trustworthy and wasn't trained in medicine, all because you were too lazy to do it yourself. You didn't even take the time to visit her afterwards, you performative bitch. You want everyone to think that you're such a good person, but you know you're not. After all, if you were, would this have happened?

You didn't just fail, you failed because you were nothing but selfish, and now she's dead.

This is your faul-

A bolt of sharp pain ripped up her arm, her own nails digging into her wrist. She raised the loose sleeve of her hanfu, covering her pained grimace as she pretended to wipe away tears. Well, maybe she was pretending.

Jin was terrible. She knew she was terrible, and anyone who knew what had happened with Feifei doubtlessly knew it too. Huang. Her parents. Jiao, Yahui, and Liyang, too. They're not stupid. They're just… too kind to say it.

But the silence burned hotter and scarred deeper.

Jin swallowed the bile pooling in the back of her throat, looking into the crowd of workers as she continued to force one foot in front of the other. Another young priestess stood among the workers, clad in the pure white robes of the Bride's temple and looking over the procession. She was thin, thinner than nearly anyone Jin had ever seen, but when her sunken, stormy gray eyes met Jin's jade, the recognition and hate were unmistakable, driving into Jin's stomach like an earth hammer. Her chest ached, a dull, hateful throb, but Jin only stood straighter, breathing deeply and steadying herself.

… Let them look. Of course they blame her, it's her fault. But today was about Feifei, not Jin, and her own shame and pain would be something she could deal with… later. Her guilt, her failures, the way her heart squeezed tight, those were something for her to deal with in private. Alone. Where no one would see her, where no one would have to put up with her, where she wouldn't be a distraction or a burden.

Jin had let Feifei die. That was her sin to bear, and to put out that pain now, to force everyone else to hold it for her, would be cruelty. It would be unfair. And Jin refused to be that weak.

Now, she had to make sure her family had the space and focus to mourn their daughter, and that meant being an ideal procession attendee. She would not ruin anything more for her friend. So, she wrangled all her strength, keeping her back straight and her steps steady as she stepped to the beat of the drum, a single serene face within a slow-moving stream of white cloth and sorrow.

Her jade eyes, heavy and green like the sky before a hailstorm, glanced back at the unmoving crowd of workers. The priestess was gone. Jin might have sighed in relief, but her heart didn't let her. She had nothing to be relieved about.

The procession moved on, and the workers returned to the mill. The ocarinas warbled their somber melody, peppered by the tutting flutes, and the Middle Ring Wall grew larger, indomitably consuming the horizon as they inched ever closer, following the canal that ran through the middle of the district. She listened to its current, churning, roaring, rushing. It roiled alongside the funeral song, complimenting it. Jin closed her eyes, squeezing them tight, and followed the swaying movement of the procession, lifting the ever-heavier weight on her shoulders.

Another step.

And another.

And another.

Remain strong.

Remain strong.

For a brief eternity, until she felt the ground under her feet change from packed dirt to scraping brick, and the crowd of mourners around her faltered, spreading out. She opened her eyes, barely raising her head enough to look around, even though she knew exactly where she was.

The Bride's Plaza.

Nestled at the base of the Middle Ring Wall, next to the old Gaolao gate, the plaza was not opulent. Only a block wide, it was simple, with a square, terraced amphitheater that sank into the earth and wrapped around a small, rustic temple. There were a scattering of wide, circular benches and tall incense burning pots, some completed, some missing pieces. A few elm trees twisted out of the ground, their bare branches weighed down by the years, and an incomplete fountain was off to one side, yet to ever be filled with water.

It almost looked like any other temple in the Lower Ring, if Jin ignored the unfinished construction. But Jin would never mistake it for anywhere else, because most temples were made of smooth stone and carved wood.

This one was made of brick.

The temple. The amphitheater. The benches, incense burners, the fountain, even the tiling around the elm trees; carefully molded bricks, small and tan and etched with their own name. As the crowd spread and flowed into the amphitheater, tightly filling the gaps between the trees and the benches, Jin ran her hand along the rough surface of one of the amphitheater benches, reading each brick.

Xibao. Zhongxin. Weizhi. Fuyu. Qiuyue. Bolin. Gaobai. Another name, and another, and another. She raised her eyes, looking across the plaza, through the crowd of white and green. Every surface, every brick, bore a name. Enough names that Jin could spend the whole day pacing back and forth, reading each and every one, and never be able to read them all. More lifetimes than anyone could ever hope to know.

Pausing, she rested her hand on one of the sandstone bricks and traced her finger along the carefully etched characters. The baked earth was frigid against her skin, an almost relieving sensation compared to the itchy heat trapped by her hanfu. She glanced out of the plaza, towards the behemoth Middle Ring Wall and Gaolao Gate. Its heavy stone doors were old, solid, and tall, looming over several of the nearby houses, and a hopelessly tiny guard flanked each side, as though their meager frames would be any more of a deterrent than the mountain that was the Gaolao Gate.

What would they look like if they were ever opened? It was hard to even imagine, like trying to think of a shore without an ocean, or a sky without a horizon. A feeling tugged at her heart, a strange mixture of discomfort and longing at the thought, the feeling of looking over the edge of a cliff and wondering what it might be like to fly. But she caught sight of two Dai Li agents lingering at the top of the wall, their dark silhouettes looking down on the plaza, and she snapped her gaze away.

The tsungi horn stopped, and Jin waited, watching the precession draw to a close. The family made their way down to the center of the amphitheater, filing down the stairs one by one. The priestess came by, whispering things into a few of the family members' ears, before looking to Feifei's mother, nodding, and stepping aside. A dead silence descended upon the plaza, even the wind stilled out of respect. The woman stepped forward, wrapped in evergreen, and lowered her hood. Her hair, thin and black, was neatly braided. Her brown eyes were bloodshot, but any tears had long since been wiped away. Her face, something Jin had always seen with smile lines and spry joy, was unrecognizable with deep wrinkles and a gaunt frown. She looked down at the brick in her hands, shaking to the point that even Jin could see it, before taking a deep breath and looking to the crowd.

"I'd once been told that the heaviest thing a mother could ever carry is her own child's brick." The woman ran her hand across the baked earth, a tender motion that stabbed Jin's heart. As she looked around the amphitheater, her words were unsteady, but careful, purposeful. "I-, Well, today, I can tell you that that is true. But I won't pretend it has been any easier for any of you. She was many things to many people; a daughter, a sister, a neighbor, a student, a caretaker-"

The woman's eyes paused on Jin, and the world stopped. Her brown eyes burrowed into Jin, a glowing hot rod of iron pressed into the young woman's chest. The tempo of Jin's heartbeat raced beyond what the stillness of the moment should've allowed, and her eyes burned. She wanted to cry out, to apologize, to hug the woman and beg for forgiveness. She wanted to let her heart spill out. But that wouldn't help. It would only make those around her hurt more. It would only be cruelty.

So, she resisted. She was strong.

Jin smiled. Faintly. Weakly. Sorrowfully.

Feifei's mother paused for a moment, before smiling back, a pained gesture. It made the bags under her eyes look heavier. "A friend. And I'm… happy to know that the smiles she gave us will continue on. We all walked with her together, and together, we should lay her to rest."

With that, the Feifei's mother turned to the priestess and bowed, settling on her knees. The priestess, an older woman with deep wrinkles and spindly fingers, reached into a nearby incense pot and scooped out a handful of ash, anointing mourning mother's forehead. The priestess spoke a few words, too low for Jin to hear, before helping the woman up, and guiding her up the stairs to one of the fountains, each step followed by the crowd's gaze. The woman set down the brick, carefully aligning it, before the priestess leaned forward, the solid stone twisting at her touch. She kneaded it, fusing the brick into the rest of the fountain without the use of mortar or tar. She kneaded Feifei, melding Jin's friend into the ranks that had come before.

"From the earth we have come, and to the earth we shall return." The priestess spoke the words, quietly but with a firmness that echoed throughout the amphitheater, and the crowd recited it back. Jin said the words too. They were flat and hollow.

With that, the priestess receded into the temple, carrying the censer, and the family joined her. The mother paused, looking back at the crowd. Her brown eyes lingered on Jin, heavy with unspoken words.

Every muscle in Jin's body tightened, but she once again offered that same small smile, and a respectful bow. It was a mechanical motion, a series of movements without any heart, because her heart had long since decided to be uncooperative.

The woman offered a polite bow back, but that same painful weight remained in her eyes as she drew her hood and turned to enter the temple.

Jin's heart hurt.

With that, the ceremony had finished. The silence that had engulfed the crowd dropped away, revealing a dozen murmured conversations as families and friends left the plaza. Some gathered in small groups, making small talk and pleasantries in low tones. Others approached the fountain, Feifei's new home, either to speak or to listen. Some cried, others didn't, but no one was alone.

"Should we head home?" Jin startled, but turned to see Jiao. His hands were tucked politely into his sleeves, and his expression was the same tired frown he always wore.

Jin opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She could feel that, if she made a single sound, the steadfast fragile wall she had built would crumble, and she wouldn't be able to stop, not the words, and not the tears. So, she said nothing, simply shaking her head.

Her older brother watched her for a moment, before curtly nodding back, and turning to leave the plaza. "… Go say goodbye. I'll be near the gate."

An hour passed.

People left, quickly at first, but then slower, with a few stragglers remaining. Her closest friends, her cousins and grandparents, Liyang and his mother. Jin avoided them, listlessly wandering amongst the elm trees, unable to speak as she should, unwilling to speak as she wanted.

But eventually, the sunlight began to die, and everyone left.

She stood alone, staring at the brick. Staring at Feifei. She ran her fingers across the cold, smooth etching, feeling her friend's name.

She wanted to cry.

She wanted to let herself cry.

But she had held them in for too long, and now, there were no tears to give.