On receiving General Iroh’s message, Liàng had pulled up the idle roots he’d set down and moved to the palace at double-speed.  He didn’t even drop by Lady Mai’s estates for a visit like he’d originally planned.

When he got there, he was immediately sent to the General’s office.

The old man may have hidden it well, but he was still, nonetheless, clearly furious.

“…what happened?” Liàng asked.

“Sit,” was the terse reply. He then tossed Liàng a scrap of cloth — an inversion of the traditional Fire Nation crest: the flame was upside down, and red-on-black instead of the other way around. “Have you seen this before?”

“Once,” was the reply.  “Someone actually commissioned a metalworking similar to this – a belt buckle, I think.”

“Do you remember the name?”

“I remember the one they gave.  Which was Lee.  Which really wouldn’t help, would it.”

“No, it wouldn’t.” The old man glared at the cloth.

“…what does it stand for, General?”

“A group calling themselves the Róng Yào. Their primary goal is reopening the war.”

“What.”  Liàng’s voice had gone flat.

“If you see this crest again, you will let me know?” the General asked, just as flat.

“With as many details as I can get to you,” the smith promised.

“Excellent,” the old man said, fiercely.

“Anything else?”

“Not at the moment, no.”

Liàng bowed. “Then I shall keep my eyes and my ears open and await further orders, General.”

The General bowed back. “I appreciate it.”