The Mandate of Heaven

by kaoart

The Avatar stood on a tall hill, looking at the gate of Ba Sing Se slowly being opened. Armies poured out of the gap, with endless soldiers and steeds readied to march upon the corpse of a fractured realm. If a divided Earth Kingdom must bleed to rectify the mistakes of a nation torn asunder, so be it.

39. A Prince from Omashu

The three highest-ranking officers of the Jian'er strode along the great wall's battlements, steps purposeful as they approached the turret housing their general's office. Qibi Heli chuckled to himself, remarking that the so-called office bore more resemblance to a boy's treasure hoard than a space befitting the monotony of administrative toil. It was a fair observation, if suits of armor and gleaming weapons could be likened to the whimsical trinkets of a child.

Such fanciful musings were promptly brushed aside by the pragmatic lieutenant, who regarded his companions with a measured look. His tone, even and unyielding, reminded them that their commanding officer had never allowed pastimes to encroach upon duties.

"Painting and feasting are hardly transgressions for a man of high station," the Firebender declared as the trio pressed on. "Especially for one tasked with bearing the unrelenting burdens of leadership. While I may not condone the unconventional use of his office, there is a limit to how much we can sacrifice to duty before even the strongest bodies demand reprieve."

Qibi Heli wasted no time in responding, a booming laugh escaping his lips. "And yet, I doubt you find much rest beneath a full moon."

The lieutenant offered no reaction beyond a fleeting glance. When they neared the turret's entrance, he abruptly raised a hand, halting their progress just before crossing the threshold.

A faint melody reached their ears, a song, unmistakably human in its cadence, though its origin seemed hauntingly out of place. The sound emerged from behind a metal mask, its eerie resonance laced with both sorrow and an insatiable hunger, as if the voice itself yearned for something it could never quite grasp.

The melancholic refrain intertwined with the rhythmic scrape of a glaive being sharpened against stone. For Jang, the lyrics carried a strange and disquieting weight, a lamentation steeped in unspoken yearning, as if the singer's voice hungered not only for sustenance but for something far more profound.

Mighty old Earth Kingdom, restore my land.

Till our blood runs dry, we shall not falter.

Mighty old Earth Kingdom, restore my land.

Till our blood runs dry, we shall not sate.

In the west is the great enemy, rising like the sun.

Our century of national hate, unstoppable by the sea.

When all under heaven is in turmoil, how can there be peace?

Our nation has valiant warriors, who dares to oppose them?

The singing ceased, leaving only the rhythmic rasp of the glaive against the sharpening stone. As Jang leaned closer to the entrance, taking care not to reveal himself, a voice called out from within.

"How kind of you to wait for someone like me to finish," the general said with his usual calm.

Realizing concealment was futile, Jang stepped into the doorway, fully revealing himself to the imposing figure seated within.

The Judge of Honghai, clad in his formidable armor, sat at ease in the sturdy seat, one hand methodically drawing a rock along the blade of the mighty glaive. Around him stood four ironclad figures, each garbed in bronze-plated armor interwoven with heavy cords. Their masks were intricate, with helmets resembling unfurling lotus blossoms. Stranger still, among their arsenal are unexpected items such as a pipa, its strings taut and gleaming, and also an umbrella.

"It is always good to see you, my trusted second," the general said, voice muffled slightly by the metal mask.

"General," Jang replied, pressing his hands together and bowed. Without preamble, he began to relay matters of state. "While you were away on your hunting trip last night, word arrived from the Upper Ring. They request your presence at this year's Keju graduation ceremony."

The general continued his sharpening but gave no immediate response. For a man known for quelling threats beyond the borders of Ba Sing Se, he harbored little interest in scholarly rituals.

It wasn't until Jang added that the event would coincide with the annual military examinations that the general finally raised his helmet, the masked visage turning toward the lieutenant.

"Your company by my side would be most welcome," the general remarked. Setting the glaive aside, he rose and turned toward a simmering pot at the cooking station nearby. The rich aroma of spiced meat and herbs filled the turret, scent both tantalizing and almost overwhelming, irresistible to those unaware of its preparation method.

Eschewing formal dining etiquette, the general lifted the pot directly to his helmet, drinking deeply. The vessel itself drew reluctant attention, a refashioned Fire Nation helmet, likely a relic from the Hundred Year War. Watching the voracious mannerism of his general, who seems to very enjoy the meal, Jang is hesitant to speak further.

When the general's appetite was sated, the lieutenant approached with another matter, though one less pressing. With measured steps, he withdrew a rolled parchment and placed it on the table beside the glaive. Its texture and appearance were immediately striking, the surface neither bamboo nor silk, but something older, more organic.

"Bhojpatra," the general said slowly, pronouncing the word with great difficulty. Despite the bulk of his armored gloves, he handled the parchment with surprising care. "Few in the Earth Kingdom would recognize this. The tree grows only in the high mountains, where monks built their sanctuaries. Scaling those peaks is no easy feat, and most of us would find little reason to attempt it."

Jang unfurled the parchment, revealing lines of calligraphy that spiraled and swirled in a style wholly alien to the Earth Kingdom. The script, written in an unfamiliar language, defied understanding.

"This is from the Western Air Temple, I presume?" the general asked, his attention returning briefly to the meal.

"Precisely," Jang confirmed.

The general let out a low hum of acknowledgment, setting the parchment aside with the air of one accustomed to mysteries. "I'll ponder its contents when time permits. For now, let us turn our focus to preparations for this journey to the Upper Ring. It would do my trusted officers some good to see sights more verdant than the sand dunes beyond our walls."

The Judge of Honghai's reputation as the pacifier of the corsair horde led by the notorious Anguta was well known, though often overstated. Among Ba Sing Se's vast legions, his command of a mere few thousand troops paled in comparison to the entire army's might. Yet, the invitation to the Upper Ring was a rare honor, undoubtedly extended thanks to the influence of General Liu.

For now, the Judge's presence would be required not on the battlefield but in the ceremonial halls of power, a shift as curious as the refashioned helmet from which he had just drunk his fill.

"We should probably bring some baskets too," Qibi Heli chimed in, stepping seamlessly into the conversation with his usual irreverence. "All we need to do is raid the party's catering and divide it among three thousand people. Simple enough, don't you think?"

The absurdity of the suggestion hung in the air for a moment. To Jang's dismay, the general gave an approving nod. It was difficult to tell whether the masked figure was genuinely entertained by the idea or simply indulging his officer's jest.

"Relay an order to Captain Zhang Xun," the general instructed. "Let him know there is no need to prepare rations upon our return. A change in fare will do us all good. Even soldiers need to remind their palates of life's variety from time to time."

...

A lifetime spent in a remote and unremarkable village left her with an acute awareness of how much of the world remained beyond reach. On occasion, she had wondered what lives people might lead behind the towering walls of distant cities.

Now, standing within the Upper Ring of Ba Sing Se for the first time, she felt those musings take tangible shape. The air here practically hummed with affluence. Everywhere she turned, citizens strode in elegant attire, a harmonious blend of deep yellows and verdant greens that seemed to reflect the city's storied prosperity. Educated men and influential merchants reclined in opulent teahouses, sipping rare blends as they managed sprawling business ventures in the outer districts. High-born ladies, poised in carriages drawn by ostrich horses with plumage soft as silk, filled their days with pursuits of leisure. Often, they are reciting classical Earth Kingdom poetry, tending to their timeless beauty by fighting against time's march, engaging in conversations sharp enough to make even the occasional Water Tribe traveler pause and listen from the street.

The architecture was a marvel. Nearly every structure boasted elaborate stonework and yellow-tiled roofs, all symbols of wealth and power designed to impress. Yet, for all its splendor, there is a disquieting undercurrent to the grandeur. Elder Jin had remarked earlier that many of the city's wealthiest residents are merely heirs to old fortunes, their opulence a hollow shell of labor and merit. Even so, not every inhabitant of the Upper Ring hailed from prominence. Merchants, military generals, and bureaucrats who rose from the Lower Ring through ambition and grit also called this district home, proving that the city's rigid hierarchies, while daunting, is not entirely impenetrable.

Her own position, she mused, is not so dissimilar. Born to moderately influential parents on their island, she had gained access to unearned tutorage through privilege that set her apart from the common folk. A curious blend of guilt and fascination tinged her thoughts as she followed the guide's call.

"This way, children, follow me!" the tour guide directed, leading the group toward the grand entrance of the royal palace.

They approached the massive red-plastered stone wall, its scale imposing even from a distance. The gate itself was a masterpiece of fortification and ornamentation, with three grand arches crowned by a two-storied pavilion. Flanking the structure stood double-eaved guard towers, their golden roofs gleaming beneath the sun. At the center of it all, a colossal golden coin symbol sat above the main door, a bold testament to the Earth Kingdom's past rulers.

"I wasn't expecting a sea of people," Hudie muttered, visibly uncomfortable amid the crowd.

Near a thousand had gathered, all awaiting entry. Guards in heavy brigandine maintained order, their stoic presence a silent reminder of authority. As the crowd shifted restlessly, a resonant horn sounded, signaling the next stage of the procession. Slowly, the great doors creaked open, and the masses surged forward like water slowly released from a dam.

Satchiko clung close to her fellow students, unused to navigating such a dense throng. Once through the gatehouse, sunlight bathed them again, illuminating a sprawling courtyard that seemed to stretch endlessly. Flags of earthy greens and yellows flanked the brick pathway leading to the palace, their long rectangular shapes swaying in the breeze. The vastness of the space overwhelmed her. It is likely larger than her entire village.

"How long has it been?" one of the elders murmured. "How many years has this gate remained shut?"

In its golden age, the monarchy of Ba Sing Se welcomed dignitaries from across the world through these gates, their tributes and treasures enriching the city's legacy. But years of peasant revolts had stolen much of that glory. Priceless relics were looted, and the gate itself had been sealed for at least two decades.

The palace loomed ahead, separated from the courtyard by a shimmering stream crossed by three stone bridges. Its architectural grandeur was almost incomprehensible. Huabiao pillars, with intricate carvings, stood like silent sentinels. Beyond the gates and courtyards lay the palace's true majesty, a self-contained world, vast and opulent.

Satchiko craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the royal residence, a structure that embodied both the heights of human ambition and the weight of historical consequence. The enormity of the palace was undeniable, as was its dual nature, serving as a home for the sovereign yet also a seat of power that once dictated the fate of the entire continent.

"Man, it's so far away!" a boy in stiff ceremonial robes complained. "Who thought it was a good idea to make the courtyard this big? It's ridiculous!"

"Behave yourself!" snapped an elder, who appeared to be his grandfather. "This ground you tread upon bears the weight of history. Wise rulers and valiant generals have walked these very bricks. Show respect, kiss the earth if you must!"

The boy froze, horrified by the command. "W-wait, you're serious?" he stammered, reluctance only amplifying the chuckles from those nearby. Despite his protests, he eventually complied under the elder's stern gaze, pressing lips to the meticulously maintained bricks to the amusement of the crowd. Although the courtyard is likely cleaned before this occasion, no sane individual would commit unhygienic acts like this one.

Judging by their attire, they are undoubtedly members of a wealthy Upper Ring family. The older generation carried themselves with an air of reverence for the palace, being a testament to centuries of reform and governance. In contrast, the youth seemed largely indifferent to the gravitas of the world around them, uninterested in the 'dull' concerns of politics and history.

For someone like Satchiko, and the millions residing in forgotten corners of the continent, the palace represented something entirely different. To them, the grand edifice was less a symbol of governance and more an abstraction, a distant idea divorced from everyday reality. Most villagers in her homeland would struggle to even comprehend the concept of the Earth Kingdom as a unified nation. The fractures of the realm meant little to communities that had never felt the monarchy's influence, save for the occasional pillaging brought by marauding warlords.

As Satchiko marched towards the base of the palace, the enormity of it loomed over her. Not just the physical size, but its implications. Was her little island truly part of this so-called Earth Kingdom? Even if technically? The notion still puzzled her. But what legitimacy could the Earth King claim when his influence ended at the walls of Ba Sing Se? She had seen firsthand the devastation wrought by unchecked warlords and the hollow shells of towns left to rot. A unified kingdom, if it ever truly existed, felt like a myth, ensconced by those within the palace's safety.

And yet, she couldn't help but wonder. If the Earth Kingdom could somehow reclaim its unity, could it mend the rifts across the land? Would the wars stop, and the famine recede? Or was the splendor of this place merely a facade, hiding a deeper rot that no amount of power could ever heal?

...

Npauj Npaim panted desperately, drinking deeply from a gourd before continuing their arduous trek. They had been walking for far too long, bodies worn with fatigue, especially among the older members of the group. "Are we there yet? My feet are killing me!"

"Nope!" came the cheerful response from the tour guide, her wide, unwavering smile tide to the boundless optimism. Like a diligent custodian, she seemed impervious to exhaustion, unlike the weary travelers trailing behind her. It was precisely this resilience that had placed her at the head of the group, leading the students at the forefront. "A bit of exercise never hurt anyone. Once we cross that stone bridge, we'll arrive at the royal palace museum. You'll find a wealth of artifacts and paintings to marvel at!"

Her words sparked a glimmer of renewed energy among the students. Fortunately, Satchiko had shed her usual armor and student garb for the day. Instead, she wore the simple green robe favored during training. Still, it would have been more comfortable had she not been constantly jostled by the crowd.

...

"Is this some kind of jest?" Satchiko grimaced, her stomach stirring with discomfort. She could feel the weight of disappointment press against her as the crowd shuffled along at a glacial pace in the oppressive heat. Though the procession advanced with perfect order, Satchiko knew that her acrobatic prowess could easily shave off time, allowing a quicker route.

After crossing a weathered stone bridge that spanned a small stream, they faced an imposing staircase that seemed to stretch infinitely upward. Gazing at the monumental steps, Satchiko's breath caught in her throat. The sheer scale of the structure towered over her, dwarfing everything she had ever encountered. Even Kyoshi Island's grandest temple would appear like a humble shack in comparison to this towering marvel of stone architecture.

"Ah, don't fret," the tour guide chimed cheerfully. "Just a little stretch for your legs! Nothing to worry about!"

"A LITTLE?!" Satchiko's incredulous exclamation cut through the air.

The elderly man, who had previously been quiet, did not echo the youthful complaints of the others. Perhaps the monumental significance of the royal palace overpowered the physical toll of the climb, even for someone of his advanced years. Thus, the immense stairs were but a trifle for those who understood the rarity of stepping foot on such sacred ground.

The students could only groan in defeat, their movements agonizingly slow. But rather than succumb to their shared ennui, Satchiko resolved to take matters into her own hands. With a fluid motion, she pushed forward.

"Hey! Slow down!" the guide called in alarm.

In a flash, Satchiko sped forth in a blur of speed. Her Earthbending abilities, though limited to levitating pebbles, could not match the fluidity and agility she had honed since childhood. It was a privilege few could claim, with a body sculpted by years of rigorous training in the art of stealth.

Still, as the climb wore on, her muscles ached with each step, the strain beginning to gnaw at her endurance. She pressed onward, though it seemed that no matter how far she pushed, the meager strength could not overcome the brutal test of attrition. But with one final push, she reached the top, breathless yet triumphant.

Panting, Satchiko stood at the summit, a small yet gratifying victory surging within her chest while gazing down at the vast expanse below. She had raced ahead, reaching the Royal Palace long before anyone else.

"Woah!" she gasped, startled as her foot caught an uneven stone. The whole body lurched forward. But her hands, trained for such mishaps, snatched the air and prevented the face from crashing into the unforgiving stone. Steadying herself, she stood before the palace doors, their sheer immensity towering over like the very forces of nature. It was staggering to think that something so seemingly mundane could possess such enormous size, a testament to the mainland Earth Kingdom craftmanship.

"I see the youth are as impatient as ever," a voice remarked. "Once their sights are set on something, they cannot be deterred."

Satchiko spun toward the source of the voice, startled that she had not sensed another's presence. Her hand instinctively reached for the metal fan concealed beneath her attire but halted when the gaze landed upon the middle-aged man, who is casually resting against one of the colossal pillars, seemingly at ease.

Clad in a simple green robe, and a topknot wrapped in a cloth, he exuded an air of studied indifference. The mustache curled around the mouth, while serviceable, forms an attire that lacks the more polished appearances of the Upper Ring's elite.

Satchiko, who is no better than a country bumpkin, recognized the disparity. The near simplicity of this man's appearance contrasts most affluent locals who prefer golden hues to showcase their immense wealth. She wonders why he is even here.

"Look at them, all look like mere dots," the man mused, eyes tracing the slow procession climbing toward the palace. "People are such a curious thing. So obsessed with royalty, yet they understand nothing about the weight of the crown. Most have never seen the true face of a monarch's court, its greatest woes and triumphs."

Satchiko approached cautiously, her words carefully measured to avoid offense. Despite doubting the man's significance, she nonetheless chose a cordial exchange.

"The name is Han Fei," he said, rising with an almost lazy grace, brushing off the dust from his robes with a dismissive flick. He brought both hands together in a gesture of respect, bowing in the basic style used in the mainland Earth Kingdom. "Director of Ba Sing Se's Royal Museum. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, young lady."

Satchiko, having been schooled in the etiquette of the Earth Kingdom by Earth Sage Zhu Xi, tried her best to reciprocate the gesture. Even for simple interactions, differences in social status, age and profession must all be meticulously considered, much to the liking of the first Earth Sage, who champions adherence of rites and ritual that have lasted thousands of years. While her own people bow differently, she at least tried to mimic the correct form of hand greeting.

"Thank you, sir," Satchiko replied simply. "I am from Ky—" She caught herself just in time, recalling her sister's advice to keep their origins vague. "I'm from the south."

The answer was technically correct, as Kyoshi Island does lie somewhat southward from Ba Sing Se.

Han Fei replied with a light smile, remarking how he too hail from the southern part of the continent. While all under heaven is engulfed in war, it is ironic that social advancement is also suddenly available in its own unique way. As the states waged war against one another, scholars and generals compete for peerage and wealth by demonstrating their usefulness to enterprising rulers.

"In a hilarious matter of fate," he said. "So much suffering created opportunities for those who would otherwise stagnate in peace."

Satchiko did not take kindly to these words. It was never right to revel in personal gain when one was acutely aware of the cost to others.

"Ah, well," Han Fei said with a shrug, dismissing the weight of his previous statement. "Enjoy your tour, young lady. We have recently recovered some fascinating artifacts, perhaps something will catch your interest."

As the rest of the invitees began to trickle up the final stretch, Han Fei's demeanor shifted once more. His previously casual air dissolved into a far more formal stance, greeting distinguished guests, high-ranking officials and affluent families of the Upper Ring. Satchiko, however, took her leave following the man's cynical outlook. The guard nearby pointing her toward the correct corridors, where she would soon step into the heart of the Royal Palace.

...

The interior was a breathtaking sight, lavishly furnished and adorned with opulence that left Satchiko in a state of quiet awe. While she understood that this hallowed space served as a residence for the monarch of the entire Earth Kingdom, the sheer grandeur of it still overwhelmed her.

The vastness of the rooms struck her with a sense of insignificance. The ceiling, towering and impossibly high, dwarfing the wooden lodges of her homeland. And the jade pillars that lined the hall stood like silent sentinels, holding the green glow of crystals embedded within the thick columns bathed the space in an ethereal, dim light, casting a soft luminescence across the room. Even as she marveled at the architectural splendor, the sheer magnitude of it continued to feel surreal. The thought that such luxury could be the birthright of some, while countless others under heaven must beg for alms to survive, was a bitter pill to swallow.

As the group wandered through the vast corridors of the palace, the tour guide regaled them with tales of the priceless artifacts collected by the diligent cultural guardians. Among the treasures were ancient weapons, blades and polearms dating back to the time before the Earth Kingdom's first unification to its greatest golden ages. Intricately crafted paintings, as well as delicate porcelain pieces created by the finest artisans, lined the walls, each one a masterpiece in its own right.

One particular painting, which depicts four women making silk, is displayed with pride. It is said to have been personally created by a sovereign during one of the Kingdom's wealthiest dynasties. This ruler, though famed for his artistic patronage, was equally remembered for the folly that had marred his reign. It was a foolish mistake that led to the comedic opening of the gates to a seemingly impregnable fortress, a fatal moment during a critical war between the settled people and a rising nomad khanate. Fooled by a religious charlatan who promised 'divine reinforcements' by gathering a thousand sickly beggars to the city's main gate, the ruler stupidly allowed the invaders through the walls, resulting in a series of tragic atrocities.

That infamous event, and this painter's incompetence, was immortalized in the annals of history.

Satchiko moved with the group, her gaze drifting over the treasures as the tour guide continued her lecture, pointing out the most notable items in the collection.

"Here we have the robe once worn by Li Hei, the Earth Kingdom's most celebrated poet," the guide announced with a flourish, gesturing toward a mannequin draped in a dark, silken robe. The garment is exquisite, a masterpiece from the nation's greatest golden age. Its fabric flowing with an elegance that seemed almost otherworldly. Though Satchiko remained largely illiterate when it came to the calligraphic arts, she could make out the characters etched upon the nearby wall. The words, though enigmatic, conveyed a sense of grandeur and beauty, an echo of the poet's legendary mastery of language. She couldn't help but feel a sense of disconnection, like a stranger lost in a world of words.

Beside my bed a pool of light,

Is it hoarfrost on the ground?

I lift my eyes and see the moon,

I lower my face and think of home.

To Satchiko's recollection, however dim her grasp of the lessons imparted by Earth Sage Zhu Xi, it was clear that capable scholars naturally aspired to positions of authority. There are the ministers, officials, and statesmen, all within the Earth Kingdom's vast bureaucracy. The same could be said of the renowned poet Li Hei, who had once served as a translator at the side of the Earth Monarch. A man celebrated for his mastery of poetry and love of wine, Li Hei enchanted both aristocrats and commoners alike with his personality. It was said that in the twilight years of his life, disillusioned by the trappings of courtly intrigue, he retreated from the royal capital to wander as a hermit, dedicating himself fully to the arts and to the solace found in nature's quiet embrace.

As the group moved through the halls, Satchiko's mind wandered back to the familiar shores of Kyoshi Island. Her thoughts drifted to the windswept beaches where the rhythm of the tides seemed to speak in verses as old as time itself.

A group of poet enthusiasts soon took her place, no doubt receiving more inspiration from this renown poet more than her uneducated mind.

After lingering over the artifacts from the Earth Kingdom's golden age, they ventured into the deeper chambers of the museum, where relics of an even more ancient past is on display. Here, the objects were steeped in mystery, small sculptures depicting men and women engaged in rituals that had long been abandoned, considered archaic even by the time of the first Earth Sage. Tools inscribed with strange, unrecognizable symbols stood as mute witnesses to a culture that had vanished into the annals of history. Even the weapons are different. The double-edged swords, much thicker than the ones used today, predated the era of single-edged blades, a design that would only become popularized until the brutal war between settled peoples and nomadic tribes.

"And here we have another piece of historical significance," the tour guide said, her voice tinged with reverence as she gestured to a weathered jian, a blade cast in tin bronze. She explained that the weapon was forged in the earliest days of the first Warring States Era, before the unification of the Earth Kingdom. This thick and wide jian, once belonged to a defeated king, who had been made a slave by the rival ruler. To earn his freedom, the owner of this legendary blade endured unimaginable hardships, including the tasting of manure in an effort to gain the trust of his captors.

As for the weapon itself, forged thousands of years ago, was crafted by a tribe who once resided within the Foggy Swamp. Though the makers of this blade may not have understood the intricacies of statecraft or the elegance of poetry, their mastery of metallurgy was without equal, creating a blade that had withstood the test of millennia.

"What a stunning piece. It would make a fine addition to my personal collection."

The voice came from a figure in the crowd, the heavily armored one that towers over the other invitees. With a massive glaive in one hand, resting the blade on his shoulder, the masked general approached, forcing those nearby to avoid the passing blade. One poor fellow even accidentally broke his silken hat in half as the blade effortlessly cleaved through.

A museum staff member, clearly alarmed by the general's display, hurriedly attempted to intervene, though his voice faltered in the presence of such authority. The displayed ancient jian, despite its age, remained pristine. On the blade's surface, a column of ancient inscriptions caught the eye, words that though now obscure, is known across the continent as a famous idiom.

越王勾踐

Satchiko, though not versed in the language of calligraphy, admired the craftsmanship of the blade, noting the way the inscriptions seemed to pulse with the weight of history. Still, even this legendary artifact was not beyond flaw. Along the edge is a small but noticeable scratch. For a weapon thousands of years old, the mark seemed almost inconsequential, yet it stood out sharply against the flawless surface of the rest of the blade.

"Why is there a tiny scratch on the side here?" Satchiko murmured aloud, unable to contain the curiosity.

The masked general, clad in full armor with mountain-patterned scales, turned toward her, answering before the tour guide can respond.

"The tarnish of a prestigious weapon only occurs when it is handled by those unworthy," he said. Despite the flamboyant armor, there was an effort to keep his presence minimal, almost haunting in its quiet intensity. "Such a timeless treasure, a sword whose condition are just like when it was forged. Enduring the march of time for more than two millennia but was shamefully tainted by clumsiness." His tone shifted, tinged with a rare hint of sorrow. Stepping closer to the display, the frozen mask marvels the blade as though mourning its imperfection. "A pity, for its wielder have endured great hardship, a true practitioner of the Neutral Jing, which brought a decisive victory for his kingdom over the enemies who humiliated him. Perhaps, one day I too may reap the reward akin to a man who slept on sticks and tasted bale. Although, the thought of asking my men to slit their throats may be beyond even my sanguinary."

The Judge of Honghai, his metal mask depicting only anger, turned toward the nearby museum staff with a gesture of authority. "Take better care of this timeless blade," he warned. "I'd rather not see it suffer the same fate as the sword of Chin the Conqueror." His words, though diplomatic, hinted at an underlying frustration.

As the tour guide offered the students some free time to explore, Satchiko hesitated. Still disgruntle by their conflicting views on the Avatar, she approached the Judge of Honghai.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, spending no effort on cordiality. "I thought you were guarding the outer wall. What if someone tries to break in and harm the locals?"

The general gave a low, almost amused chuckle. He reached into a satchel carried by one of his soldiers and retrieved a bucket of fried meat. "Considering you are not even a citizen of Ba Sing Se, it delights me that someone of your stature would value the lives of the common people. But aside from your overestimation, I doubt the Outer Wall would fall due to the absence of a single general, especially one whose feats are greatly exaggerated. There are dozens like me, each overseeing a portion of the city's protection." He took a casual bite of the fried meat, savoring it with unrestrained pleasure. "Besides, it's not every day that men like us are invited to such a grand occasion. I heard the food at the ceremony is quite extraordinary." He suddenly looked at Satchiko, offering a piece of fried meat. "Want one?"

Satchiko eyed him carefully. The aroma wafted in the air, but despite its mouth-watering appeal, she resolved to save the appetite for the free catering that awaited her later. Still, she couldn't suppress the lingering suspicion that something wasn't quite right about the general's casual tone.

"Well, I do hope you find Zhu Xi's sagely teachings useful for your Earthbending endeavors. If I may offer a piece of advice, something to consider despite our differences, keep your mind open to the teachings and traditions of others. While I don't expect the great Earth Sage of Ba Sing Se to speak fondly of the monks, there's no harm in visiting places where one might learn, as long as they don't try to kill you." The general and his entourage moved on.

Satchiko watched the procession, but as the group disappeared into the distance, her attention is drawn to two figures standing in the background. Her keen eyes narrowed at a serious-faced lieutenant in darkened scale armor, flanked by a woman dressed in heavy woolen garb. The latter's attire struck Satchiko as wholly impractical for the warm climate of the city. Surely such garment is meant for the frigid climate of the North or South Pole.

What was more curious, however, was the woman's lack of any fingers. The duo was engrossed in something, a wooden mannequin that seemed to be a practice tool of some kind. The figure reminded Satchiko of the training dummies with chi pathways inscribed upon them, used by herself and others on Kyoshi Island to hone the art of jabbing body pressure points.

"Enjoying the tour?" came a friendly voice from behind.

Satchiko spun around, instinctively reaching for her remaining metal fan, an old habit she struggled to suppress. Here, amid the crowd of onlookers, the sudden approach of the director of the museum was almost unsettling. She was confounded by the absence of footsteps, perhaps Han Fei's presence was simply diluted with the crowds of invitees who revel in their eloquence about priceless artefacts.

"At ease, at ease," Han Fei said with a light laugh, brushing his beard with one hand. "I'm just curious if our collection has incurred your interest. After all, it's thanks to the diligence of my hardworking students that many priceless artefacts are retrieved."

Satchiko hesitated for a moment before forcing a smile, recalling her sister's advice to remain camouflaged with the city's populace. She glanced around, finding a nearby porcelain pot that caught her eye, immediately complimenting it with slight exaggeration. "This vase," she remarked with false enthusiasm. "Looks very exquisite. It reminds me of one that belonged to one of our village elders."

It wasn't entirely a lie. A porcelain vase of such quality would indeed be a rare and valuable treasure on Kyoshi Island, where even the wealthier villagers would scarcely possess such luxury, serving as bragging rights.

To cement the appreciation, Satchiko channeled the knowledge from her father, who has a penchant of arranging their home's furniture to harness what he claims to be the energy of good fortune, a concept found in Earth Kingdom geomancy.

"Now that I think about it, the expert positioning of this vase has great Feng Shui!" she added, almost pleased with her confidence on the subject. "It's good that you ordered your students to put it next this display of ancient spears. I remember my father did the same with putting our mattress next to the window."

"That's just a rubbish bin," Han Fei interjected politely, wishing to end the secondhand embarrassment that likely frightened away any good 'Feng Shui energy' that was present in the museum. "One of our interns put it there, and I can assure you that not all on this continent shares the same belief on the cultural norms and customs of furniture arrangement."

It was an honest statement. The more they traveled, the more Satchiko realized the difference others appear to her. Local superstitions and customs vary. Even on Kyoshi Island, she heard there are women from other villages that tattooed the areas around their lips, throwing beans around their huts to ward off so-called evil spirits.

Thankfully, the director is rather magnanimous in her sheer ignorance, offering a short tour around the museum that wasn't covered by the tour guide.

"As a director, it's such a pleasure to watch the visitors glamouring over our cultural heritage and appreciate what our ancestors have passed down for the new," Han Fei proudly said as they bypassed two history students examining a prehistoric ding tripod cauldron, metal artefacts that predates before the Earth Kingdom's establishment. "As progress constantly advance and transform society, we must never forget the mistakes and accomplishments of history. There are plenty of exhibits stolen when Ba Sing Se was driven to anarchy. Thankfully, we have repaired the walls and reinstated order. A great deal of effort was spent to get these irreplaceable relics back, so that we may pass down these vestiges of ancient Earth Kingdom to future generations."

They walked up to a large display featuring a skeleton of a creature that stood upright, its form unlike anything Satchiko had encountered.

"What do you think this is?" Han Fei asked, his voice laced with amusement.

"A platypus bear?" Satchiko ventured, unsure but drawing from the live platypus bear the city used to quell disorderly refugees. Yet, as her gaze scanned the skeleton's mouth, she saw it lacked a beak.

Han Fei gave her a knowing smile. "It's a bear," he corrected, but his words seemed to fall on deaf ears, for Satchiko was still trying to identify the creature.

"A skunk bear?" she asked.

"No."

"An armadillo bear?"

"No."

"A gopher bear?"

"No."

"Bear cat?" Satchiko persisted.

"The last one was surprisingly close," Han Fei chuckled, clearly entertained by her educated guesses.

Satchiko, growing increasingly uncomfortable, sought to minimize the awkwardness of her mounting mistakes. "Just... a bear?" she offered hesitantly.

Han Fei nodded. "This bear was a rare specimen, one of a kind in fact. He was the pet and closest companion of the fifty-second Earth King, Kuei. The university's head of zoology of that time was tasked with finding him a mate. Sadly, both the professor and the bear met tragic ends."

Satchiko, now intrigued, pressed further. "What happened to them?"

"The bear was eaten by the King's unfilial daughter," he said. "As for the professor... " Han Fei paused to think, tucking his hands underneath those massive sleeves. "Strange, he actually never came back from the trip. Oh well, move on."

They then arrived at a rather humble display, with a frame protecting a blue mask, flanked by two broadswords. The mask was striking, unlike any Satchiko had seen before. It didn't resemble those worn in Ba Sing Se's opera performances, suggesting it as a foreign artifact.

"Ah, the Blue Spirit," Han Fei said with a sense of pride. "A mysterious figure whose true identity remains unknown. Is he a human or a spirit? No one knows for sure. What are your thoughts on this individual?"

Satchiko was silent for a moment, unsure how to respond. She was unfamiliar with this figure and the significance behind the mask. Finally, she asked. "Why are you so certain this figure is male?"

Han Fei's lips quirked in amusement. "It's an educated guess. Luckily, I can still confirm the truth, if the wearer is a man of integrity who upholds his promise."

As they moved past more exhibits, everyday objects from the Hundred Year War, Satchiko couldn't help but notice the constant greetings Han Fei received. Several invitees bowed and exchanged pleasantries with him, acknowledging the clear hierarchy in the room.

"Your Excellency," a merchant greeted with a warm grin. "Your collection is as vast and impressive as ever. It's an honor for humble traders like me to be invited to admire the treasures of our ancestors!"

"No need for such formality," Han Fei responded with a smile, clearly used to the deference.

Satchiko waited patiently for their conversation to end, wondering when she can scurry off to find her sister without appearing disrespectful.

The merchant continued, undeterred. "Director, there's talk of a wedding between Young Master Gong Zi of the Gan Jin patriarch and Lady Qian Jin from General Sun Bin's family. Would you be attending?"

Han Fei chuckled lightly. "I'm still working on it," he said. "My schedule is packed, but I'm sure a few cups of aged wine won't be too much of a burden."

The two men shared a laugh, enjoying the simplicity of life. After a polite exchange, Han Fei resumed Satchiko's tour, guiding her to a dark, overlooked corner of the museum where a lone painting hung behind glass. Not a single soul seemed to take notice of it, and its unassuming presence made Satchiko question its worth.

Of all the artworks created using ancient ink washing techniques, aesthetically beautiful nature scenes that are hard to replicate, the scribbling before her is like a child's wanton imagination, filled with a rabbit person bending water followed by a snarling little kid. One figure possesses spikey hair, while another styled a very gloomy look. Furthermore, there is even a boy with wooden stick and a fan wielding girl that is presumably a magician shooting fire out of her hands. Even more absurd, there is a fat man rubbing his stomach.

Satchiko, familiar with her own crude attempts at painting, could relate to the feeling of frustration that likely came with such a poorly executed piece. Yet, she was hesitant to openly voice such opinion, especially with Han Fei so clearly invested in the painting's significance.

"When I became the new director of this museum, all the artifacts and precious paintings handed down by our ancestors were lost," Han Fei said in a saddened tone, perhaps still pained at the thought of unretrieved artefacts still in the hands of looters. "My first walk through these empty halls were unforgettable. It was all stripped clean. The paintings, the armor, the porcelains, and even the ancient mummified bodies found in the basin of the Si Wong desert. Yet only this painting survived the anarchy, completely untouched. It is indeed an unimpressive piece of parchment, ugly, lacking any artistic skill, but it does occupy a special position my heart." He paused, reflecting these past years, speaking in a manner not too dissimilar to an Earth Sage. "No benefit is more constant than simplicity, no happiness more constant than peace. While the painter never titled his masterpiece, I decided to call it, The Moment."

Satchiko examined the lackluster painting once again. Strangely, she did somewhat understand Han Fei's perspective. Maybe there is indeed a deeper meaning that is difficult to grasp. After all, perhaps there is divine intervention involved, which prevented this painting from being looted.

"So, what do you think?" Han Fei asked the young girl. "The one who painted this picture is a very intelligent and clever man. Someone who despite all the challenges and drawbacks, managed to establish himself as a key figure of the world. The moment depicted by this glorious artwork is priceless, almost legendary. What feelings or thoughts does his artistic talent invoke in you, young lady?"

Satchiko, still unsure how to respond, chose the only answer that would keep the conversation from spiraling into awkwardness. "Well, it did remind me of my terrible Earthbending. Hopefully, I can at least learn something basic here."

Han Fei smiled at her earnestness, nodding in approval. "Hardworking people should always be rewarded. Through rewards and punishments, we're encouraged to become a greater good for society. Now, allow me to show you the most prized exhibit in our collection, the envy of the entire Earth Kingdom."

...

A vast wing of the museum stood as a monument to a singular category of artifacts, with stalwart soldiers clad in heavy brigandine posted vigilantly at every corner. Within these hallowed halls lay treasures tied to the royalty of the Earth Kingdom, specifically relics from the latest dynasty. Throngs of eager onlookers clamored to glimpse the most prized heirlooms of the realm, their fervor reminiscent of acolytes bewitched by forces beyond mortal comprehension.

Yet, Satchiko could not suppress a creeping unease. Before stepping into the most solemn of exhibits, her gaze lingered on a terracotta warrior positioned conspicuously near the entrance. Its carved visage bore the unmistakable mustache of an infamous tyrant from a bygone era, perhaps also craving its place amongst the many dynasties.

Navigating through a sea of curious visitors, Satchiko murmured countless apologies each time she accidentally stepped on a foot.

"Hey!" a woman exclaimed, sharp with indignation. "My dress!"

"Sorry!" Satchiko stammered, bowing her head hastily.

In the commotion, she had lost sight of Han Fei, who had somehow slipped effortlessly through the throng. Determined, she pressed forward, persistence finally rewarded as she broke free from the dense crowd. Ahead, Han Fei stood motionless before a crystal display case, his gaze transfixed upon its sole content.

"Young lady," he murmured, almost reverent. "Behold, the Heirloom of the Earth Kingdom."

Satchiko's eyes widened as she beheld the exquisite object, its verdant hue mirroring the shade of her own eyes.

The artifact, carved from flawless green jade, glistened under the museum's light. Save for one corner, which is made of gold, the craftsmanship is so precise that every curve and engraving seemed alive. Resting atop the jade slab is a delicate carving of a Badgermole, a replica of the colossal stone sculptures flanking the Royal Palace gates. Yet, this miniature held an understated elegance, its square foundation adding a stately symmetry.

On its side, inscriptions whispered blessings to the sovereign.

Having received the Mandate of Heaven, may the ruler live a long and prosperous life.

Behind the display, an engraved wall chronicled the names of fifty-four Earth Monarchs from the latest dynasty. At the bottom of the list concluded with King Wu.

"When one of my subordinates recovered this priceless relic, not even the most eloquent poet, Li Hei himself, could have captured the depth of my emotions." Han Fei stated sentimentally. "Its return to us quelled a sorrow I thought insurmountable. The Heirloom Seal has once again found its rightful steward."

"Was this truly used by the king of the entire Earth Kingdom?" Satchiko asked, as the Earth Sovereign technically also rules Kyoshi Island.

"Indeed. This imperial seal embodies the legitimacy of the Earth Kingdom's ruler, solidifying their divine right to govern." His gaze never left on the piece of pure jade. "Without it, no claimant can assert dominion over the realm. For thousands of years, countless wars have erupted to secure its possession. Rebel leaders and rival kings alike have coveted it, even the likes of—"

"Chin the Conqueror?" Satchiko said.

The museum director nodded, remembering the tyrant who lived during Avatar Kyoshi's era. Although Chin managed to control most of the Earth Kingdom, save for Ba Sing Se and a few backwater settlements such as the Yokoya peninsula, he was never recognized as the true sovereign of the nation. The Heirloom Seal of the Realm, crafted from a piece of pure jade, serves as a symbol which cements a ruler's divine right to rule. Thus, signaling the beginning of a new dynasty that will formally rule over the entire Earth Kingdom.

"I heard the mainland has more than one king," Satchiko asked, unable to withhold her curiosity. "Is this very true?"

Han Fei sighed. "Even in peace, the Earth Kingdom is a fragmented colossus, a land of disparate rulers and dialects, united in name but divided in spirit. Thankfully, in this current era of chaos, none of those upstarts have yet to carry out the folly of seizing the Heirloom Seal of the whole realm."

While the squabbling states of Xiao Zhong and Jian Xin drenched their shared border with rivers filled with the corpses of vengeful spirits, both of their formidable armies wouldn't entertain the idea of provoking the dormant behemoth next door. A rough estimate is often used to estimate a state's strength during times of division, and mustering a million soldiers isn't an easily ignorable trait.

"But how can the Earth King use the seal when it's locked away here?" Satchiko asked innocently. "Shouldn't it be at his side for making decisions to help the people?"

While the intricacy of governance still remains too elusive to the young Kyoshi Warrior, she at least understands that leaders use seals to approve the words written on parchment. Her own father carried around a simple wooden one, trying to settle dispute between fishermen over trivialities such as deciding a reasonable price for oysters. If a humble village chief cannot perform his duty responsibly without a seal to approve parchments, how can the Earth King himself part with the literal Heirloom Seal of the Realm?

Han Fei suddenly laughed, much to Satchiko's confusion.

"You have a sharp wit, young one," amusement dancing in his eyes. "Rest assured, the people's welfare is not imperiled. His Majesty has entrusted me with safeguarding the Heirloom Seal, shielding it from those are incompetent and colluding with people seeking to betray the Earth Kingdom. I am but a humble servant fulfilling his command. Furthermore, I have taken upon myself the protection of his royal brooch, a temporary stand-in for the crown, still regrettably missing." He gestured toward a nearby display, where the modest brooch rested under glass. Compared to the Heirloom Seal, it seemed almost trivial.

As they moved toward the hall's exit, Satchiko's thoughts lingered on the enigmatic figure of the Earth King. "If he's supposed to rule the Earth Kingdom, why doesn't he do a better job?"

Her query, simple yet profound, carried the weight of a truth seldom addressed. For many living in backwater lands or secluded settlements, the idea of a single nation known as the Earth Kingdom meant little, and so does the distant city of Ba Sing Se, which holds no influence over their insignificant lives.

"Rulers are as numerous as stars in the sky, yet far too many of them are unfit to govern the creatures we call people." Han Fei exhaled a long sigh, weighted by both experience and resignation.

Satchiko braced herself, fearing the museum director was about to launch into a tedious morality lecture, the sort she had endured countless times in Zhu Xi's classroom. Yet to her surprise, Han Fei's demeanor shifted, adopting a contemplative air instead.

As they made their way toward the grand hall that would soon host the Keju graduation ceremony, he paused abruptly before a trio of statues. Their stony visages loomed solemnly, each figure imbued with an aura of gravitas. Han Fei lingered on the central statue, as though peering through layers of history.

"Have you ever heard of the wise and talented Shang Yang?" he asked.

Satchiko remained silent, embarrassed by her scant knowledge of Earth Kingdom history. She decided to let the older man speak unimpeded, suspecting he intended to extol the virtues of some long-dead person.

"He is my favorite statesman," Han Fei continued, a faint smile curling at the edges of his lips. "Also, one of my distant predecessors in thought. But before his brilliance was recognized, his own master advised their king to have him executed should the young scholar ever serve another state. The foolish king did not think much of Shang Yang, allowing him to leave his domain, a choice which doomed that kingdom.

"What is so special about this Shang Yang that even his own teacher wants him dead?" Satchiko asked, already confused by the story.

The answers are broad, but the director tried his best to summarize. During the era of the first warring states, not too similar to the current one, all warlords below the heavens compete for supremacy. While naive boys might believe that the strongest states must have the strongest armies, not many consider how a ruler can achieve those realities. In any society dominated by patrimonial lineages, ideas such as centralized rule and merit terrified many.

"Nobles enjoy their wine and women, but the commoners simply wish to eat," Han Fei remarked in a slightly dull voice. "Without power wielded within the hands of a ruler, where hence are great armies and productive farmlands?"

Shang Yang, after becoming chancellor to a state that accepts him, enacted rigorous reforms. Many of his ideas, harsh laws, military reward and the prioritization of agriculture over luxury commence, have all earned the ire of the nobles. Although his policies solved food shortages, and created a powerful army based on merit instead of birthright, many of the gentry denounced him. In the end, the scholar was executed, as the new ruler heeded more advice from members of the aristocracy over capable ministers.

"It's a cruel irony, isn't it?" Han Fei mused, eyes still fixed on the statue. "The greatest reformers in history often pay for their vision with their lives. They elevate their nations to heights unimagined, yet are cast down by those too blind to see beyond their own privilege. I have no doubt you already encountered a fair share of such people on your way here."

Satchiko hesitated before replying. Two figures came to mind, but she spoke only of the erratic governor of Yi, carefully omitting their fiery confrontation.

"I see that the state of Yi has still yet to address its agricultural woes," Han Fei remarked dryly. "No matter, misfortune for one state can be fortune for another."

His callousness unsettled Satchiko, her mind flashing to the haunting images of the sick and starving. She changed the subject, gesturing to the statues. "And the other two? Who are they?"

Han Fei's expression brightened, interpreting her question as genuine interest. "Shen Buhai and Guan Zhong. Both were instrumental in transforming their kingdoms into hegemonic powers."

As expected, their contribution of morphing the kingdoms they served have been received with nothing but scorn, mostly by those who are offended by the idea that the nobility must relegate themselves onto the same levels as the common folks. Furthermore, not even the rulers of the highest hierarchy can escape Han Fei's critique.

"The ruler is like a mirror, reflecting light, doing nothing, and yet, beauty and ugliness present themselves. Being a scale establishing equilibrium, doing nothing, and yet causing lightness and heaviness to discover themselves." Han Fei stated, as if being possessed by ancient texts. "If the ruler's intelligence is displayed, self-interested officials will prepare against it. If his lack of intelligence is displayed, they will delude him. If his wisdom is displayed, men will gloss over their own faults. If his lack of wisdom is displayed, they will hide from him. If his lack of desires is displayed, men will spy out his true desires. But if his desires are displayed, they will tempt him. Therefore, an intelligent ruler would proclaim I cannot know them. It is only by means of non-action that a ruler can control them. Such is the beauty of Wu Wei."

Satchiko furrowed her brow. "What does that mean?"

After a careful detailed explanation, Han Fei described Wu Wei as a philosophy that the ruler should rule the nation through inaction, or 'effortless action'. Essentially, it argues that the King must 'do nothing' even if he has the talent and wisdom. The King should play no administrative roles and conceal his intentions. Because by getting involved into the politics directly, it would hinder the monarch from actually ruling. Which is why Wu Wei proposes that the sovereign should supervise the government without interference, all the while maintaining perspective. There are obviously strong parallels with the concept of Neutral Jing, which also proposes 'doing nothing' until the right opportunity presents itself.

"But shouldn't the ruler at least do something useful?" Satchiko countered with skepticism. "If they do nothing, how can they help their people? What's the point of having a ruler at all?" While it is unfair to compare the governance of a village to the entire continent, she couldn't rally behind the idea that a ruler should remain complacent. If disasters struck, complacency is no solution.

Han Fei closed both eyes and sighed while shaking his head, deciding to leave the trio of statues. He continued to guide her towards the main throne room, while continue to dispense his own insight on the complicated nature of power. "You can't make everyone loyal but ruling over the subjects do not necessarily require loyalty. What truly matters is technique. Let's take the forty-sixth Earth King. His greatest mistake is that he cannot hide his own incompetence, which prompted the people to revolt. If he knows that his reign is unpopular, then it's better to adapt a more effortless policy. Which was achieved anyway despite his resistance against Avatar Kyoshi. Why worry at all if the end result is going to be the same anyway?"

"But fate is unpredictable, you never truly know what lies ahead," Satchiko asserted further. "If leaders could understand how ordinary people live, I'm sure they'd become better and kinder rulers."

That statement elicits a small chuckle from Han Fei, but nonetheless, he commended the young girl for the meagre knowledge on rulership.

"A kind ruler?" he mused. "I see that Earth Sage Zhu Xi's teachings have begun to take root in you. Admirable, I suppose, though such sentiment is rarely a foundation for effective governance. Still, learning from the Earth Sage does no harm, so long as you don't aspire to join the ranks of this city's administrators."

Satchiko frowned, sensing layers beneath those words that she could neither fully decipher nor confront. How different he seemed from the blunt, straightforward mannerisms of her homeland's people. On Kyoshi Island, kindness was genuine, rarely free of pretense or veiled intent. Here, every sentence felt like a riddle, each smile possibly concealing a barbed truth. She longed, if only for a moment, for the honest simplicity of home.

Their stroll ended as Satchiko found herself back among her fellow students, standing near a massive crowd that had gathered before an imposing set of double doors. The grand woodwork loomed high above them, carved with intricate designs that shimmered faintly under the light of nearby lamps.

"Why is everyone just standing here?" she asked, craning her neck from the back of the crowd. "Shouldn't we be going in by now?"

"The ceremony is not yet ready," Han Fei replied with an air of nonchalance. "By that, I mean the food isn't."

Strangely, a part of her itched to charge forward, deliver a dramatic flying kick to the doors and burst into the throne room. But surrounded by dignitaries and distinguished visitors, such theatrics would be wholly inappropriate. She sighed, quelling such impulse.

"Have you ever witnessed the opulence of a throne room before?" Han Fei's voice broke through her thoughts, casual but curious. Satchiko promptly replied that someone of her origin couldn't even fathom what lies behind those massive doors. Hearing this, the museum director offered some advice, if it can even be considered one. "Whatever you find in that room, however grand it may be, I've seen greater splendor in Omashu."

...

Mayumi stood transfixed, gaze drawn inexorably upward to the vaulted ceilings that seemed to pierce the heavens themselves. As a child, she had listened in rapt wonder to the tales spun by her esteemed great-grandmother, vivid accounts of adventures beyond the tranquil confines of their island during the tumultuous era of the Hundred Year War.

The world beyond their shores was vast and wondrous, teeming with marvels as countless as the stars. Despite the ravages of war, their intrepid forebears had journeyed to lands both perilous and resplendent. Her great-grandmother's stories painted luminous vistas, the formidable expanse of the Serpent's Pass, the austere grandeur of the Fire Nation palace reputedly gilded in gold. These tales, woven with boundless curiosity and courage, had ignited a fire within Mayumi, a longing to step beyond the edge of familiarity and into the living pages of history.

And now, she found herself in one such storied place, a hallowed hall once traversed by her revered ancestor. Awe surged through her, and for a fleeting moment, she felt the weight of history beneath her feet. How many had stood here before, warriors and rulers alike, their destinies intertwined with the Avatar's own odyssey? Her heart swelled with reverence, tempered only by the bittersweet realization that her younger sister lacked this fervent tenacity, a casualty of never hearing their great-grandmother's legendary exploits.

Her attention soon drawn to the resplendent golden throne at the hall's zenith. Elevated upon a grand dais, it stood as a silent sentinel of power, its gilded surface a testament to centuries of rule. Behind it loomed a colossal steel Badgermole, an emblem of unyielding strength. How many intrigues, triumphs, and tragedies had this throne borne witness to? Yet Mayumi doubted it would divulge its secrets, even if granted the gift of speech.

"Takeko, what are you doing?"

Despite the awe, duty called. The voice of barmaid Xiao Qing, a fellow caterer, jolted her from the reverie. The borrowed name was a guise, a shield against unwanted scrutiny, and one that had already aroused some curiosity among her companions.

Balancing the tray in her arms, Mayumi followed Xiao Qing, navigating the grand hall's eighteen monumental pillars. Each column was crowned with intricately painted brackets and corbels adorned with green lanterns, the light of those crystals casting a soft, ethereal glow. The diaphanous curtains framing the throne seemed to ripple with an unearthly grace, drawing the eye inexorably toward the seat of power.

It was all breathtaking despite the mundane task at hand. To her knowledge, those graduated from the civil service examination would be personally congratulated by the sovereign of the entire Earth Kingdom. For now, the food preparation remains paramount. Under the watchful eyes of soldiers covered in heavy brigandine, the feast must feed many who hail from prominent families of the Upper Ring and distinguished members of the city's upper echelon. Only the finest delicacies can be worthy of their elevated palate. Despite the mounting pressure, the elderly Jin remains calm, commanding the chefs and waitresses to not spare any detail in their respective tasks.

"I still don't understand why you want us to call you Takeko," Xiao Qing asked, her tone tinged with playful suspicion as she arranged a platter of steamed fish onto a table. "You're no fugitive, so what's the mystery?"

Before their journey to the Upper Ring, Mayumi respectfully requested everyone in the restaurant to address her with an alternative name. Thankfully, all of them obliged, as the city's inhabitants are fully sympathetic to those who does not wish to attract attention.

Aware that the royal guards are not too far away, Mayumi simply whispered, hoping it may quell the barmaid's curiosity. "It's complicated, Xiao Qing," she said quietly. "Just think of my predicament as someone trying to avoid distant relatives." She then lifted a massive cauldron of noodles, feeling the strain on her spine while carefully placing it on the table.

As the duo moved in synchronized precision, arranging the freshly prepared dishes along the grand banquet tables, an air of culmination began to settle over the hall. At the far end of the expansive chamber, chefs labored with fervent intensity, each movement driven by an unyielding pursuit of perfection. Among their creations is the renowned delicacy that had long solidified Ba Sing Se's reputation as the culinary capital where people eat like kings.

The aroma wafting from the kitchens was unmistakable, a tantalizing blend of spices and roasted fat that permeated the air, tempting even the stolid guards stationed nearby. Though countless establishments across the city sought to emulate this legendary dish, Jin's roast duck remained unparalleled, a recipe steeped in tradition yet veiled in mystery.

The process began not in the kitchen, but at the very birth of the bird. Raised in free-ranging pastures, each duck lived its early days in idyllic liberty, only to be subjected to a rigorous feeding regimen. Four meals a day for twenty days to ensure optimal plumpness. Once slaughtered and plucked, the duck's skin was carefully scalded in boiling water, causing it to contract and firm. Afterward, it was glazed in syrup, marinated with soy sauce, and coated with maltose, a painstaking ritual that imbued the meat with its signature richness.

Within the hall, a row of brick ovens stood like silent sentinels, their open flames fueled by fragrant hardwoods of peach and pear trees. Each oven could roast twenty ducks at once, the birds suspended near the fire so their fat would render, crisping the skin to a golden perfection. Yet, Jin's genius lay in the subtle final touch, a secret so fiercely guarded that even the palace's former head chef, once a master of the royal kitchen, had no inkling of her methods.

"Turn away from the ovens," Jin commanded.

Her staff complied without question, including Mayumi, whose finely honed Kyoshi Warrior instincts allowed her to discern the elder's actions through sound alone. She caught the faint rustle of a spice bag and whispered to her companion, Xiao Qing.

"She's applying some kind of powder," Mayumi murmured, though Xiao Qing, indifferent to the arcana of cuisine, merely shrugged.

For the other waitresses, however, the evening's focus extended beyond the culinary. Draped in silken gowns of vibrant hues, they moved with practiced grace, each harboring fanciful hopes of romance worthy of poetry. Jin had offered Mayumi such finery, but she politely declined, favoring the plain green robe that allowed her to navigate unnoticed amidst the grandeur. To further cloak herself in modesty, she brought alone her white umbrella, may further serve as camouflage amongst the other fine ladies of the gentry. At least, that's what she assumes would happen, since the concept of viewing umbrellas as an accessory is still new to a person from a backwater village.

"It's done!" Jin announced triumphantly. The turtle ducks emerged from the ovens, their skin glistening in a deep crimson hue that promised irresistible succulence beneath.

The chefs worked swiftly, separating the crisp skin from the tender meat with practiced ease. The pieces were wrapped in delicate spring pancakes alongside slivers of fresh scallions, each parcel a perfect balance of texture and flavor. A final flourish came in the form of hoisin sauce, presented as the essential companion for dipping.

This was how Ba Sing Se's famed duck is typically prepared. Yet, the secretive touch of Jin's mysterious seasoning elevated the dish from mere excellence to an unparalleled masterpiece.

As the final platters were arranged, the leader of the royal guard moved to unseal the towering double doors. The grand hall was soon awash with a tide of guests, each more varied than the last. Officials arrived clad in reserved attire, their modesty a deliberate contrast to the ostentation of Upper Ring scions adorned in garments as opulent as their egos. Among the throng is a delegation from the Northern Water Tribe, their presence ceremonial rather than purposeful.

The hall glowed warmly under the soft radiance of green lanterns, casting a serene yet regal light. Mayumi, balancing a tray of duck wraps, found a certain ease in the less strenuous nature of serving food, though her humble attire drew sidelong glances from noblewomen her own age. Their silent judgments prickled at her composure, a stark reminder that the plain robe was a quiet rebellion against the grandeur of the throne room. Yet Mayumi remained undeterred, moving through the crowd with poise, as unseen as the secrets Jin poured into her legendary dish.

Her heart lifted when she caught sight of her sister amidst the crowd. Their reunion was fleeting yet warm, aware that the presence of paramount members of the city.

"Everything's well, sister," Mayumi assured, offering a wrap. "This is Jin's finest recipe."

Satchiko hesitated, eyeing the delicacy with apprehension. "Turtle duck?" she asked softly, her gaze flitting to the empty shells on nearby tables. Ultimately, her stomach's protests went unanswered, appetite bowing to principles. "Thank you but may I will try something else?"

It was a rare occurrence for anyone to turn away from the celebrated cuisine of Ba Sing Se, a city renowned for its culinary prowess even as wars raged across the continent. Yet, Satchiko's loud, insistent stomach voiced a clear demand, forcing her to break from tradition.

"Any fish?" she asked, eyes scanning the lavish spread. "I like eating those."

Alas, the sole platter of steamed fish had already been devoured, leaving only a pile of delicate bones as evidence of its fleeting existence. Defeated but resolute, Satchiko chose to endure hunger over indulging in guilt-laden indulgence.

"By the way, big sis, I met the museum director earlier. Strange man, but he knows a lot." Satchiko proclaimed, recounting their strange conversation about a ruler imitating the role of a mirror when facing the ministers who governs the nation.

Though her words seemed innocent, they unsettled Mayumi. A subtle tension crept into her voice. "I don't mean to sound harsh, but you shouldn't be talking to strangers. And remember, we mustn't use our real names here. Where is this director now?"

Satchiko glanced over her shoulder, gaze wandering through the crowd. The grand hall brimmed with dignitaries, their conversations flowing like rivers of debate and policy. Yet, the enigmatic director was nowhere to be seen, until Mayumi felt a subtle shift in the weight of her tray.

"I must say, Grandma Jin has outdone herself," a voice interjected smoothly. "This truly is an investment worth every ounce of effort."

Turning sharply, Mayumi found herself right next to the middle-aged man. He held a delicate serving of braised duck meat in his hand, savoring it with deliberate appreciation.

It was Han Fei, the museum director. With relative ease, the middle-aged official then congratulated elder Jin, praising the professionalism of the chefs.

Seizing the moment, Mayumi gently but firmly pulled Satchiko aside, urging to avoid any interaction with the museum director. "Be careful, sister. Do not forget, we are far from Kyoshi Island. Trust no one without caution."

Satchiko obeyed without question. She did steal a glance at director Han Fei, who engages in pleasantries with many invited officials of the city. Intending to avoid further troubles, Mayumi placed her close to the other students before resuming the role of caterer.

...

"I see that General Liu is absent," one of the military commanders remarked as they clustered around their superiors.

At present, only two members of the council is present. Unhurried, Tian Ji indulged in a cup of barley wine, made by the city's famous brewery named Maotai. While the crippled Sun Bin sat regally in a simple wooden wheelchair. It had been anticipated that the head of Ba Sing Se's military would also attend, yet unforeseen circumstances seemed to have kept him away.

"He is preoccupied with matters beyond his control, like the rest of the Liu family, well, the legitimate one," Sun Bin said, remembering there are millions across the fractured Earth Kingdom with the Liu surname. "Regardless, he will definitely be present at the upcoming military examination."

Many of the generals present saw the Keju graduation ceremony as little more than a hollow formality. The promotion of literati into the ranks of scholar-officials meant little to soldiers who are not compelled to attend.

"Yue Yi is also absent, attending matters of state at the Northern Water Tribe," another lower-ranked commander added. "But I have no doubt that the head admiral would be here, considering his son attained a high rank during the Keju examination."

As these murmurs passed, an armored figure approached the gathering, his silent, measured stride betraying no fear of offending or violating any decorum. Casually, the general with the metal mask inserted himself among his colleagues, directing a greeting specifically to Sun Bin and Tian Ji.

The Judge of Honghai, as he is known, bowed, expressing personal gratitude for the council's role in repelling the Xiao Zhong army sent to relieve Li Zhu'er. Not even a war hero would wisely risk his men against a much bigger army without the support of allies.

Tian Ji let out a deep, hearty laugh, his face creased with a warm smile as he returned the gesture. With a firm pat on the masked man's shoulder, he boomed. "No need for such humility! Rather than waste words heaping praise upon one another, let us instead indulge in the finer things such as wine and meat. There's still time for youth like yourself to climb even higher!"

The majority of the 'younger' generals who isn't an Earthbender have already passed their physical prime, they understood well that the study of strategy could win wars without the need to set foot upon the battlefield. Still, some of them preferred the visceral rush of combat. Yet, they all respected the wisdom of their elders, veterans who had risen through the ranks from humble, often undesirable beginnings.

With respectful bows, the gathered generals saluted the two superiors, before resuming their enjoyment of the feast laid before them.

"Young one," the more reserved Sun Bin called out as the Judge of Honghai turned away to sample some of the food. "If the admiral arrives, do not engage with him, not yet."

The masked figure did not respond with words. Instead, he simply joined his palms in silent understanding before bowing once more and departing. For men such as him, hardened generals tasked with guarding Ba Sing Se's walls, the Upper Ring felt like an alien world. In the grand hall, some of the city's influential fathers scolded their fragile, pampered sons, mocking them for their inability to even wield a simple vegetable knife. These same patriarchs entertained notions of sending their children to face the brutality of the battlefield, conveniently forgetting the unspeakable horrors that accompanied every major conflict, including the infamous Battle of Honghai near the Western Air Temple.

As the Judge of Honghai made his way toward the tables laden with delicacies, his subordinates mingled with the throngs of guests. Unlike the stoic Jang, Sedna seemed to relish the crowd, conversing cheerfully with kinsmen from the Northern Water Tribe. After instructing his bodyguards to enjoy the event as they saw fit, the general himself felt an unusual sense of relief. It was a rare moment when the lives of thousands did not rest on his shoulders. Although it might seem trivial, for someone who frequently held the fate of so many in his hands, a simple meal is a rare and welcome indulgence. While he refrained from overtly devouring the food in public, the masked man could not deny the pleasure of savoring the dishes.

"General," Mayumi offered quietly, discreetly avoiding any mention of their past encounters. "Would you care to try a Ba Sing Se duck wrap?"

Without hesitation, the armored figure drew a small copper knife from his belt, likely another one of his battlefield trophies. He carefully speared a duck wrap, dipping it in hoisin sauce and inserted it through the gap in his mask. A sharp, almost uncomfortable swallowing noise followed. It was clear the task was not entirely effortless, as though the food itself struggled to pass through the confines of the throat.

"I will not fault you for hiding your identity," he said, breaking the silence with startling abruptness.

Mayumi's face betrayed no emotion, though she struggled to maintain composure, careful not to draw undue attention.

"If you are concerned that my role as a general of Ba Sing Se might implicate you, have no such fear," he assured calmly, all expression hidden by the metal mask that only depicts anger. "After all, it would be very hypocritical."

The caterer gave a subtle nod, her gaze flickering briefly to their flanks, ensuring their conversation went unnoticed. With a simple bow, gratitude was conveyed without further speech. Soon, the Judge of Honghai steered the conversation back to more important matters, the food.

"Before my arrival to this city, I always thought that Ba Sing Se roast ducks were eaten just as it is, simple plain duck meat," the general said, showing common misconception about this famous Earth Kingdom dish. Even though the rest of the world have heard much about Ba Sing Se's delectable cuisine, many didn't consider that the brazed duck is eaten using a spring pancake wrap dipped in sweat bean sauce. Perhaps it is a more 'cultured' way that folks here like to establish to the world, allowing Upper Ring ladies to enjoy the food without opening their mouths too wide. "No matter, at least the ones I fed my troops do not contain any glittery excessiveness." He then noticed Satchiko standing with the other students, remarking how the aim of Xuan Zang is overly optimistic, which is further exacerbated by the idealistic Zhu Xi.

"What do you mean?" Mayumi cannot help but ask.

"I heard they gather students from across the realm, hoping to foster some semblance of peace between the various states," the general replied. "A commendable endeavor, but ultimately a fruitless one. I traveled across the four nations, served many states in the now shattered Earth Kingdom. The things I saw, they made me abandon all naive thinking. And when I truly let go of my blind delusions, even deities become slayable." He then looked at Mayumi specifically, asking a question she never entertained strongly. "Does your sister ever harbor the ambition of reunifying the realm?"

The response came with hesitancy. Mayumi replied with a simple 'no', refusing to fathom that her own sister would ever want to be part of some grand event remembered by history itself. Ironically, her own love for the wonders and histories of the world never includes endangering Satchiko into such realities, the same wish shared by their strict mother.

"Such is the result of caring for one's family," the general said. "I do not blame those who still must shoulder the responsibility of caring for a younger sibling. It was a burden I too once have. But after that ordeal, my fear of battle has been reduced from miniscule to feeling none. To this day, I am still unsure whether if this is a curse or a blessing sent by the Heavens."

Another duck wrap was offered since Mayumi is no philosopher and struggles to offer any insight into such matters. For warriors who had lost everything they once held dear, perhaps death no longer carried the same weight. With the loss of that fear came a certain freedom, an unburdened, relentless drive to fight.

As the general asked whether tea was being served at the event, he was met with disappointment. The hall is flooded with wine, but none of the freshly brewed tea he favored.

"A pity," he sighed. "I do enjoy a fine oolong brew." Around them, the chatter continued unabated, the guests discussing news from beyond the walls, some mocking Jian Xin and Xiao Zhong for their relentless, meaningless war, especially the recent battles.

And then, with a flourish, the famed Young Master Pan Yu made his entrance. A shower of flowers seemed to conveniently materialize as if summoned by his presence. With gracious waves, he greeted the admirers, many of whom congratulated him for attaining the fourth-highest rank in the Keju examination. Despite entering the hall for only a few seconds, the attention he garnered is undeniable. Waitresses from Jin's eatery, their eyes aflame with admiration, abandoned their duties to compete for his affections. Mayumi only sighed, found herself pacing the hall, trying to compensate for her colleagues' unhealthy infatuation.

The general ignored all of this, he grabbed a steel goblet nearby and prepared to taste the exotic grape wine imported from Li Qian. But even without turning towards the hall's entrance, he felt an unwanted presence.

"Greetings, General Ximen Gui," several lower-ranked commanders bowed, but their gesture was reciprocated with haughty disdain.

"It's Admiral Ximen to you!" barked the armored figure, his voice cutting through the air like a whip.

Draped in the customary Earth Kingdom armor reserved for high-ranking officers, he is adorned with a flowing cape and heavy pauldrons shaped like the faces of Lion Turtles. Admiral Ximen Gui made his entrance, with every movement laced with contempt. Atop his head is the xiao guan, a headpiece signaling either noble lineage or high military rank. It is obvious that many invitees to today's ceremony noticed this outwardly unrefined fellow.

"Who is that?" Satchiko whispered.

The Judge of Honghai did not even bother to turn his helmet.

"That is Ximen Gui, one of the five in the military council. While the likes of me guard the southern walls, he stands watch over the north, constantly eyeing the Northern Water Tribe." He took a deep slurp of grape wine before continuing. "How far has the Council of Five fallen. Once, they commanded all military operations across the realm. Now, they merely oversee the walls of Ba Sing Se."

Not wishing to end his slander, the Judge of Honghai even gestured Satchiko at the sword strapped to the admiral's waist. Though the blade itself is exquisite, its rusted hilt told a different story, one of neglect or disuse. Granted, swords are not exactly the first choice for powerful Earthbenders who rely on brute force. Even something like a glaive, which technically is a blade, must be strong enough to exert tremendous power.

"A sword that's fallen into disrepair is a sword that's never truly seen much battle," the general continued. "That blade can trace its history back to a Ba Sing Se admiral hundreds of years ago, who shamefully lost the entire fleet to the corsair warlord Tagaka. Amongst the many plunders of our once unified nation's eastern coasts, that sword was her price. It's quite a beauty, which would be more worthy of its acclaim by being part of my personal collection."

"I didn't realize there was a concern about the Waterbenders attacking," Satchiko remarked, her brow furrowing in confusion. "I thought the threat from other states and bandits on land is more serious."

"Fisherman Ximen Gui's fleet consists of little more than wooden junks and fishing boats hastily gathered from local fishermen," the general replied dismissively. "I doubt the Northern Water Tribe would be foolish enough to interfere with wars between our people. Besides, I have already found a far more capable candidate to oversee the navy." His gaze flicked toward his lieutenant, Jang, who is still bearing a stern visage, an expression ill-suited for the lack of immediate danger surrounding them.

"It's Admiral Ximen for you. For a general who commands a mere three thousand, you should have learnt by now to address your superiors with the correct title."

It seemed the derogatory comments did not go unnoticed. As Ximen Gui advanced, Mayumi found herself stepping into his path. With a quick shove from the admiral, she almost toppled to the floor but thankfully caught the tray's content.

Satchiko's hand instinctively reached for her golden fan, ready to deliver a swift reprimand for such crude behavior, but before she could act, the towering figure beside her intervened.

"Do not strike when the best opportunity has not shown itself," the general said, invoking the philosophy of Neutral Jing, which is application to many things, including military tactics.

Satchiko harbored doubts. She suspected that this man had no intention of truly adhering to those same ideal, especially when the steel goblet in his hand is now bent in half from the grip alone.

The Judge of Honghai, ever keen to maintain his sense of superiority, could not resist adding fuel to the fire. Almost immediately, he 'praised' the admiral, crediting the latter for pacifying the corsair horde to safeguarding the Western Air Temple. The golden rule of never outshining one's hierarchical superiors has been overplayed strongly. Of course, this specific instance is intentionally not supposed to appease Ximen Gui.

"I am far from impressed by your insubordination," the admiral reproached with restrained ire. "Do not forget whose ships carried you to that monastery teeming with those bald heads."

"Partially bald," the Judge of Honghai corrected. "The nuns, after all, still retain a modest knot of hair at the back."

The admiral blinked, momentarily disarmed by the remark, but the conversation barreled on. Within the labyrinthine politics of the Ba Sing Se military, few disputes were as contentious as the Battle of Honghai. While seasoned officers widely acknowledged that victory was unattainable without the full coordination of the city's formidable forces, whispers spawned in the teahouses told another story. They speculated on the navy's conspicuous absence during the climactic battle. As corsairs clashed in bloody pitch battles on the beaches, rumors swirled that the navy, stationed perilously near the Western Air Temple, had failed to exploit the pirate fleet's exposed rear.

"My fleet's daring maneuvers ensured that no pirate escaped unscathed," the admiral proclaimed, tinged with pride. "Yet my sailors' valor has been repaid with treachery, by the very man who claims to have saved the monastery."

"And what befell your subordinates," the masked general responded with calm. "Will likewise befall you."

The air grew taut as the admiral's personal guards shifted, their hands hovering over sheathed blades. The masked figure continued, unperturbed. "When a servant commits immoral deeds under their master's blessing, their final cries sound the same when heard by the executioner. Rest assured, Admiral, the path to your eternal repose will be long and arduous. How tedious to waste so many words when I might instead savor another exquisite meal."

The masked sentinel took a single deliberate step forward. The gesture alone compelled Admiral Ximen to draw his illustrious blade halfway from its sheath, though a flicker of uncertainty danced in his eyes.

"I was very tempted to bring Zhang Xun to this occasion, as he would love to get to know more about the likes of you," the Judge of Honghai said. "He enjoyed your subordinates."

Around them, tension thickened. If these two Earthbending titans chose to settle their grudge here, the vaulted ceiling might well collapse, burying all in the rubble of their wrath. Thankfully, someone intervened before a crisis would spawn.

"At ease, at ease," came the smooth, affable voice of Han Fei, who arrived with the air of a man accustomed to extinguishing tempers. His smile, warm yet inscrutable, seemed to disarm even the most volatile. "Let us not shatter the fragile harmony within our ranks when far greater threats loom beyond the literal horizon."

With the measured grace of a statesman, the museum director interposed himself into the dispute, not even bothered untuck his hands from the sleeves. Somehow, the persuasion was easy.

"It would be most unfortunate if the Keju ceremony were disrupted by... untoward events," he said. "Don't forget, treasonous fellows can come from anywhere, such crafty and whimsical people are indeed quite inconvenient. Besides, let us not dishonor the name of Ba Sing Se's revered Earth Sage, his Excellency Zhu Xi."

Though he stood amidst two Earthbenders capable of unleashing cataclysmic force, Han Fei remained unflinching. His calm authority is sufficient to dissuade further outbursts. To further illustrate some vague and unspecific consequences, he cast a meaningful glance toward an elderly man leaning heavily against a pillar, the brigandine armor tarnished, the wearer's movements sluggish with drink.

"General Zeng Guofan is a good man," Han Fei remarked, almost wistfully. "But the whims of fate have not favored him."

The gathering's attention briefly shifted to the inebriated figure, though most dismissed him as a relic of past glories. Yet Han Fei's veiled allusion resonated with those attuned to the precarious balance between a general's brilliance and the crushing weight of state power. History, after all, bore witness to countless war heroes brought low by the machinations of the mighty. Even a god of war, it seemed, is not immune to the judgment of higher forces.

...

Mayumi held the tray with care, offering a Ba Sing Se duck wrap to a woman clad in the attire of the Northern Water Tribe. The latter's long fur coat and warm cap is complemented by a necklace carved from blue stone, and the hair is adorned with the iconic hair loopies flanking the face.

However, when Mayumi noticed the woman's fingerless hands, she immediately apologized, worried that the nearby armored lieutenant might misinterpret her offering as a slight against a handicap.

"It's fine," Sedna replied with magnanimity. "Both Jang and I have already eaten enough."

Mayumi, careful to maintain the anonymity of her real identity in front of the lieutenant, is surprised by the woman's unexpected kindness, especially considering the earlier discourtesy shown by the admiral.

"Th-thank you," Mayumi stammered, moving on with a respectful nod. As she resupplied the tray with food and wine, a sudden commotion at the entrance caught her attention.

An official announcement resonated across the throne room, an honor that wasn't even offered to the fourth-place ranker already inside the hall. However, the newcomer had no need for such formal recognition. Her presence spoke for itself.

She entered the hall like an enchanting spirit who have graced their insignificant existence. Elegant and graceful, blessing hundreds of eyes with the perfect dance of worldly beauty and intellect. Of all the flowers of Ba Sing Se, this one outshined the entire serene garden.

Accompanied by only a single retainer, she eschewed unnecessary ornamentation, adhering to the Earth Sages' teachings of humility. Though even they temporarily faltered their tenet in the face of her resplendence. The layers of her silk robes shimmered with intricate designs, while her liangbatou was adorned with a hundred rare flowers, their beauty unmatched.

As she walked pass, the gathered officials, nobles, and influential figures willingly bowed their heads in reverence. Even Pan An, the celebrated poet, and other distinguished graduates seemed compelled to show respect to the esteemed literato.

Mayumi felt a flutter of anxiety in her chest. Approaching the noblewoman to ask about Satchiko's tutelage now might be interpreted as audacity, especially given the high regard Lady Te commanded. Regardless, the public appearance by Lady Te here can be described with one word.

Pulchritudinous

"L-Lady Te," Mayumi uttered cautiously upon approaching, trying to hide the subtle trembling of the tray. Nearly everyone in the room is watching them. "Would you care for some roast ducks?"

The center aisle of carpet, usually bustling with activity, now lay empty, a path of reverence leading straight to the woman. Mayumi feared that her humble appearance as a waitress would break the ethereal moment, disturbing the solemnity of Lady Te's procession.

Yet, to Mayumi's surprise, instead of allowing her retainer to rebuke the caterer, Lady Te paused and addressed her directly.

"Thank you," Lady Te said, her composure never slipping. "I appreciate your—" Her voice faltered slightly, the briefest flash of surprise quickly concealed beneath years of trained etiquette. "I'll have one, please."

Although the face paint of a Kyoshi Warrior serves as a form of disguise, standing too close meant nullifying such quirks. On this side of the continent, those with long brown hair is also exceedingly rare.

In the presence of such distinguished guests, it was customary for a noblewoman's retainer to assist her with matters concerning food, especially with Lady Te's silver nail guards that made holding anything difficult.

Seeing that a mere waitress has the courage to talk with Lady Te, a bold scion from an Upper Ring household mustered the gallantry to also encroach. Judging by his attire and family name alone, all affluent invitees recognize him as hailing from a less prominent household with dubious lineages. Thus, as detailed in plenty of literature cliche, talented scholars of the Earth Kingdom would describe overly ambitious situations like this as how a toad would covet the taste of delectable swam meat.

"My dear Lady Te," he began, fumbling through words during the cumbersome introduction. "I humbly praise you for achieving the highest rank of Zhuangyuan, truly a remarkable feat."

It was a valiant but nonetheless infeasible attempt to court a woman far above his status. There is also one slight issue in this effort of flattering, which the other guests stifled their amusement. Since the nobleman is clearly unaware, he continued to shower praises, increasing the weight of the blunder.

"I humbly accept your praise, however," Te Gaogui suddenly gazed lifelessly at the audacious fellow, unimpressed with this laughable conduct. "What is the title granted to the second-place holder of this occasion?"

The young nobleman faltered, caught off guard by the simple yet pointed question. His face turned crimson as he stammered, struggling to recall the answer. The Zhuangyuan title, the highest distinction, is far superior to second place. But any literate person would have known the three key ranks of the ceremony.

"I... uh..." the scion stuttered, fumbling for words. Boldly, he even tried to completely ignore her question, inviting the heiress to share tea in the many gardens of Upper Ring. "Lady Te, I have long admired your... talent..."

In her heart, Mayumi couldn't help but feel a wave of relief at the diversion caused by the nobleman's awkwardness. The spotlight shifted, and she watched, wincing at the dramatic drop in the nobleman's aura. It felt like a scene lifted straight from a poorly penned romance novel, one that had somehow materialized in real life.

Whether this young nobleman was driven by personal delusions or encouraged by overly ambitious parents, it was clear that Lady Te and her clan had little interest in courting an inferior clan, even if it's an Upper Ring one.

Lady Te's expression hardened, her patience running thin. "A kind offer," she said with a touch of disdain. "But perhaps you should reserve your attentions for a lady more suited to your caliber." With a graceful wave from her hand, she demanded his dismissal. When the nobleman tried to further overstep his bolds, the Te heiress retainer, a middle-aged woman, delivered a more forceful glare to counter such pathetic persistence. Finally, the locust who was attracted to mere beauty and status is ward off, and his whole family would become the subject of the city's teahouse gossips. Who knows, maybe this specific moment might form another Earth Kingdom idiom about harboring unrealistic goals.

As he retreated in disgrace, Mayumi found herself startled by the insinuation of Te Gaogui's words.

"You didn't attain first rank?" The question was direct, perhaps too impulsive from the Kyoshi Warrior's usually guarded mouth.

"We can speak after this," said the noblewoman. "For now, I just want to finish this entire ceremony." The voice felt tired, like a person awaking from a long sleep, yet felt no rest at all.

The Chamberlain of Rites and Ceremony, Earth Sage Zhu Xi, soon took his place beside the empty throne and began the formal announcement of the inauguration. He too seemed less than optimistic about the year's results.

End of Chapter Notes:

-Bhojpatra, or Himalyan birch, is a tree native to the Western Himalayas. Its bark is used for the ancient manuscripts of Sanskrit literature, and is still used today for various purposes including writing mantras.

-Bear Cat is the literal meaning of Panda in the Chinese language.

-The Tarim mummies are originate from the Tarim basin.

-The bronze blade depicted here is inspired from the sword of Goujian.

-One of the contributing factors of the Jingkang incident, a series of atrocities inflicted by the Jurchen Jin dynasty against the Song dynasty, was due to Emperor Qinzong's trust in superstition, which promises divine soldiers from the heaven.