Chapter Text
Life is cruel, Xiao thinks, when he’s taken in by his Mistress and told that he is her dog.
He is trained to fight, to kill, to devour, to slaughter. It is a horrifying life that he leads, filled with death and blood and gore. Despair tastes sweet on his tongue after the thousandth dream he has swallowed. With time and abuse, his innocence is eroded from his bones and his soul is left barren. Gone is the gentle bird that once soared with the wind and danced among the flowers. He is a dog, rabid and brutal and dangerous.
Life is unfair, Xiao thinks, when the Archon War takes away the only life he could remember anymore.
It flits away from him like grains of sand, as his Mistress’s blood runs down Morax’s arms. Gone is his courage, his feigned confidence, his bite, as the God of War approaches him next. He braces himself for what he knows will be his end. It will not be swift, if what he has witnessed is any indication. He will suffer, he knows, and he is prepared for it. When the blow does not come, he is shocked and paralyzed. The gentle touch of this god is foreign and incongruent with the warm, sticky blood that accompanies it. He is told that he is free, that he should not fear. Wordlessly, with no fight left in him to stop it, he is taken in under Morax’s care and given a home.
Life is pain, Xiao thinks, as he watches his brethren fall.
Perhaps he is still loath to admit it, but the other Yakshas have grown on him. The way his name rolls off their tongues has only ever been respectful, kind, maybe even caring. Bonanus and Indarias are particularly ruthless in their gossip, yet never allow his name to be woven into their stories. Menogias, with a straight back and gentle reservation, reminds him fondly of their Lord. Between their duties, they all play their own games and whittle their hands around hobbies that quiet the insidious voices in their heads. He seldom partakes, but contentedly watches. There is once when he wakes from his sleep with ink painted on his face; but he does not find the energy to feel angry. Bosacius’s laugh is boisterous and refreshing, unashamed of his latest prank. And, really, Xiao thinks this might be the closest thing he will ever have to a family.
But their debt is insurmountable, and they were fools to ever think they could repay it. When all of it ends, when they all fall silent, Xiao is left with nothing but memories and an unending, incurable pain.
Life is sorrow, Xiao thinks, when he learns that Rex Lapis – Morax – his Lord and Savior – is dead.
The blonde mortal who bears the news is mostly unaffected, it seems, if not at least somewhat frazzled. The fairy at his side is frantic for Xiao’s attention, but all he can think is that he indeed no longer feels the warm, comforting hum of geo energy that once settled over the land. Something had felt wrong, he had already known; but this news still hits him with a devastation he never knew he could feel again. He agrees to convene with the other adepti and address the tragedy. He will avenge his Lord, he promises. He is gone before the mortal can tell him anything else.
Life is unrelenting, Xiao thinks, when he watches Osial burst out from his former prison under the ocean.
They are all present; the adepti, the Liyue Qixing, the millelith, and the Traveler. They are all present, and they are fighting for the whole of Liyue as a god of old attempts to snuff it out. The Fatui, monsters that they are, have stepped in to exacerbate the situation. He grits his teeth as they press forward and attempt to slay the mortals he is protecting. But the battle presses on and the Traveler – the blonde mortal who shattered his world just days ago – is stronger than he looks, and he gains them the upper hand. He finds himself questioning if this mortal is even mortal at all when, suddenly, he sees the Traveler fall. The Traveler falls, and falls, and falls, and does not save himself. Xiao’s feet move without thought, and he is holding the Traveler in his arms a moment later. They land on safe ground, and the look in the Traveler’s eyes is one he has never seen on another person. Before he can question it, they are all back to work. All of their energy channels into the Traveler as he plunges his sword into the floor of the Jade Chamber.
Life is confusing, Xiao thinks, as he learns that Rex Lapis – Morax – Zhongli – is still alive.
No longer is he Liyue’s archon, but still the hum of geo energy returns to the land. He feels it caress his battered soul like a mother would her child’s face, and he knows that his Lord is alive. When Morax – Zhongli – comes to him, not in a dream but in person, to explain what transpired, Xiao is left completely lost. Relieved, sure. But also, just utterly and totally lost. He accepts his Lord’s choice regardless, because while his senses might be askew, his loyalty and admiration towards Liyue is not. Xiao trusts that Zhongli would not do anything that would put his land in harm’s way.
Xiao thinks that life is all of these things, and he accepts it, and trudges on.
Wangshu Inn is home in the same way that Liyue is home; it is all Xiao knows, familiar and comfortable, albeit not really his. He is grateful every day that he can return to this place when he needs to rest and lick his wounds. The owners are respectful, quiet, and dutiful, and their clients never bother him. He is content to spend his brief moments of idleness simply watching the mortals from above on the inn’s balcony. It is close enough to see, but far enough away to be safe and unseen.
Xiao ponders on this as he returns to the inn for the evening after a long day of work. He is filthy from his battle against corrupted monsters in the marsh. Blood and dirt clings to his skin and clothes and it cakes under his nails in an uncomfortable way. Certainly, should any mortal approach him in this state, they would turn tail and run in fear.
It is a wonder, then, when the Traveler – Aether – comes jogging up to him from across the bridge.
Xiao had intended to just walk to the bridge, then pop up to the balcony in a wisp of air before anyone could see him. But Aether is a scent hound who can find Xiao even when he is worlds away, he thinks. They meet at the foot of the bridge, away from the sight of most of the inn’s visitors, and Aether slightly wrinkles his nose at Xiao’s appearance. It is Paimon, however, who voices her evident disdain.
“Xiao!” the fairy exclaims, “You need a bath! You look like you just rolled around in a fresh grave!” The look of exasperation on her face would be comical, Xiao thinks, if he did not feel the tacky blood and dirt beginning to dry on his skin in uncomfortable patches. She is right, he needs to get clean before anyone else sees the aftermath of his duties.
Aether lets out an exaggerated sigh and swats at Paimon as she fusses over Xiao. “Paimon! Don’t be rude,” he chastises. He turns to Xiao to apologize, but Xiao is already gone when his gaze falls back on the spot where he had just stood.
And Xiao really is sorry, he knows now that there are common courtesies when it comes to social interaction – Zhongli has been working hard to teach him – but he feels disgusting right now, and he knows that Aether and Paimon will just find him on the balcony again soon anyway. So, in a washroom tucked away upstairs, he goes about stripping himself of his soiled clothes and begins to wash away the grime from his body. (This washroom is reserved for him, he’s been told, yet still he refuses to call it his.)
In the chamber connected to the washroom, there is a bed and spare clothes that he keeps for nights like this one; when he is too tired to launder his soiled uniform right away, and just wants to rest his bones for a few hours. They are soft and loose and feel nice against his frayed nerves. The collar falls haphazardly off one of his shoulders and is slightly damp from his still-wet hair. It cools him in the soft breeze that flows through the upper parts of the inn.
When Xiao steps out to the balcony he, of course, finds Aether there. Paimon has gone, he is not sure where; but Aether is looking out over the plains of Liyue with his back to Xiao. As he approaches, the soft squeak of a floorboard gives him away and Aether turns to smile.
He hears Aether’s breath catch in his throat, and Xiao is about to ask if something is wrong, when he suddenly says, “I’ve never seen you wear something other than your uniform.” Xiao thinks he hears something else in those words, something unspoken and more meaningful, but he does not dwell on it.
Instead, he hums in response. “I have some leisure clothes for when I am too tired to do laundry,” and his voice sounds terrible; it is gravelly and broken from disuse, but Aether does not seem to mind. Xiao sees him nod minutely. “What brings you here tonight?” He asks when nothing else is said.
Aether perks at that, and he goes over to a small table off to the side that is seldom ever used. He brings back with him a small dish of almond tofu. It’s not the first time he’s been brought this offering, but it stirs something in Xiao’s chest all the same. He takes it graciously and nods shyly.
“Thank you,” he says after a small bite. “You are getting better than Smiley Yanxiao.” And if the rosy color over Aether’s cheeks stirs anything else in Xiao’s chest, he will not admit it. But the compliment is only the truth. Aether’s first attempts had been charmingly amateurish; lumpy and somehow slightly sour in taste. As the seasons changed and Xiao’s resolve was slowly worn away, the dish had improved. The texture got smoother and the taste sweeter. It went from being a gesture he once merely tolerated to one that he now truly appreciated. When he finishes, he places the plate back down on the side table. Aether makes a move to take it, but Xiao’s hand catches his wrist as he says, “No, it is alright. I will clean it.”
Aether looks at him as if he has been burned, and Xiao takes away his hand when he realizes what he has done. A choked apology is in his throat – because, really, he knows better, his karma is volatile – But before he can spiral into a cacophony of guilt and worry, Aether takes his hand and says, “Hey, are you okay? You look like you’re panicking suddenly.”
And then Xiao remembers.
Aether is different. Despite everything he has ever known, his karma does not touch Aether how it does other mortals. It does not burn or maim or craze him. So, then why? Why did Aether look like –
“Xiao,” Aether tries again. And now the look on his face is one Xiao really does not like, so he tries to quell the worry.
“It is nothing,” he says. He looks down at the hand that is still holding his. “I had a passing thought – but do not worry. It is nothing.”
Something uncertain flits across Aether’s face, and he lets go of Xiao’s hand. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Okay.”
He does not move away, and so they stay there for some time, just standing and watching as the sky goes dark and the stars spark to life. They are close – but not touching. While he still wonders why Aether had looked so stricken, now Xiao thinks that perhaps he is the one who has been burned.
His hand that Aether held earlier burns for the rest of the night.
He does not sleep, and therefore does not dream. Because of this, Zhongli has no choice but to visit him in person in order to communicate. There is a part of Xiao that feels truly guilty about this. Even as he goes about the life of a mortal, free of his duties as an archon, his Lord is still a busy man. He now has to work to afford the precious treasures and luxurious foods he has such a fondness for, and he has no shortage of friends to spend the rest of his free time with, (including, unfortunately, the Ginger Harbinger). But there is also a selfish part of Xiao that craves his Lord’s attention, and will treacherously allow these visits to continue even if they should not be necessary.
(Zhongli has more than once playfully scolded Xiao for the apologies he gives for taking up his Lord’s time. But, really, he does know that he is being selfish).
It is during one of these visits that Zhongli brings him information that feels like a spear to his gut – Aether is planning to leave soon. He is not sure why this news affects him so; he knows that Aether is a traveler – The Traveler – famed in Teyvat for his deeds across the continent. He knows that Aether is not meant to stay in Liyue forever. He is not sure why, but the news churns in his gut anyway, and it leaves him winded for a moment.
Ever the omniscient being, Zhongli reads him like a book. He has an eyebrow raised as he takes a sip of his tea. Rather than comment on its flavor or go into a meandering story of the leaves this tea was brewed from, Zhongli poses a question.
“How do you feel about Aether leaving?”
He knows Zhongli is only trying to help. His Lord has been doing this ever since he stepped down; taken it upon himself to introduce Xiao to personhood. They have talked about mortals, and customs, and social interactions, and even emotions. But Xiao is still the dog that he was trained to be millennia ago – an old dog who is slow to learning new tricks. He does not know how he feels, only that he does not like it.
So, Xiao says, “He is free to do what he needs. What I feel is irrelevant.”
From the look on his face, that is not what Zhongli was hoping to hear, but Xiao cannot allow himself to bare his heart this time. Not about Aether.
Instead, he presses. “Do you know where he is going?” As he awaits an answer, he takes a sip from his own cup. The tea is hardly warm now, and more bitter than he cares for. But his throat is suddenly tight and sore, and he thinks it would be good to drink it anyway.
There is a clink of porcelain as his Lord places his cup down. His warm, amber eyes train themselves on Xiao’s as he says, “He is headed to Inazuma. I informed him that it is a closed nation, but that he might find what he needs there, should he find a reliable way in.”
Xiao sucks in a breath and feels his chest spasm. He knows, rationally, that his Lord would never do something to harm Aether; nor would he put him up to something that he did not think the Traveler could handle. But it still feels something like a betrayal – to Aether or to himself, he is not sure. His thoughts are loud, he is sure, because Zhongli reaches across the table they sit at and places his hand on Xiao’s.
Warm and soothing, grounded and assured, his Lord says, “He will be fine. You know he is different from the mortals.” His thumb smooths over Xiao’s knuckles. “Aether will find what he can there, and then he will return. He will not leave for good.”
While he cannot be sure how his Lord knows this – and he dares not ask – he takes it for the olive branch that it is. If Zhongli says that Aether will survive this, then Xiao will survive it too.
The matter of leaving for Inazuma is decidedly not brought up by Xiao. He does not want Aether to misread his words, so he says none at all. Instead, they continue as if nothing has changed; which, to be fair, it has not. Not for Aether, who has still given no mention of his impending departure. They continue with their now nightly visits, and Xiao enjoys Aether’s almond tofu in the quiet companionship that they share. They count the stars and watch the plains. They ignore Paimon’s soft snores on Aether’s shoulder. They seldom speak.
They do not address that a good-bye is pending.
A good-bye is pending, but it is a slow thing.
It should not surprise Xiao that Aether finds it difficult to track down any reliable way into Inazuma. It is not just a closed nation, but also a nation currently at war; embroiled in civil disputes that have turned bloody and unforgiving. He hears whispers of it from the mortals who visit the inn. Their stories are hushed things, as though they fear the Electro Archon will hear them from an entire ocean away. (And perhaps she might, if the Omnipresent God is even half as powerful as his Lord).
But their stories are horrifying tales indeed. People stripped of their dreams and ambitions, left as husks of their former selves – others executed for their defiance and refusal to share a similar fate. Xiao finds himself feeling grateful that Aether is not the owner of a Vision. His own sits uselessly on his wrist, and he wonders idly if it would make any difference should his be taken from him. He has never used it, so he is unsure.
He is broken from his thoughts by a shrill cry from Paimon. She is stomping her tiny feet in the air at some comment Aether has made to her. From the bright and mischievous smile on his face, Xiao can tell that it was a harmless joke; albeit one that will have Paimon riled up until she is eventually placated with food later. They are walking back to the inn after a day of working together on Aether’s guild commissions. He watches on as the two continue to bicker in front of him. (And if he allows himself a small smile, they do not need to know).
It might well be a while until Aether can find a way to Inazuma. Their good-bye is still pending, but he thinks there might be enough time before then for him to come to terms with it.
Karmic debt is a struggle every day, but Xiao finds that some days are better than others.
On a good day, he finds that the voices are quieter and that the pain is merely a dull ache in the back of his thoughts. The whispers are unintelligible and far easier to ignore. Zhongli regularly supplies him with Remedium Teritorum, and it helps. He knows that his Lord intended for it to aid in his sleep, but not even an adeptal medicine could chase away the darkness from his dreams. Instead, he uses it to calm his mind in his endless waking hours. It steadies his hands – and his blade – and allows him to continue his work without interruption.
But there are some days when the karma outweighs the strength of even the adepti.
On those days, when the voices turn into screams and the pain grinds his bones into dust, Xiao is near inconsolable.
The first time he’d had a flare-up, it was when his brothers and sisters still walked the land of the living. Xiao had been the second of the yakshas to experience such a thing; Bonanus had been the first. So great and so terrifying had her episode been, that when it happened to Xiao, he thought surely he would not survive it.
The trigger had been nothing short of a tragedy: a small, innocent girl had been caught in the crossfire of Xiao’s strength. In the chaos of battle between the yakshas and an ancient demon, she had fallen from the hill above and hidden away in a cavern, tending to a broken leg. Xiao did not know that she was there until after his blows against a mountain caused part of it to crumble and collapse. They heard an anguished cry, and were quick to search the rubble. The group was blinded by the sudden flurry of snow that accompanied her death, and the shining Vision that laid beside her corpse. Desperate and heartbroken, Xiao had dropped to his knees and put all of his energy into reviving the girl. Moved by this, the others had joined him.
But she was just a little girl, a mortal. She was never meant to be a vessel for adeptal energy.
Rather than be forced to destroy a second monster – to slay this innocent girl all over again – they rushed her writhing, angry body to Jueyun Karst. She was entombed in amber, and left there to rest in peace.
Guilt weighed Xiao’s heart down like shackles as the group returned to their resting place in the mountains. He was too far gone before anyone realized it, and he inadvertently became the third monster his brothers and sisters would have to fret over that day.
So, when Xiao has a bad day, he leaves the inn. He stays far, far away from the mortals, and he loses himself in the pain and the self-loathing and the mania. It is a torrential storm of emotion and sensation that completely blacks out the world around him. A blitz of hatred surges through him and renders him unable to control his own body. Xiao’s strength is not as potent as his Lord’s, but he does come close to moving mountains in the wrath of his destruction. All of his nerves are alight, and his blood boils with a heat that could rival that of the volcanoes in Natlan. Goaded on by the jeers of dead gods and demons, he lashes out towards any living thing that dares come near.
He knows that the other adepti can sense his presence, that their eyes are on him, should he succumb to the karma and need putting down. They allow him these outbursts, so long as they remain here in their realm and not in that of the mortals. Xiao trusts that if the time comes that they finally see him for the danger that he is – the adepti will do the right thing, and they will vanquish Liyue of his rage. But until then, they let him spiral, and they watch.
(And sometimes, against his best judgement, he thinks in the aftermath that maybe they had done more than just watch).
When the dust settles, Xiao is always exhausted. Fatigue sets in so deeply that it permeates his entire being. The weight of the chains that shackle him become so heavy that it feels like they are trying to drag him down to the Abyss. (Sometimes he wishes that they would). Once it is over, he remembers very little. He takes his time as he returns to the inn, and tries to piece together what remains of his memories and his sanity.
He remembers very little, but what he remembers is this:
Flapping wings and hoofbeats; a vanguard of sentinels that hover nearby at all times. Confident and assuring, a barrier that will protect Liyue from him, and him from himself.
Music, dancing around the mountains and the trees, flowing from a Dihua flute; Melodious and soothing. A faint, comforting breeze that caresses his skin and cools his flaming nerves.
Firm hands, stopping his own from tearing into his own flesh, and an even firmer voice that breaks through the screams. Stern and grounding and commanding enough to reach the tiny, remaining parts of him that are still present and terrified.
He remembers these in an abstract way that feels like a dream, and wonders if they are memories or delusions, (or the pitiful wishes of a weak and withered soul). By the time Xiao has gotten back to the inn – and being fussed over by the innkeeper – he is already pushing the thoughts aside.
Xiao always reasons with himself that he can ask about it later, but he never actually does.
There has been more than one occasion where Xiao has been described by others as “cranky.” It is a pejorative that he truly does not appreciate, given that every time it has been used, it was after an episode with his karmic debt. Forgive him, if he seems irritable or moody; there is only so much patience one can have after being dragged to the Abyss and back.
Granted, he understands that mortals will not truly be able to relate to the pain that he endures. There are gods who do not fathom his struggle. And Xiao also understands, after some time with Zhongli – and the few mortals he has allowed himself to spend any significant amount of time with – that a sour mood is no excuse for poor behavior. He will never forget the day that Verr Goldet scolded him for being curt to Paimon; the first time she had ever truly spoken against him on anything. Because his reaction had been that of confusion – Xiao thinks that was the moment the innkeeper made it her mission, to join Zhongli in his efforts to teach Xiao of personhood.
(And she had called him “cranky” that day, too, when she turned away from him to console Paimon).
Since then, Xiao is more careful after his episodes. He meditates more, and seeks quiet to soothe his nerves. Before he spends any amount of time with someone he does not want to inadvertently offend, he tries to calm his mind.
It is unfortunate then, that after his most recent episode, Aether comes to him with a harrowing proposal before he has time to meditate.
“I’m going to Mondstadt in a few days,” Aether tells him. It is the early morning hours when the sky is still a dusty blue and the mortals have not yet stirred. They stand on the balcony and Paimon is snoring against Aether’s shoulder, still. “There’s a new lead about my sister. I… I wanted to know if you would like to come?”
And Xiao would probably be honored, he thinks, if a feeling of dread was not starting to pool in his belly. He has not been to Mondstadt for a few thousand years. While he has immense respect and admiration for the Anemo Archon – bested only by his Lord – Xiao does not have positive associations with the Land of Freedom. It is not a place he has ever desired to return to, not unless it is required of him.
He must have dwelled on this for too long, because Aether raises his voice to ask again. But Xiao is quick to cut him off. “I cannot,” he grits out. It sounds much angrier in the air than it had in his head. He tries to soften his next words, but they still come out a bit jagged. “I have work to do. I cannot be away from Liyue.”
When he turns to look at Aether, it pains him to see the look on his face. There is a pinch around his mouth that looks out of place, and his eyes are filled with surprise. Xiao suddenly wants to take his words back – smooth them out and powder them with something sweet – but it is too late.
Aether just nods and lets out a small, “Oh.” It sounds far more broken than it should. “That’s – Right, sorry to bother you.” And he is gone before Xiao can stop him.
Not much later, he learns that the innkeeper had seen the whole interaction. He wonders, idly, if his instincts are so out of tune around Aether that he would not sense Verr Goldet’s presence just behind them. But that is not important. What is important is the look of disappointment in her eyes as she looks upon Xiao now. He knows what she is about to say, and yet it strikes him sharply anyway.
“You hurt his feelings, Xiao.” Straight and to the point. “I know you’re still coming out of an episode, but you cannot lash out like that.” She crosses her arms and sighs. She clearly sees that he knows, so she beckons and says, “Come with me.”
Verr Goldet leads him downstairs to the kitchen, where Smiley Yanxiao is starting to prepare the kitchen for the day. He nods politely to them as they enter and, when the innkeeper orders two small dishes of almond tofu, he sets to work immediately without a word. They sit quietly at the table as the chef is working. Xiao thinks that she is giving him a moment to collect himself before she speaks again.
And he is right, because somehow she seems to know just when his nerves have settled enough for the conversation to continue. “I don’t know what your feelings about my homeland are,” she says cautiously. She places a hand on the table, close to his but not quite touching. “And I will not press you to tell me. But I do think that maybe you should think on them, and weigh them against your feelings for Aether.”
He is not entirely sure what she means by that, and he would say as much, if she did not cut back in right away.
“He’s leaving soon, right? To Inazuma?” And now Xiao wonders if it was not his instincts to blame when he did not sense the innkeeper nearby earlier, but something else altogether, because how does she know that – But she pulls him from his thoughts. “You two are very close. Maybe, this is his way of figuring out if you would want to go with him.”
And that – that is something that Xiao has not considered. Something flutters in his chest at the thought, but he cannot place a name to the thing that he is feeling. Before he is able to say anything, Smiley Yanxiao is standing at the table, dishes in hand. But as the chef is handing them their food, it gives Xiao a moment to think more on this. He collects himself, and by the time he and Verr Goldet are alone again, he thinks he knows his next steps. His words come slowly, but there is some confidence behind them.
“If that is the case, then,” and he feels the fluttering intensify, “I need to speak to him again.” But there is a look on Verr Goldet’s face that tells him she expects to hear more; something is missing. With a pang, he realizes. “And apologize – I need to apologize.”
A satisfied smile grows on the innkeeper’s face, and she nods. “I think that sounds good,” she says. Then she picks up her spoon and points it at the dish in front of him. “Now, eat your dessert before it gets warm.”
It is not hard to find Aether after that. Even after such a dreadful exchange, the Traveler still returns to the inn during the evening like clockwork. Xiao is already waiting for him on the balcony when the sound of his soft footfalls reaches his ears. Aether must be surprised to see him, because his feet stop just short of the archway to the balcony.
Xiao turns, and he sees that Aether is looking at him with plain surprise and uncertainty in his eyes. He nods in acknowledgement, and then beckons for the Traveler to join him. Tentatively, he does. They stand together at the railing of the balcony, and Xiao stretches his arms so that they dangle over the banister. It is getting dark, but the light of his Vision glows in the night and illuminates their faces in a soft, teal hue.
For once, it is Xiao who breaks the silence. Before he can shy away from it all, he says, “I am sorry for the way I spoke to you earlier.” He watches Aether as he speaks, though the other is still looking away. “I was caught off guard by your offer. I am – I have a history with Mondstadt that I have yet to confront.”
Aether turns to him after he says this. “Xiao,” his voice is softer than usual, and it sounds like there might be pity there. “It’s okay – ”
But Xiao will not be pitied. And especially not when he knows he is still in the wrong. “It is not, though,” he says. “It is no right of mine to lash out at others over feelings that they are not responsible for.” A breeze begins to drift through, cool and soothing. It whips their hair about and strokes their faces gently. Xiao humors the thought that the Anemo Archon is watching. His next words sit heavy on his tongue, but he lets them out anyway. Cautiously, he places a hand on Aether’s arm. “I am sorry for hurting you.”
This time, Aether does not look stricken by his touch. Instead, he places a hand over Xiao’s. “Apology accepted,” he says softly. There is a small smile at the corner of his lips, and Xiao has never felt more comforted to see it. “I’ll understand if you say no, but the offer still stands.”
There is still some dread weighing him down, but Xiao brushes it aside and says, “I would be honored.”
Zhongli looks tickled by Xiao’s presence. It is not often that he seeks out his Lord personally. That he should ever come near the harbor by choice is an even bigger surprise, he imagines.
He stands in the lobby of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor and looks entirely out of place amongst the mortal clients. They stare at him as he looks around the room in wonder. It is rather plain, and he finds himself surprised that his Lord could ever dwell in such a place that lacks extravagance and luxury.
His Lord is currently wrangling the rabid, young mortal woman who had jumped excitedly at his sudden appearance. She carries an aura about her that gives him pause; she is well acquainted with death and spirits, he can tell, but she is not tainted by it like he is. She has fired question after question at him, clearly aware of who he is. But Zhongli has sent her away and pulled him into another room before he can offer the strange woman any responses.
“I apologize on Director Hu’s behalf,” Zhongli says. He goes to a desk in the center of the room where a tea pot is set. With a beckon, Xiao sits at the desk and graciously takes the steaming cup that is offered to him. “She can be rather excitable in the presence of others well-versed in death.” His Lord then takes a seat across from him and says, “It is not often that you dwell so near to the harbor. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
After a sip to quell his nerves, Xiao sets his cup down and clasps his hands together over the table. “I am seeking your permission to take leave from Liyue for a few days. The Traveler has asked me to accompany him on his travels to Mondstadt.” There is a tremble in his voice that he cannot stifle, and it irritates him. “I – I would like to go with him.”
A soft look falls over Zhongli’s face. Xiao would almost mistake it for pity if he did not know his Lord better. “Before I give you my answer, let me ask you this,” and he reaches his hand to rest over Xiao’s. “Are you ready for such a trip?”
Are you ready to face those memories? Is what he knows his Lord is really asking.
He thinks, maybe, that there is a rock in his throat. It feels raw and constricted. Another sip of tea eases it, and he is able to say, “I am unsure. But I would like to try.”
It is uncertain if his Lord is convinced by this, but he nods anyway. “Then you should know,” Zhongli says, “that you need not ask my permission.” And, surely, Xiao looks comically perplexed by this answer – So, he elaborates. “My contract with you has long been fulfilled. Perhaps I should have told you this; you are a stubbornly dutiful man, after all.”
“I don’t understand – ” Xiao starts, but is cut off gently.
Zhongli’s hand squeezes his in a comforting way. “You are free to do as you please. While I am still always grateful for your loyalty and hard work across Liyue, you no longer have to toil over it so tirelessly. I did not push you to stop, because I recognize that this is all that you know, and that it gives you comfort and purpose.”
The words are difficult for Xiao to process. He cannot imagine a life where he does not serve his contract into perpetuity. It was his intention to fight until he could no longer, until his dying breath. His distress must be palpable, because –
“I am not asking you to lay down your weapon,” Zhongli clarifies. “I am well aware that the malice of bygone gods still lingers, and that you wish to spare Liyue of this danger. But it is no longer the age of the adepti – the mortals are capable in their own ways. I am simply suggesting that you share the burden and allow yourself to live.” He takes his hand away finally, and takes a sip from his cooling cup of tea. Xiao follows suit, and lets it sooth his still-aching throat.
After some silence falls between them, Zhongli tries again. “Do not mistake my intentions for telling you all of this as anything more than friendly advice.” A gentle smile graces his lips, and the corners of his eyes crinkle fondly.
“As an old friend once asked me, ‘What does freedom really mean, when demanded of you by a god?’”