Chapter Text

The soft sound of children whispering filled the dark, dreary dormitory. They sat, huddled together into a circle by the window, where the soft, blue moonlight let them see each other. Even though they whispered, their hushed tone wasn’t enough to mask their dread.

Jianjun’s eyes cracked open. It was unusually early and too dark. He wiped away the crust under his eyes and sat up on his bed. He yawned and surveyed the others. About half the room was up, about 20 or 25 in all. His curiosity, though muted from exhaustion, drove him over to investigate. As he got out of bed, he brushed his long, unkempt hair with one hand and set the other hand on his waist. He loomed over the crouched children and saw one, a boy about his age, eight, with shaggy black hair and unwashed clothes, holding a handful of straw, pulled from their mattresses. To no one in particular, Jianjun asked, “what’s going on?”

Next to the ring leader, a stout child, also about eight, and with long, brown hair, tied up in a bun replied, “Uncle Ho isn’t back yet. We’ve decided that one of us is going to ask for more food today, and we are drawing straws to decide who.”

Jianjun didn’t say anything. He knew as well as the others the situation was bad. The last of their provisions from Ho had run out yesterday. If Ho wasn’t back with food by now, they’d have to subsist on the muck that the orphanage gave them, which was basically starvation. It wasn’t like Ho to be this late, and Jianjun felt his heart pound a little harder as he pondered the vast possibilities that could be keeping him.

Each of them carefully inspected the handful of straw. The first child to pick was slow and inspected the different options. He must’ve taken five minutes, picking one and putting it back and picking a new one before finally settling on a different one.

Jianjun hated the orphanage’s gruel as much as they did, but they were so notoriously strict he hadn’t considered asking for more. The odd one out would be risking punishment if the administrators were offended; of course, if they weren’t, then the others would be able to do the same. They might not like it, but they wouldn’t be hungry.

The second child began examining the straw. As she drew her finger around her choice, Jianjun began to see that Ho, had helped them feel human. He saw now that they would be reduced to animals without him. The girl bit her bottom lip and chose.

The third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh child, and so on were picking their straw now and Jianjun’s feelings crystallized. Finally, it came time for them to measure and like a flash of lightning, Jianjun realized what he had to do.

“Wait!” He interjected.

The children turned their downcast faces to Jianjun, unsure of what he had to say. Then he plucked the last piece of straw out of the losing child’s hand and said, “I’ll do it.”

He put the piece of straw between his lips. Ho had been a fixture of their lives ever since he began providing food for them, but they had begun to take him and his generosity for granted. Now they had begun to look up to him.

Dawn’s first light shown over the horizon and bells rang out to wake up the remaining children. Like circus animals, trained through repetition, some even waking up just before the bells, they clamored out of bed and put on their clothes and sandals before getting into a single file line by the door. Jianjun cursed the monotony that made them into dogs. He filed into the line, nearly last, and played with the straw between his teeth as they slowly marched down the stairs and into the Mess Hall.

The Mess Hall was big and on the verge of collapse. It had thirty tables, each seating six, lined in columns. The tables were old, shabby, worn, and barely holding together. The benches that they sat on were likewise, but also rotting and were completely cramped and overcrowded.

The line of children slowly journeyed down the stairs and arched at a table that handed out bowls, a pair of chopsticks and a serving of tasteless noodle soup. Jianjun collected his bowl, his chopsticks and was served his noodles from the chef. The chef was a tall man with long, greasy black hair, an engorged stomach and a filthy white apron covering his expensive-looking purple clothes.

You can’t get fat eating the gruel they’re feeding us, Jianjun thought. He had nothing to prove it, but Jianjun could see the machinations of The Orphanage like daylight. He saw money changing hands from The Factory Bosses to The Orphanage Administrators; frugal in accommodating the children while they spent on themselves like there was no tomorrow. They feed us scraps so that they can get fat, eating like kings.

There was a perk to being last in line: while those in the front received copious amounts of broth at the top of the soup container, those who were last in line received heartier portions. Jianjun sat at his spot at the table and, removing the straw from his mouth, ate. The broth was flavorless like lukewarm water and the noodles were so delicate they crumbled if you tried to pick them up. Jianjun stirred the noodles so that the broth became more of a paste. No one was able to actually use the chopsticks provided to them, and if held the wrong way would give them splinters. That chopsticks were issued at all felt like a personal insult to him.

The administrators were having soup also, but it wasn’t anything as gnarly as what they had to eat. It had actual noodles in it, delicious, salty broth with pig-chicken and different vegetables. Not only did they eat larger, but they also dressed decadently too. They wore fabric with outlandish colors like purple, orange, gold, and were decked out in rings, necklaces, and piercings that shimmered in the light. The Chief Administrator, Chenglei, wore red clothes inlaid with intricate and ancient designs in yellow, symbolizing good luck. They ate and laughed with each other while the rest of the room was asking if the person next to them wanted their noodle paste.

Jianjun slurped his bowl down like the others and looked down the aisle. The other children were picking up their bowls and licking the little residue left on them, making sure to consume every drop. Jianjun remembered his resolve and, plucking the bedside straw back into his mouth, stood up from his table. All eyes were on him now. The children were unallowed to get up until they were expressly commanded to do so, and the staff, who hated children, were particularly anxious to deal with one. Jianjun sat and carefully considered his words. Better to flatter them, than to inflame them, Jianjun thought.

With every child, silent as death, Jianjun, with soldierly purpose, strode to the front, aware of the eyes following him. He held his bowl in both hands, made eye contact with the staff, and removing the straw from his mouth, spoke as mannered and calmly as he could, “I loved breakfast today. I was hoping, I could have some more, please.”

Jianjun resented every word, and if it were not his duty, he would never have uttered such a bald-faced lie. Politeness never hurt anyone, he thought, placing the straw back between his teeth, but the staff, except for the chef who’s face let slip a tiny wrinkle of a grin, didn’t take it this way.

The six administrators sat at their table, unamused. Who does this whelp think he is, they thought to themselves. The four that remained silent frowned at Jianjun and folded their arms. The two others began huffing and puffing, as if his request was so unreasonable, he should have been ashamed to have even thought it.

Chenglei, the Chief Administrator, finally answered him, “AH! You can never win with these children! All I hear is griping from you all day and all night. ‘Our beds aren’t soft enough! We don’t get enough sleep! We work too hard! Our bath time isn’t long enough!’ It never ends, and now you think you can win us over with a couple of polite words. If more food is what you want, then you are going to have to work for it!”

Then Chenglei retrieved a whistle from his pocket and blew it, signaling the children to get up from their tables and form a line. Chenglei grabbed Jianjun by his wrist and began walking him down and out through the exit.

Adjacent to the orphanage was a factory. The majority of men in the town worked as loggers, carpenters, or store owners, but the Factory, which formerly produced a meager number of weapons for the Earth Kingdom, had become the epicenter of the town under the colonial thumb of the Fire Nation. It was guarded by a single gate, with cheap wooden fencing all around it. The Factory was constructed three stories high and entirely from brick. When the Fire Nation took over, they refurbished it with improved ventilation, but removing all the windows. Every time Jianjun saw that brick structure, he became nauseous.

With the children in tow, they marched outside the complex, feeling the brisk air on their faces. Jianjun led the way with Chenglei’s tight grip around his wrist. Soon, they arrived at the gate. Jianjun played with the piece of straw between his lips as Chenglei unlocked the gate.

They passed through the courtyard and entered the factory through two sets of doors. Inside was a massive system of furnaces, deposits of coal and ore, vast arrays of molds for different weapons and armor plating, cooling pools of water, and tools to do everything from pouring, carrying, hammering, and shaping. Since it had no windows, it was lit by a combination of lanterns, and crystals which emitted a ghostly green light.

Men toiled away here and thanks to the Fire Nation’s refurbishing, they had begun to get sick and die early, inhaling dust and other particles. Lavatory breaks were rarely allowed, meaning men had to go where they stood. Tools and equipment were rarely cleaned, making the ghastly workplace conditions unsanitary also.

The Factory Supervisor, Mr. Zhang, maneuvered between the rank and file of the factory workers, inspecting the productivity of the workers, and ensuring that they met their daily quotas. He was a harsh, hardened man, adorned in crimson and black cloth, and his face was cleanly shaven. It happened that he turned his head at just the wrong time for one worker, who stopped to wipe the sweat away from his brow. The Supervisor retrieved his whip from his waist and jaunted over like a raging Goat-Bull.

“Who told you that you could stop working,” Mr. Zhang interrogated. “I pay you to work and work is what I’m going to get. I’m of half a mind to correct the behavior right here and now if I can expect this to continue, or to fire you on the spot.” As soon as the worker saw the lash he exclaimed, “Sorry sir! I will get back to work right away.” He did exactly that, and worked ever more intensely, letting his sweat drip and sting his eyes for Mr. Zhang to see.

Chenglei, still clutching Jianjun’s wrist, smiled glibly at The Supervisor’s disciplinary attitude. Then Chenglei approached Mr. Zhang, looking to enlist his help. Unlike his outburst at Jianjun, he addressed Mr. Zhang with poise.

“Excuse me, Mr. Zhang, I need to speak to you about something.”

Mr. Zhang, The Factory Supervisor, squinted at the man, hoping to discern what kind of thing he could possibly want from him today. When he saw Chenglei holding onto Jianjun’s wrist, his patience had already begun running low. Reluctantly, he greeted Chenglei.

“Well, that would depend on what kind of thing you’re going to ask about. I run a workplace, not a daycare center.”

Chenglei ignored Mr. Zhang’s cheek and responded, “No, absolutely not. I noticed how you dealt with that worker of yours and thought I’d ask if you could organize something similar for this little man here. Unfortunately, he has chosen to be insolent, and so I seek a way to discipline him good and right.”

Mr. Zhang softened his gaze and addressed the Chenglei’s concerns. “I’m sure I can help you then, but I have many duties while overseeing the efficiency of this factory and won’t be able to see to him all day. Rest assured though, I will have him under constant watch and constant scrutiny.”

They thanked each other and passed off Jianjun. Mr. Zhang grabbed the piece of straw from Jianjun’s mouth and cast it away before calling a henchman over to his side and tasking him to monitor Jianjun at all times. The Henchman was average height, clean and scrawny, clearly not a worker like everyone else.

“What should I have him do?” Asked the henchman.

“Have him shovel coal into the big furnace.” Mr. Zhang replied.

“As you wish.”

Then the henchman took Jianjun beyond the main room and into a separate, closeted space. Inside was a furnace unlike any other. It was enormous, with an opening like the mouth of some kind of eldritch monster which reached across the entire hall, and with pipes running up, across the ceiling and into the other rooms, like veins. It resembled less of a furnace and more of some kind of horrific leviathan. For any person to feed it all day required a herculean effort. Other full-grown, brawny men were toiling, shirtless, covered in sweat and soot, and looked down at him sympathetically between each heap of coal. Jianjun understood right away, this was less about work or discipline than it was to torture.

The lackey released Jianjun and directed him to shovel. The shovel itself was almost too big for a child to lift and to go at a steady pace required strength and fortitude that Jianjun didn’t have. He picked it up and shoveled as frequently and steadily as he could, but each time The Henchman would tell him that he was not shoveling fast enough. It wasn’t long when his face and hands turned jet black.

The heat from the furnace scorched Jianjun’s skin and parched his mouth. His sweat evaporated and salt would flake from his torched skin. His body grew tired and his head cooked next to the flame. The Henchman sat comfortably against the back wall and drank from his canteen so profusely that water spilled from his lips and soaked the floor. Jianjun stopped shoveling for a moment and thought to ask for water, but as he turned to do so, The Lackey gestured with his finger for Jianjun to continue without. Jianjun could feel his head beginning to thump like his own heart, and as he went to pick up the shovel, his mind and his muscles finally gave out. There, he collapsed. His eyelids were too heavy to hold open any longer and darkness enveloped him. He couldn’t tell if he was dying or sleeping.

The sun rose the next day and it's golden light woke up a young traveler encamped on the outskirts of town. She had slept in a thin leather tent, apt for keeping out the cold night air, and more expensive than an ordinary Earth Kingdom peasant could afford. It was pitched under a tree and on a field of yellow grass with a creek not far away. As rays of sunlight permeated through the cracks of her tent, she grasped her necklace, feeling the emblazoned image of the scaled eagle, an old family heirloom.

Ying stretched her arms, yawned, and sat up while searching through her bags for something to eat. She feared she had exhausted her food, having overindulged on her rations in the past, and after one look through her bags, her suspicions were confirmed. The remnants of her food were a handful of bread crumbs and hard uncooked grains of rice at the bottom of one of her many bags. Her stomach growled and she set aside her reservations and shook the last morsels out of the bag and into her mouth. It didn’t sate her appetite, but she believed she could reach the town before noon, and she could buy food.

Ying set about to unpitch her tent and pack up her things. As she set them away in her pack, she reached for her pouch of water but found she had drunk most of it last night. She wasn’t dying of thirst, but she was thankful nonetheless that she camped beside the creek. She finished her packing, put on her cone hat and set out to refill her reservoir.

As she walked, she heard a strange-sounding squawk from behind her. Quickly, she unsheathed two knives held under her pack and spun around to meet the threatening sound. Ying scanned the terrain but didn’t find anything. She noticed a bird sitting on the tree she was camped under and attributed the sound to it before putting her knives away and sang a song she learned from other travelers as she walked.

We come from far and wide To find a place where we'll reside And though the walls are high Reaching up towards the sky Our home is in Ba Sing Se We didn't come from much before Growing grain in days of yore But there's a place of milk and honey Where we can make lots of money And that place is Ba Sing Se We have had a hard life worrying the kids with our strife But all that is going to change And our kids will think it's strange When they marry in Ba Sing Se We all came destitute From a war that's absolute But we'll find a place of peace Where we can feast on fat geese Because there's no war in Ba Sing Se

When she arrived at the creek, there was an old wooden bridge beside it. The wood which used to have polish to protect it from the elements had not been maintained and subsequently began to rot. It had also been recently covered in graffiti. Slogans and messages had been laid for travelers to discover. “Death to the Ashmakers.” “Fire Nation Swine.” “Colonizers, get out!” In fact, the bridge was so neglected that a hive of peculiar bees had begun making a home under the railing.

The bees had brown and black fur sprouting from their exoskeleton, small, beady eyes, six legs and a menacing curled tail like a scorpion. Ying had never seen them before, but she knew that of all the creatures she had seen on her journey, that these were the worst. Before refilling her water, she pulled out an old notebook and began to sketch the animal on the pages, as well as the home they were constructing. Above her sketch, she wrote “Scorpion-Bee,” and included the date and location of her sighting. Ying closed the journal and smiled at having found another creature. She was thankful she decided to start this hobby which broke up the tedium of her daily hike.

Ying refilled her water and set out over the bridge. The yellow grass began turning into a pleasant green and the flatland gave way to beautiful rolling hills. Eventually, she began to make out the shape of buildings in the distance. The town seemed to be nestled between two hills and a lush, green forest to its South. She walked a good distance and thought to herself that this sight was a good omen for her, but when she saw the town, her hopes were dashed.

A wooden gate welcomed all who wished to enter, but where there would normally be the symbol of the Earth Kingdom, that of a square enshrined at the center of a circle, was instead overlaid with a red banner, atop of which was a black, three-pronged flame, The Fire Nation. Ying closed her eyes and sighed.

“No.” She said to herself. “They weren’t supposed to be here.” Ying clenched her fists and remembered her resolve. She pressed on through the gate.

The town was quaint for The Fire Nation, almost unchanged from its Earth Kingdom culture except for the addition of the Fire Nation banners covering the old insignias. The town was probably easy to occupy because it had no wall or fence. The road split the town down the middle, stretching from the East, where Ying was entering, to the West.

People lived and built their homes on the Northside and went to work on the Southside. It looked like the main place of work inside the town was a gigantic brick Factory. The Factory had an out of place two-story manor directly behind it. The manor had chipping green paint, rotting foundations and sat in the center of a courtyard of overgrown grass and untrimmed shrubbery. It resembled a ghost house more than anything else, and Ying couldn’t imagine who could possibly be living inside it.

Making the town even further quaint was one giant barn-like edifice in the housing district, with red paint making it stick out, almost literally, like a sore thumb next to all the green buildings. Ying speculated that it was some kind of storage building. She winced at the number of elephant-rats she saw around it.

Besides trade, it looked like everyone else in the town made their living by logging and carpentry. Many of the men walking around had either enormous builds or were average size, but had missing hands and fingers.

Dotting the sides of the buildings were a multitude of recruitment posters with a half dozen different designs. Ying stopped to look at them. One poster featured a woman flexing her arm, dressed in the Fire Nation Army Body Dress Uniform, and on the poster read, “We can only win with strong girls like you!” Another poster showed The Army, with men and women at the position of Attention with bold words reading, “To guard peace around the world is our Profession!” Yet another poster featured a soldier eating a roast turtle-duck and exclaiming, “I never ate better before joining the Fire Nation Army! Join like me and get benefits too!” The last poster pictured a man with a missing hand, sitting down with a doctor who was giving him a hook. It read, “Let the Fire Nation Army Doctor HOOK you right up. Join the Fire Nation Army today for world-class medical care!” Ying marveled at them. Her face turned red like a hot cinder and grimaced. As she grit her teeth, she remembered why she was there. She closed her eyes and took a breath in and back out, calming herself and remembering to hide her exuberant anger.

Ying’s estimate was correct, she had arrived at around noon, and now she could stave off her hunger little longer. She found a decent looking store and entered it looking for food. She filled her basket with flatbread, rice, beans, noodles, salt, as well as some fresh fruit and meat. She brought her things to the counter in the back of the store and alerted the owner who was dozed off, probably while waiting for customers. He was an old man, balding, and whose remaining hair and long, thin beard were completely white.

Ying held out her Earth Kingdom money and said, “I’m a traveler and I didn’t realize I was heading into a Fire Nation Colony. Can I still pay with this?”

The Owner was reluctant to tell her and his eyebrows sagged as he studied her. Ying was wearing a green tunic, typical for most people in the Earth Kingdom, with short brown hair obscured by her cone hat, appeared to be only around 8 years old, and marveled when he realized the pack she carried was almost as big as she was, but finally, he confessed to her. “Earth Kingdom money was phased out about a year ago.”

Ying retracted her hand.

“I’m sorry, but I can only accept Fire Nation coins now. The whole town stopped accepting Earth Kingdom money about a year ago. To tell you the truth, you look rather young for a traveler, I’d give you the groceries for free, but the Fire Nation has doubled taxes again and my shop is barely making it. Maybe you can find another traveler who needs Earth Kingdom money.”

Her face sunk, and she stared at the floor. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ll be back if I find anything.”

Ying left her basket and stepped out of the store dismayed. She stood by the side of the store and began asking passersby if they wanted Earth Kingdom money. The answer was always the same.

Her stomach gurgled and growled at her. The sun was beginning to wind down. Ying never found shame in herself, but she thought finally she would have to deject herself to begging. She took off her backpack, planted herself on the ground and held out her hat.

“Spare change? Spare change? Any spare money for a poor traveler? Any loose change?”

Her heart chaffed as she said these words. In the past, she never wondered about where beggars had come from or how they began rooting around in the trash. She only knew that they looked and smelled hideously, and that her parents had been grooming her for a life starkly contrast to that. If only it could have remained that way, she thought.

Ying hadn’t collected a single coin before a Fire Nation soldier approached her. The soldier was short and had long brown hair, tied into a topknot, but one distinct to the Earth Kingdom as opposed to the typical fashion of the Fire Nation. He was clearly an Earth Kingdom citizen and NOT a Fire Nation one. Ying’s stomach churned as she realized this betrayal.

“You need to leave,” he told her. “You’re disturbing the peace and impinging on this shop owner’s business.” And he gestured toward the shop that she sat by.

The traitor continued, “You should be ashamed of yourself. I can tell from your garb that you are no poor person. You didn’t have to struggle like I did before I joined the Army. Go find somewhere else to leach.”

Ying took her hand and felt the ornament around her neck. She remembered a time when she was never in want of anything, long before The Fire Nation corrupted everything. Tears seeped from her eyes. She wiped them away, picked up her things and left.

She wandered throughout the town, hoping someone left a morsel of food she could scavenge. She saw the sun turning orange, and felt her stomach growl for food. She remembered she still had a place she needed to be, and it was getting harder to carry her backpack without a meal. Ying thought hard about the risks before arriving at a decision. She balled her hands into fists and cast aside any last reservations she had. She would have to steal.

She wouldn’t rob the person from the store, instead, she looked for someone who would be easier to run from. Ying entered an alleyway with two columns of street vendors. They had umbrellas and green linen covering their stands where they sold different things like fruit, vegetables, bread, and meat. The alley was densely populated, with some people just walking down the street, looking for groceries, and others sitting down at small tables and eating. She eyed a stand selling cooked Comodo-Chicken and looked for paths of escape through the horde of shoppers. She checked where the soldiers stood. Her hands began to sweat, thinking about if she could even get away in time. Would a civilian try to stop her? She would have to grab enough for the next leg of the journey.

Ying concentrated, closed her eyes and breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth. She opened her eyes, ready, and reached for the handle of her knife. She palmed it, but as she stepped forward, she felt something or someone crash into her shoulder. All at once, she lost her balance and she fell, face first, hurtling toward the ground like an asteroid. She let out a small, startled scream as she fell and quickly threw out her arms and only ended up scuffing her hands as she hit the ground.

Ying growled as she recovered from the scrape. She got up, from all fours, and furiously searched for the person who had knocked her over. It didn’t take long to find the perp. He was standing idly by and didn’t bother helping her or even continuing on his way. The person was another boy, about her age by the looks of it. He wore a red tunic and had long unkempt hair, he held a piece of straw between his teeth and his face and hands were jet black from coal.