Chapter Text
“So I was fucking this Amestrian chick, right?” the new Liu clan guy says. Rinjini sighs. It’s always some guy from the goddamn Liu clan. They last out here three weeks before crawling back to Xing Major.
She glances out of the checkpost. Sand, death, and emptiness. She drawls, “You’ve talked about her tits thrice in the last hour.”
“Come on, loosen up a little,” he says. “So—”
Rinjini pulls out the spyglass and surveys the desert. Vultures. Tubers. Golden glinting—
“Liu. There’s some guy down there. Blond, Amestrian?” Rin says. He’s wearing a brown trench coat in the desert. Amestrians. They’ll have to send in a guy to get him checked for dehydration before validating his Visa.
“Aa, sure, you’ve got the Western Sage right there.”
She zooms in. He’s got his hair tied up. He looks up sharply—right at her—and raises an arm.
Rin blinks and he’s gone. She shakes her head. “Trick of the eye.”
He’s walking through the night market. Hawkers yell at him as he passes through. He’s an oddity here but the Forbidden City has enough strangers crawling through it.
It’s through the steam and flickering night market lights that he sees a glint of it. He stills. Amestrian automail is rare enough this far East. But this?
She’s grown, not much taller, but stronger. Her automail moves fluidly as she points a finger into the chest of a guard that was sleeping on the job. She accentuates each move of her jaw. No. She hasn’t changed—not in this version at least.
Lan Fan—if it’s even really her—stills and then looks straight at him.
Ah fuck, he thinks and moves to slip into a dirty alleyway. It’s been years since he’s had any need for alchemical chalk, but his fingers twitch for it. He turns and—
Ling’s eyes fly open. There’s someone in the bedroom with him.
The best way to deal with an assassination attempt is to stay still. Ling breathes, allowing his eyes to get used to the darkness. There’s a kunai under his pillow. Three warm fingers press into the meat of his right shoulder and—
Ling slashes backwards. Silence. He fumbles for the kerosene lamp by his bed.
Yuwhei Wei comes to the bed. His wife. Not quite Empress. She was a controversial choice for his first wife, but then again, Ling has always been controversial.
“You’re tense.” She steps into the bedchamber. She’s in her fine red and bronze silks. “Did you mistake me for an assassin?”
Ling presses his lips together. “You do enjoy making me suffer.”
“Ling,” she begins, polished Xingese with none of her Northern upbringing showing. “There’s been an assassination.”
He stills. “Drachman?”
To celebrate his coronation, the Drachman ambassador had sent him a bouquet of nearly wilting red peonies. The king of flowers, just about to die.
“Get dressed. It’s going to be a very long night,” she says. Her gaze travels down the length of him. Ah. Categorising points of weakness, unkemptness, anything the other clans could use against him.
“My lady,” he says. He grabs her wrist.
“An Amestrian alchemist was found dead in her private quarters. Doors and windows sealed. No sign of tampering,” she says. Amestris is simple enough. Xing is their closest ally, even if a significant portion of Xing’s clan heads and bureaucrats prefer isolationism. Economy and technology cannot step on honour but they can certainly make it avert its gaze.
“You’re worried,” Ling says. “Did you…?”
“No,” Wei scoffs but her shoulders soften. Perhaps their marriage is strange but there has always been truth. “Your position is already weak. We will have to play this one carefully. Especially given your dear uncle Eli.”
An emperor months into his reign already bold enough to loosen border controls to foreign scientists and alchemists. Bold enough to host them in the esteemed Blue Princip quarter. Bold enough to be slow to marry and even slower to produce heirs. Bold enough to be bedfellows with Yuwhei Wei.
“We need someone we trust to investigate. Lan Fan—”
“She’s on her rounds. I’ve already sent my men. I’ll speak to her once she’s back,” Wei says. “Get dressed, husband. We have a long night ahead.”
She’s greedy, isn’t she, Ling thinks and almost expects a response. He gets up.
Ling sips his tea. Second brew. He’s long since outgrown his days of wearing a silver bracelet to dip into his teas to check for poison. He can thank Wei for that.
“But this is preposterous! We must solve this murder immediately,” a young man from the Yuwhei clan argues. First son, prideful son, Ling thinks.
Emma Fischer, an West Amestrian alchemist in her early 30s. She moves to Xing to research alkahestry and to pursue accupuncture for her aching back. She was found dead in her chambers three hours ago. The murder itself is a signal to the traditionalists. No. What’s interesting is this: there were clean chunks of the body and carpet around her missing as if cut by a perfect knife. No blood stains on the bed or floor beneath her.
“We must decide what to do with the body,” Wei says. She does not look at Ling. “If we send it back to Amestris or if we keep it as evidence. Given the… state of it, it will be useful for our investigations.”
Ling’s eyes drift to a man sitting in bold blue silks. He’s closer to the Emperor but far enough away to not be important. Liu Eli-tzchi. The dead Emperor’s tzchi—sworn personal guard. Eli was the bastard half-brother but the bond between him and Ling’s father was thicker than blood. He stares into Ling’s eyes. One death is nothing to the whole. But one death to a single man? The last time Ling was in Amestris was for Edward's funeral, after all. He's beginning to forget if his eyes were lighter than Alphonse's.
“We must send it back. The Emperor's court deserves stability. We cannot have that with an outsider," Eli says in that curt manner they teach at the military. Always Emperor, never High Serenity.
Ling takes another sip of his tea. He does not speak. Ling's opinion would carry too much weight, cut the decision short, and make him seem anxious.
He takes a long breath, allowing his thoughts to wander. He savours the incense burning by his side. Where's Lan Fan wandered off to? Despite the years, he remembers that Amestrian drawl in his head going, Yao Lan Fan-Tzchi, huh? She your girl or what?
He opens his eyes to the Forbidden City below him. His legs dangle off the Inner Walls. The cold air rubs spice, incense and chili oil into him. At least his leg's not gonna burn a hole through his thigh. Jeez. Spitting him out at the desert during midday was crap luck. Probably better than not-Amestris-Germany though. Well, the wheat-field might've killed him.
He bites into a deep-fried scallion pancake pilfered from who-knows-where. He licks the oil off his fingers. Easy laughter filters in from below. A guildmaster drinking with his apprentice. There's a tired mother asking the soothsayer to curse her son's new wife for stealing her necklace.
The scallions and ginger get stuck behind his teeth. Lan Fan, huh. He hasn't seen her in any other one before this. That's a new one. If only Hohenheim had given him real instructions.
There's a commotion below. Some guards bickering and yelling. Some idiot's gonna get it tonight, huh?
He bites into his second pancake and settles in on the comfortable old thought: will this singularity be permanent or removable? It's only when he hears the whistle of a dart that he thinks, fucking acupuncturists in this country. Ed's vision fades.
Ling blinks, gut clenching. That’s— What a strange daydream? Someone's talking to him. Focus. The council room is slowly clearing out and Wei is staring at him, mouth pressed together. Get your shit together, my dear husband, she must be thinking. Ah, marriage.
“Are you feeling well, Emperor?” Eli says. He’s standing next to Ling. Up close, Ling can see the lines of gray in his topknot.
“Yes, please excuse me. I’ve had much on my mind.” Ling nods to Wei. He’s had dreams of people he’s lost but never like this. The stress must be making him tense. “As you were saying.”
Eli looks at Ling. He’s gotten better at keeping his expression neutral compared to when he was training Ling. His hairpins are still clean, functional, military.
Eli says, “People need to see direction. Sending the body back to Amestris shows decisiveness, purpose.”
Ling eyes the guards standing by the far end of the chamber, the Han clan head speaking with his advisor, the handmaiden. Yes, military men only know how to operate in the open. “I understand your perspective, uncle, but I’ve made my decision.”
“My dear nephew, I am always loyal to the Emperor.” Eli’s spent long enough in the court now that he does not bare his teeth. “Do not cloud your vision when. Your people need to see a strong leader.”
I will teach you, dear Ling, because you must learn to keep Xing stable, as your father and I have kept it, Eli had told him when he had taught Ling how to ride horseback. And now again, he says: I will keep you stable because I must keep Xing stable. I cannot prove you did not murder my brother in cold blood. But we all know. But I know.
Ling takes a sip of his tea, covering his mouth with the long drape of his sleeve. It hides the clench of his jaw. He says, “Would I have spoken and asked the guards to secure the palace and City, there would have been panic. Would I have spoken, then any conspirators would have scurried away into the dark, careful to hide their tracks.”
Eli does snort then and opens his mouth. Ling blinks. Eli’s mouth keeps moving but Ling’s not quite hearing it. His vision darkens. The tea—
“Emperor?” he hears Eli say before the world goes dark.
It's a bright, sunny day they bury his mother. All the Amestrian writers he's read lament on and on about the indolent weather: gewitter, regen, schaur, wolkenbruch. He's not been to Amestris yet. No, he is still twelve and his mother has just died and Amestris is four years away.
Where is this? Ed tries to say, but his mouth won't move. He stands, ramrod straight. Lan Fan keeps casting worried glances his way. Fuu is at the head of the procession. Even though he doesn't know it yet, this will be the last time he properly sees his father. Not the Emperor, his father. His mother was one of his favourite consorts in his youth. A thing of beauty, they said.
He walks forward, head held high. They don’t know his mother’s warm hand braiding his hair. Another thing the Amestrian writers all fixate on: youth. Soft childhoods, brambling berries, rabbit holes to tumble down. Morality and innocence. He's old enough— he has to be. He's going to have to lead his country one day. Ling can be brave.
He bites his trembling lip. Mama would want him to be brave. Ah all the monks and alkahestrists talk mighty and fine about death. An honourable King. Ling swallows.
A warm hand finds his shoulder. He turns to snap at Lan Fan—
"Uncle," he says, smoothing his voice. Better Uncle Eli. At least he won’t rat me out, not like Auntie Tori-zhorzo
"I had to see how my troublemaking nephew was." Eli squeezes Ling's shoulder. "I heard your Swordmaster Fuu was very distressed you and his granddaughter snuck out of the City."
Keep it light, friendly, easy: Well, the guards make it so easy to slip by when they sleep on the job--Swordsmaster Fuu should ask them first. He should respond. It's undignified not to.
Is this Ling's body? Ed thinks. I've never been stuck in a situation like this. Think, Ed.
"It's alright," Eli says. He follows Ling's gaze to the procession. To where his father's palanquin is. Ling lost his father a long time ago.
"Listen to me carefully," Eli says quietly and quickly. "Your father is sick. The royal physicians are worried. If you are looking for opportunities to grow, you must investigate into a cure. There will be... rewards."
Ling almost stumbles but Eli's hand urges him forward. "Uncle—"
"I've heard rumblings of strange technologies West," Eli says. "A stone that can cure all maladies."
Who are you? Ed tries to say. Ling says nothing, eyes wide. "I— Uncle—" thank you.
Eli pats Ling's back, firm and sharp. "Be well. You must train with your Swordmaster. You have a lot to learn before you travel."
And he's left standing there, warm and numb. Ach, sind Informationen verloren gegangen? Ed thinks, Nee, aber muss ich mich in Situationen befinden, in denen ich meine Alchemie ständig brau—
Ling turns sharply. Who was that—
Ed wakes up to a dull ache in his head and a thin cotton mattress. Vertigo places him in Briggs all those years ago, Alphonse looming over him. He blinks. Ling, the weird funeral, the scallion pancake. He’s in some copy-Xing dimension.
“You’re awake,” a sharp female voice says in clear, bookish Amestrian.
Ed sits up. It’s a cramped wooden cell, moonlight filtering from the shutters. “Look, missy, I’m sure you’ve got the wrong guy. Can you let me go?”
The woman steps forward in the light. She’s wearing a fancy set of robes, beautiful rouge, and a sour expression. "Did you murder Emma Fischer?"
Ed's face screws up. "No. Who's that?"
The woman's eyes narrow. "There was an alchemist murdered in her locked bedroom, pieces of her body missing without transmutation marks. Now, you show up, a man who appears and disappears at will."
Ed's breath catches in his throat. A woman with— It could be his way out.
The woman's eyes flicker up and down Ed. "You look like the Amestrian alchemist. Are you Edward Elric?"
Ed stills. No. After all this time— No way. He swallows. Alphonse? Man, and Winry? He’s been here before. In that strange Resembool, all those years ago—
“No,” he grinds out. First being stuck in that dimension where he was Ling and he couldn't control his body. And now here? He clenches his hands. Was it even another dimension?
“You are a very bad liar. Just like your brother,” she says. Ed laughs. Yeah, this is too on the nose.
“Well.” Ed says and stands up. He needs to go find the evidence of what happened to her. Okay, another one of those. “This was fun.”
He walks to the wall, and then, walks through the heavy stone. He’s in a broader passageway now, sconces lit for guards to see into cells. The fire cracks. There’s a lone guard at the far end of the passage who hasn’t seen Ed yet.
“Okay,” Ed mutters. “I should probably go to that al—”
A loud bell tumbles. It must be from above but it rumbles through Ed’s neck.
“The alarm!” the guard shouts.
Well, shit, Ed thinks and starts running.