Brewed of Memories

by carpe_librum_7731

Summary:

You’ve recently found that owning a tea shop in Liyue can be quite the boring endeavor during the warm months of the year, something that should be of little surprise.

After all, who wants a warm beverage when the entire expanse of the city is bathing in sweltering heat or — at the very least — pleasant weather?

It appears that a certain sophisticated young man does in fact want one, as he begins routinely returning to your tea shop to order the same strange drink.

Will your confusion and curiosity end in disaster, or will you gain the answers you seek?

Notes:

Greetings, dearest readers! I’m proud to present to you my very first fic, “Brewed of Memories.” A little reminder that I do not own anything or anyone from Genshin Impact, and that this is a fanwork and nothing more.

Now on to a very quick round of specifics before we get into it:

1. I cannot and will not be writing smut, so if you came here for anything of that nature, apologies.
2. No negativity in the comments please, though constructive criticism is welcome.
3. Updates may be irregular, so please bear with me. I wouldn’t want to make this fun hobby a stressful endeavor, but I know how frustrating it is when stories update slowly.
4. Please do not copy or repost this work without the author’s consent, thank you!

This fic is dedicated to my best friend (who also happens to be its beta reader); all of this would not have been possible without her. Go check out lavender_star_dust!

Alright, that’s all! Now without further ado, let us begin.

Chapter 1: In which you are thoroughly embarrassed and simultaneously confused

Summary:

You’ve recently found that owning a tea shop in Liyue can be quite the boring endeavor during the warm months of the year, something that should be of little surprise.

After all, who wants a warm beverage when the entire expanse of the city is bathing in sweltering heat or — at the very least — pleasant weather?

It appears that a certain sophisticated young man does in fact want one, as he begins routinely returning to your tea shop to order the same strange drink.

Will your confusion and curiosity end in disaster, or will you gain the answers you seek?

Notes:

Greetings, dearest readers! I’m proud to present to you my very first fic, “Brewed of Memories.” A little reminder that I do not own anything or anyone from Genshin Impact, and that this is a fanwork and nothing more.

Now on to a very quick round of specifics before we get into it:

1. I cannot and will not be writing smut, so if you came here for anything of that nature, apologies.
2. Though I absolutely adore comments, no negativity please (constructive criticism is welcome)!
3. Updates may be irregular, so please bear with me. I wouldn’t want to make this fun hobby a stressful endeavor, but I know how frustrating it is when stories update slowly (as of right now, I try to update every Monday).
4. Please do not copy or repost this work without the author’s consent, thank you!

This fic is dedicated to my best friend (who also happens to be its beta reader); all of this would not have been possible without her. Go check out lavender_star_dust!

Alright, that’s all! Now without further ado, let us begin.

Business is slow today, so sluggish and inconsistent you swear it’s the barest stream of customers you’ve ever experienced.

But such is the conundrum of spring and summer, times of year during which everyone already has all of the emotions they need. With the arrival of pleasant weather, the people of Liyue’s demand for tea always lessens.

And so you sit, slumped against the counter, eyes dull and mind elsewhere, when the bell tingles against the shop door.

Someone has entered.

You straighten your posture in an instant, itching to make a cup of tea for anyone. Even a misguided tourist who’s actually looking for some restaurant on the opposite side of town would exceed your plummeting expectations. Truly, anything’s better than boredom.

You’re so caught up in the excitement of a potential customer, it’s a minute before you remember to check who they are. Perhaps they’ll present themselves with confidence, or shyness, or maybe that slight sense of sureness that comes with success. Call your interest bizarre — you merely find first impressions important.

But when you finally do look up, it’s like someone has stolen the next breath from underneath your very nose.

There, just inside the doorway, stands a tall young man clad in an elegantly tailored overcoat. Pinned neatly together near his midsection, it’s stained an ombré of gorgeous golden yellow, fading into the black folds of fabric flowing beside his legs. 

As he glances curiously around the empty tea shop, your gaze travels from his stoic stature and eye-catching outfit to his long, dark brown hair; the tips of which are tinted a radiant gold.

He’s…

Otherworldly, your fumbling brain finally manages to produce. Stunning even.

You realize with abrupt embarrassment that you’re gaping at him like he’s some sort of god, but really, it’s difficult not to, considering his sophisticated appearance and clearly displayed wealth. Of course you’ve had customers of the rich, fancy type before; your shop is known far and wide for its exquisite tea. 

But this? This man seems to form his own category entirely.

You’re so lost within your own thoughts you jump nearly five feet when a deep, velvety voice speaks directly in front of you.

“I apologize for frightening you, miss. Are you alright?”

Your head jolts up to see the strange man standing at the counter, genuine concern etched across his flawless features. 

And his eyes. 

Now that he’s only several feet away, they seem to swirl with amber and red, flecks of gold sprinkling his pupils.

“Oh, it’s fine, I’m fine, I mean- uh, what can I get for you today?” You curse inwardly at the jumble of syllables that have just tumbled from your lips. Your eyes lower to the counter, face heating in embarrassment.

You idiot! Get yourself together! You own a tea shop and you can’t even handle talking to customers?! Where’s that confidence you worked so hard to build up?

The man lets out an airy chuckle and when you look up, he’s smiling warmly.

“I’ll have earl gray with two sprigs of jasmine and an extra tea bag please,” he says, scanning the menu for a mere moment. You nod curtly, but pause after mentally processing his order.

“Are you aware, sir, that the tea you are requesting is one of our strongest in terms of emotional influence?” A quick minute of viewing the menu behind you would surely have yielded the knowledge that this tea emptied the mind and calmed the drinker — almost dangerously so — but considering how briefly the man had looked it over, you doubted he had noticed. “And the extra teabag,” you add, trying to sound reasonable and not criticizing, “it’ll make the tea even more potent than normal. I’m sure you’d rather experience one of our other tea choices?”

“Of course I’m aware. Though, I do appreciate your concern.” You’re surprised at his calmness surrounding the matter; most filthy rich people — which you are almost certain he is — practically foam at the mouth whenever their opinions are questioned. “I think I’ll stick with my original order,” he says, reaching for the intricate pocket sewn into the side of his coat and pulling out a small pouch clinking with money. It’s only then that you realize he’s wearing thick black gloves, delicately embroidered in gold. “How much?”

Your brain seems to short-circuit for a moment. That he’s buying this specific blend is odd enough, but requesting an extra tea bag? 

Who wants their mind that empty?

“Miss…?”

Right, you have an audience.

“Two hundred, that’ll be two hundred.” His gloved hand reaches out to place two glimmering coins in your palm. You watch, confused and admittedly a bit anxious, as your strange customer moves across the shop to seat himself by the window. 

Worried for the man or not, you have a job to do: making tea for people, not getting invested in their lives. With some difficulty, you push away the collection of muddled thoughts and questions that dance through the forefront of your mind and begin to brew his tea. 

***

You hover over a magnificent cup of earl gray tea, adjusting and readjusting its appearance in earnest concentration. 

Having had a measly three customers today, you’re bored out of your mind, so who’s stopping you from going all out?

…

Ok, maybe you are going a little overboard, but something tells you this tea has to be perfect.

Done.

You scoop up the tea and its respective miniature dish, carefully stepping around the counter and making your way towards the man. He seems entranced by the lightly swaying leaves on the trees outside, but turns to face you before you have the chance to speak. 

“Thank you,” he says, and you’re rewarded with another one of his soft smiles upon setting the tea in front of him on the table. 

“Of course! Would you like anything else?” 

He shakes his head. “This is perfect.”

You offer him a small smile and make your way back to the front counter. After stepping behind it, you lean forward against the smooth wood, keeping both eyes trained on the man.

Things are about to get interesting.

He takes one sip. 

Then another.

He closes his eyes as if pained, but proceeds to drink the entire cup within minutes with no other outward reaction. 

You’re shocked. 

Shocked by his capability to drink a full cup of hot tea in such a short amount of time, but more so that the tea in question is of the earl gray blend.

Your mind fills with questions. 

How had he resisted the mind-numbing qualities of the tea? Is that even possible?

No one you’ve met has been able to resist a sip of even a single tea-bagged drink.

But then, just as you’re beginning to think that this man is absolutely not human, his eyes glaze over, and the most peaceful expression you’ve ever seen sweeps over his face like a curtain.

Try as you might, you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from him, or fight the urge to lean further over the counter for a better view. 

And what a view you’re granted.

Hazy light pours in from the window of the shop and casts sheets of gold across his figure. You watch, captivated by his vulnerability, as he sinks into a listless daze. His lips turn up in the most serene smile you’ve ever seen and his stout shoulders drop a few inches.

To be experiencing such peace, such an untroubled state of mind, is what you know many desire.

Something shimmers on his cheek. It slips down the elegant planes of his face and disappears with a blip as it reaches his jaw. 

He’s crying. 

You don’t know what to think now, but you guess you’ll be watching him for another ten minutes, considering the circumstances. You are once again proven wrong when his eyes begin to uncloud.

How is he able to blow through the tea’s effects so quickly? 

You furrow your brows in confused bewilderment.

Then again, you remind yourself, he’s already proven himself far from normal. 

The man rises from his seat. He moves gracefully, the expensive fabric of his coat rippling as he strolls back toward the front of the shop where you are.

You realize, just in time it seems, that your body is stretched far over the wooden counter, legs dangling off of the floor behind you. And if he’s to see you hanging here like you currently are, there’ll be no doubt about it that you’ve been spying on him.

Hastily scrambling backward in an attempt to salvage the last of your dignity, you silently pray for the blessings of the archons to descend upon your unfortunate soul.

Just as you’ve finished fervently readjusting your tea apron, the man approaches the counter.

Safe.

“The tea was delicious, thank you,” he says, and you notice how he holds the teacup and its plate carefully in both hands, as if he’s afraid they might shatter. 

“Of course! I can take those from you.” You reach out to receive the tea set from him, setting it off to the side to wash later, and turn to face him again. He’s studying you intently. “Is something the matter?” you inquire, mildly concerned.

“I was just speculating whether or not laying on top of a counter was a comfortable resting position,” he responds, with no attempt to hide the amusement in his voice. 

He can’t be serious. 

The relief from the success of your swift retreat is gone in an instant, converted into a growing sense of horror. 

“You- I,” you stutter, words completely failing you as you panic in front of a man who now probably thinks you’re a creep for watching him drink tea.

What a mess. 

Your mind feels like sludge as you desperately try to cling to any lifelines that may save you from further embarrassment, but you come up empty handed. The man remains at the counter.

He’s fighting a grin.

The empty silence is making it increasingly difficult not to hide your face behind your hands, mumble an incoherent apology, and flee the room. 

But you’re the owner of this establishment. You’ve got to hold your ground. As a last ditch attempt at self preservation, you direct your eyes downward, hoping he’ll walk away.

A warm hand touches your shoulder. You look up, startled at the contact. The dark haired man has taken a step forward, tilting his head to catch your gaze. You notice for the second time how breathtaking his eyes are.

“Please don’t beat yourself up over it, it’s quite alright,” he reassures you. “It’s only natural that you would seek to keep an eye on your customers, especially an odd one whom you’ve never seen before.”

“You’re not…odd, just...” You trail off, searching for the right term to identify him with. His hand still rests on your shoulder, but rather than making you feel uneasy as it maybe should, it’s a comforting presence. “Unique, maybe?” You let out a nervous laugh and he chuckles faintly, dropping his hand back to his side.

“I do apologize for any unease I may have caused, it was not my intention.” He brings his other hand to rest over where his heart is, looking genuinely sorry.

Now he’s apologizing?  

“No, no, it’s not- you didn’t- that was a bad choice of words,” you rush to explain, frantically waving your hands and shaking your head in order to dispel his sincere yet unnecessary apology.

“It’s quite alright,” he says gently. You nod and try to look anywhere other than his face. 

Especially here in Liyue, where contracts take precedence and breaking one is like breaking the law, it’s odd to meet someone so nice. There aren’t many people who do things for others when there isn’t something to gain.

“Well, I really must be going now, but thank you again.” You raise your head to see the man smiling softly, slightly to himself. “The tea was lovely.” Pride floods your body as he gives you a gracious nod and turns to leave the shop.

Your eye catches on the geo vision hanging by a chain from the back of his coat. You had missed it before, but seeing such a refined person having been gifted with one makes sense — even if it does make you feel as if you don’t deserve your own anemo vision.

The door slaps shut with a clink and the shop is once again enveloped in silence — no customers and no one to talk to. 

You groan, rubbing your temples. It goes without question that you’re puzzled and extremely curious about the events of the last hour. But you have no idea what you can do to figure out what happened with the tea. 

Research, you suppose. You’ll have plenty of time after closing.

Slowly picking up the teacup and plate the man had used, you begin to wash them in the sink, letting your thoughts wander through all the things you know about earl gray tea.

Chapter 2: A beautiful name for a beautiful face

Summary:

Though research proves to be a problematic affair, your charming customer is far from absent. And apparently, he’s still an adamant fan of earl gray tea.

Notes:

Sorry for the short chapters!! The first ten or so will be slightly shorter than the later ones, but I’ll try to make them longer as we go.

Enjoy!

It’s a relief to get off work. 

It’s strange to think that having little to no customers tires you out just as much, if not more, than having a swarm of them. 

You stretch your limbs, which are painfully stiff from standing still for hours, and lock up shop.

Sitting at a table just outside, you pick through your earl gray tea recipe, writing down any ingredients that may give hint to why the man was able to bypass its effects after only a minute. Afterward, you would head over to the library to investigate them. 

You wish you’d asked for his name, but it’s too late now. Perhaps you’ll see him again — in the city or in your tea shop — and then, you promise yourself, you’ll inquire about it.

That is, if you can find the confidence.

The man’s prestigious air and pristine suit are enough to intimidate anybody, you reason. You’re certain you could eventually (with some serious self-coaching thrown in) work up a convincing semblance of courage and talk to him in a proper fashion…

But that’s another matter. You can ponder successful social interaction strategies later, when you’ve made some real progress on the tea mystery.

Refocusing your attention and tapping your chin with an index finger like the scholar you are (not), you read the list of ingredients you mean to look into. 

There are ten promising candidates. 

You wonder idly how long it’ll take to learn which herbs hold the secrets you’re searching for. Days? Weeks? Months?

Ugh.

There isn’t much more you can do without books on the subject, so you carefully fold the recipe and secure it in your bag along with your newly created list before traveling on foot across town to Zishi Library.

***

The sky is turning a ripe purple with the setting sun as you arrive, and a cool night breeze rustles the trees along the road. 

It makes you feel cozy inside, stepping out of the darkening Liyue streets and into a warmly-lit building full of books. 

You spot a woman standing in the back, arms crossed thoughtfully as she inspects an array of books with unwavering concentration.

She is Rey Zhen, owner of the library, and a kind soul who you happen to know quite well.

She knew your mother since before you were born and they’d been good friends, so she treats you like a niece. Now that your mother is gone, and you live alone, she’s a welcome comfort you come to for all sorts of help. 

Your chest throbs painfully as the memories flood back.

Now is not the time, you remind yourself, taking a shaky breath and forcing a smile over the clumping emotions that are threatening to burst like a bubble. It quickly becomes genuine when Rey — looking delighted — notices you and returns the gesture, moving forward to greet you.

“Ahhh, hello my dear, what brings you to the library today? Research for a new recipe?” she asks, pulling you in for a quick hug.

“Research on an old one, actually,” you correct her, setting your belongings at a table when she finally releases you, and swiftly beginning to trail along the bookshelves. 

You’re determined to find all the information you can in this library, and if nothing seems to be of use, you suppose you’ll be ordering books from Liyue’s bookstore, or even Mondstadt, very soon.

“I see,” she says, giving a small laugh. “Let me know if you need any help.” You shoot her a grateful look and refocus your attention upon the shelves, pulling out several books on herbs.

***

Nothing. 

You’ve found absolutely nothing. 

All the books you thought might yield something useful are just guides on where to find the ingredient, how to harvest them, their general uses; you’re at a dead end. 

You slump against one of the library’s padded chairs in defeat. 

“Rey?” you call, sitting up with a sigh.

“Yes, dear?” She peers at you from behind a stack of books and then steps around them to make her way to your table.

“I can’t seem to find any of the information I’m looking for,” you admit, gesturing toward a pile of the five or six books that you’ve spent the past few hours searching through. “I was hoping you’d have more books on this sort of stuff, but if not, I’ll have to place some orders.”

She hums, quickly shifting through your pile to glance at the titles, then shakes her head apologetically.

“I’m sorry, honey, this is all we’ve got on herbs. I can give you a list that might be helpful when you’re placing orders, but there’s not much else I can do,” she says, patting your shoulder comfortingly. 

Damn.

Books were expensive. 

Goodbye hard-earned Mora, it was nice knowing you, you think sardonically.

“Thanks, that would be really nice,” you respond, giving her a weak smile.

Your day ends with no real progress, but you’re exhausted. Once you finally make it home, your brain steeps in an endless pool of thoughts as you slip into a well deserved sleep.

 

***

The man comes back the next day. You make eye contact with him as he walks through the door, and are rather unsuccessful in hiding your triumph at his return. 

He orders the same thing as before; earl gray tea with an additional teabag. 

Again and again, day after day he appears, and you serve him tea. It becomes a part of your routine during the uneventful spring months that you look forward to. 

Through the days of shared laughs and tidbits of conversation, you learn his name.

Zhongli. 

Somehow, it fits him perfectly. 

Surprisingly, you haven’t had time to worry about the confidence factor as your interactions continue; talking to him is becoming easier than it looks.

Well, talking as acquaintances. Anything more than simple conversation is well out of your comfort zone for now.

As for the situation with your recipe, it’s during the end of your work days — when you have time to yourself — that you research herbs as much as you can. It’s a process, but you’re patient, attempting to narrow down the suspects until you have a singular guess. You’ve ordered books from the city bookstore and are awaiting some from Mondstadt as well.

This particular day you’re trying your best to peer through the front windows of the shop in order to get a good view of the street, and possibly catch sight of Zhongli before he even enters the store. Sure enough, you’re quick to spot his regal attire as he makes his way down the road. 

Success.

Upon his entrance and whilst already beginning to prepare his tea you call,

“The usual?”

“Yes, thank you.” His words resound flatly and his voice is devoid of its usual easy flow. 

Odd.

You risk a glance at his face as you pour hot water into a cup. 

His mouth is set in a firm frown, and his eyes look darker and harsher than you’ve ever seen them before; you can see that he’s troubled by something.

A little wary of his obvious mood, you hand him his tea instead of bringing it to him. He’s voiced in previous visits that he enjoys watching you work, and you can’t lie that you’re flattered. It’s easy for you to discern his forced smile from a real one as he takes the tea from your hands and moves to the table by the window.

Before your brain can catch up with your instincts, you blurt “Are you ok?” and Zhongli pauses.

He turns on his heel.

The aura he’s giving off makes you almost afraid that he’ll be glaring when he faces you. Instead, his expression has softened into something you’re accustomed to seeing. 

He seems welcoming, kind, happy even…

But when you look closer, the iciness portrayed in his dispassionate eyes is shocking.

He radiates cold emptiness; even his expression offers a blank sort of apathy, and no matter how much he smiles at you, you feel as though his true emotions will remain clearly displayed.

“I’m fine,” he says, an audible breath leaving his mouth with the words. It seems more as if he’s reassuring himself rather than reassuring you.

A moment later he’s sipping his tea and you’re standing behind your counter wondering why the hell this man is so full of mysteries.

Chapter 3: A cup of comfort

Summary:

When Zhongli appears ill at ease on the second day in a row, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

Notes:

Updates will (hopefully) continue to be fast as we get the story going, but may slow gradually as my exams approach. Never fear, though. I’ll do my best to keep the chapters coming. Speaking of chapters, thank you to all those reading, and here’s chapter three!

Doing research is decidedly awful.

Most days after finishing work, you spend your afternoons going through the fruitless motions of flipping through new herb books for information in your apartment or at the library.

Well, fruitless is a bit of an overstatement. In reality, you’ve narrowed down the list to only three herbs: sweet flower roots, lotus petal leaves, and glaze lily extract. 

It’s funny really; they’re all flowers. 

And only one of them is exactly what you’re looking for.

Your eyes burn with fatigue as you push several strands of hair from your face; it’s long past midnight and you’ve been engrossed in the books from Mondstadt for hours.

Reaching up to massage your eyes, you fight back a massive yawn. Though it’s probably time to turn in for the night, you can’t help being disappointed with your findings — or what you haven’t found, really.

Mondstadt’s collection of books is supposed to be one of the best in all the nations, being run by one of the top members of The Knights of Favonias, so why is there such a scarcity of information in them? 

You’re already on the last book but there’s just nothing. 

It’s infuriating and exhausting at the same time. 

Are the money, and time, and resources you’re spending going to waste? Is there something you’re missing, or are you looking in the wrong place?

You groan, fisting your desk in stifled frustration.

It’s too late for anymore fretting. Sleep calls to you with a voice too sweet to resist, and quite frankly, the mere thought of thinking is beginning to hurt.

You barely manage to slip on your bed clothes before passing out in a heap of covers, but that’s pretty much expected; your bones and muscles ache like you haven’t slept for days.

As you drift off, you can’t help but think of Zhongli. His calming voice, his gentle smile, all tied together in a flourish by his wise demeanor — he’s such an intriguing person. An intriguing person who has perhaps a mysterious secret or two…and you’ve always loved solving mysteries.

You succumb to sleep with a ghost of a smile on your lips.

***

Morning comes much sooner than you would like. 

You spend a good ten minutes working up the resolve to drag your body out of bed, and even longer to force yourself to leave your apartment. 

At the tea shop you wait — half asleep and effectively wiped from the previous night — for Zhongli to waltz in and provide you with some sort of engagement.

He does enter at his usual time, but it isn’t exactly a waltz. 

You fight back a frown when you notice that he seems to be sporting the same demeanor as yesterday. 

One day is strange enough. 

But two…

You’re beginning to get worried. 

He usually has a calm, collected air about him, so something has to have set him off. 

But what? 

It’s a new puzzle you have no idea how to solve. 

You’re also in the process of trying to sort out one curious phenomenon of his creation, and don’t need another.

“The usual, please,” he mutters once he’s reached the counter, forking over 200 Mora and heading to his regular table without a second thought.

You put together his tea, occasionally glancing over at him. 

His eyes are closed tightly and his head is cradled in his hands; every time you check he hasn’t changed positions. You half wonder if he’s gone and fallen asleep. 

Your thoughts continue to drift as you work, but you can come up with no reason why he would be so bothered.

Is it an external stressor?

Internal turmoil?

He seems so resilient and intelligent, but he is human.

Yes, you remind yourself, he’s human. 

When you finish with his tea, you slowly walk to his table, carefully placing it beside his slumped form and turning to retreat back to the front counter.

But…

You hesitate.

He said he was fine yesterday, but right now…

Right now he’s clearly not.  

Maybe whatever he’s dealing with has changed or gotten worse? Should you ask?

No, stop. Stop prying. 

Walk away, walk away, walk away.

This isn’t your place to interfere. You have to keep moving.

Move your feet. 

Move them.

But maybe you could help—

Leave him be, your thoughts scream. Walk away. You don’t know what he’s going through. 

But maybe you could know. You would know if you asked. 

If he’d tell you.

But he won’t tell you. You’ve known him for what, a month? Why would he trust you?

Right.

What in the world are you thinking? That a random man who you’re just barely acquainted with and who you don’t even genuinely know would pour out his heart to you? That he would confide in you?

What kind of an idiot are you?

A big one, apparently.

Having made up your mind, you begin to move away, escaping a situation you can’t do anything for.

Just get back to the counter. Just get back to the counter, and then you can—

“Where are you going?”

Zhongli has spoken, his voice weary but as low as ever. 

You freeze.

Crap.

Now you’ll have to talk to him, and it’ll seem impolite if you don’t answer his question.

Ask, ask, ask, your mind chants. Ask what’s wrong. 

Ask.

You turn to face him. 

Ask.

He looks worn out, exhausted beyond belief.

Ask.

The words spill from your mouth so suddenly even you’re surprised, if only for a moment.

“I was going back to the counter, but thought I should ask what was wrong because you looked—” you struggle for a second— “well, you looked troubled. I ultimately decided against asking, because who am I to bother, but you’ve essentially requested that I don’t leave.” His eyes widen at your words, but if anything it spurs you on. “Yesterday I asked if you were ok, and you said you were fine, but that’s clearly not the case considering your current state — no offense.”

“None taken,” he breathes, the first you’ve heard him speak after your little speech. You’re beginning to find the shocked face he’s making immensely satisfying. 

“Even if we’re just casual friends… I still care about all of my customers,” you say, attempting reassurance.

There’s that confidence! That’s what I’m talking about!

“So what’s wrong, really?” You watch as his eyes shift away from yours and down to the table.

You should probably make that sound less demanding.

“I mean only if you want to tell me, don’t feel obligated—”

“I’ve been struggling with…bad memories.”

Your mouth drops open unprompted as you process his words. 

You’d expected him to ignore you, finally shoo you away, maybe even yell something obscene, but this, this isn’t like anything you’d imagined.

“Bad memories?” you parrot. 

He nods, leaning his elbow on the table and his palm against his forehead. 

The fact that all of a sudden he’s acting so vulnerable around you, so unlike his usual collected self, is baffling. 

You would have never imagined he would answer such a personal question, especially from some random tea shop employee, which in fact, you’re not, as you own the shop, but from his point of view…

“They’re nothing short of a curse,” he chuckles grimly, and you have a feeling he isn’t exaggerating in the slightest. “Even as the scenes I picture in my head fade into hazy images, the emotions that accompany them never completely disappear.” His hand slides from his face to the table with a muffled thud, and you try not to gasp when you catch sight of his eyes after they’ve been hidden beneath his splayed fingers.

They’re cold, icy cold, infused with contempt and sheer pain, but he isn’t looking at you.

No.

Instead he’s glaring at his hands like they’ve done something awful, like they’ve strangled someone without him wanting them to.

“They haunt you, torture your thoughts until you blame the twisted threads of fate on your own mistakes. They stoke at your resolve until a web of lies fills your head like a fog, and every affirmation is a desperate attempt at saving the little confidence you have left. They taunt and tease and jeer until you feel as if your mind isn’t your own anymore, and all you wish is to be free, if only for a moment.” His words have dwindled to nearly a whisper, but it isn’t difficult to hear him in the empty tea shop. 

“I- I’m sorry, that sounds awful. I can…sympathize a little, but don’t take it the wrong way—, I’m not trying to compare my experiences with your own. That would be unbelievably insensitive,” you say, softening your voice. 

There had been a time when you’d felt the same way that he seems to be right now— after your mother’s untimely and tragic death.

You can remember the day like it was yesterday.

Notes:

oooh here comes the trauma train

Chapter 4: A day to remember, or to forget

Summary:

You’re sure to keep a healthy supply of earl gray tea in your apartment, specifically for when the nightmares of your past rear their ugly heads.

Notes:

Heyyy guys, hope you’re doing well! It’s time for the traumatic backstory nobody asked for.

Thanks for reading and enjoy!

TW: violence, gore, death

The bell let out a startling ring as a seven year old radiating the same energy as an over-caffeinated kangaroo burst through the door. Her face lit up with excitement as soon as she saw her mother, the woman behind the shop counter.

“Mommy! Miss Rey said you were back so I ran as fast as I could! How was your adventure? Did you bring anything back? Were there any super strong plants you had to fight like last time?”

The woman chuckled, her eyes crinkling in a smile as she stepped out from behind the counter. “No, not this time dear. I just got called in to take care of some monsters stirring up trouble outside Wangshu Inn.” She opened her arms and the young girl dashed forward to throw herself into them.

“I’m so glad you’re back mommy,” the child sighed. She buried her face into her mother’s tea apron, inhaling the wonderful scents of herbs that lingered on the fabric. It was a familiar comfort that she would never forget; the memories associated with the smell of tea were so sweet, so calming, such a beautiful release of her worries.

“I’m glad to be back.”

Mother and daughter stood for what seemed like hours, wrapped in each other’s warm embrace.

When they finally broke apart, the mother gently grasped the girl’s hands in her own calloused ones. Rough and battle worn from her years of fighting and adventuring, they remained a constant reminder of the job she had taken on to support their family of two, a testimony to the strength she had shown when her husband had left them. None of her past struggles seemed to matter when she was with her daughter. All the sacrifices, all the tears, every wound she’d endured, it was all worth it.

All of it.

Crouching down so she was at eye level, the woman leaned forward to press a feather-soft kiss on the child’s nose, eliciting a giggle, before she spoke.

“Dearest, I have the perfect plan for today.”

The girl’s expression fell ever so slightly. “Is it more training?”

The woman shook her head, disentangling their fingers so she could rest her hands on the girl’s shoulders. “Not today.” The child perked up again. She tilted her head curiously, waiting for an explanation. “I thought that we might go on our own adventure together.”

The words worked like magic.

The mother watched in amusement as her daughter’s eyes widened, mouth dropping open with a squeal. It was a rare occasion that mother and daughter went out on an adventure together, usually as a result of the mother’s hectic schedule and her tendency to be absent for weeks on end. The opportunity presented itself maybe once a month? Even less frequently? It didn’t matter to the girl. It was happening today!

She waved her arms about excitedly for a minute before reaching forward to tug on the hems of her mother’s sleeves. 

“Let’s go now, let’s go!” she pleaded. “Are we bringing anything? Ooh, I know, let’s have a picnic!” The mother stilled her hands, smiling calmly in the face of impatience.

“Settle down, dear, we’ll leave as soon as possible. And a picnic sounds like a wonderful idea. Would you like to help me pack some things to eat?” she asked.

Her daughter nodded vigorously, failing miserably at containing her building anticipation.

***

Twenty minutes later the two were leaving Liyue, their hands intertwined and a bounce in the younger’s step. A basket was clutched in her free hand, and she ceased swinging it only after her mother insisted she mustn’t for fear of spilling the tea or crumbling the pastries inside.

Her mother, who had a unique spear strapped to her back, watched over her daughter with adoration as they navigated the streets out of town.

They headed north in the direction of the Guili Plains, an area the girl had never visited before. She’d only ever frolicked in the breezy fields just outside of Liyue where sweet flowers flourished and she could lay in the tall grass for hours with her mother, munching on limitless snacks. Those had been the extent of their adventures until now. It was part of the reason that this was such an exciting experience for her. 

And so it came as a massive shock when three mitachurls and seven hilichurls appeared out of nowhere, flaunting their axes and shields, their bows and torches, and snarling menacingly.

Of course they had attacked.

Her mother had sprung in front of her, deftly blocking one of the mitachurls’ destructive swings before it was given the chance to graze her with even a gust of wind. The woman stumbled backward with the effort of halting the trajectory of such a brutal hunk of metal. The monster let out an indignant howl and withdrew, dragging its axe along the dirt in a hasty retreat. It was already preparing for another advance by the time she’d recovered.

The child watched in horror from behind her mother as the monsters shrieked and threw themselves forward. They swung their weapons with a merciless intensity that was absolutely terrifying.

She wanted to help, oh how desperately she wanted to, but she was frozen. Her limbs seemed to be as stiff as a board, seized with fear as much as her mind was.

All she could do was watch.

Watch as her mother thrust her spear into one of the hilichurls with a sickening SHUK that echoed in her ears. Watch as it let out an animalistic shriek and a fountain of blood spurted from its chest, spraying across the grass. Watch as the hilichurl’s lifeless body hit the ground with a hollow thud, and her mother turned back to the rest, ready to fight, already raising her spear.

But at the same time, at the same time she wished to close her eyes, to tear them away from the lolling heads and blank eyes of the fallen monsters, for this was too much, all of this was too much.

And yet she watched.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion, the deaths, the graceful agility of her mother as she fought. One mitachurl fell, then the next, followed by five of the hilichurls. They each came to a swift end. Soon, the ground was littered with corpses.

The girl had no trouble identifying the emotions flitting across her mother’s face as the woman turned around. 

She looked proud, concerned, satisfied. The child felt a rush of relief. Was it over? 

Her mother smiled. 

It was over. 

She could breathe again, she could move.

The fear passed like a fleeting illness, leaving only its memory behind. The girl lifted her eyes to meet her mother’s warm ones.

A bone-chilling roar pierced the silence.

The soft expression adorning her mother’s features contorted into shock, into fear. 

The girl’s blood ran cold in her veins. 

One of the mitachurls hadn’t been slain. It was alive, and it was behind her. Her lungs felt as if they were clenched in someone’s fists again, her legs melted into lead, and her stomach churned with fear.

What could she do but cower and wait for the painful death that was sure to come?

And yet her mother was there, as she always had been, leaping forward to shield her daughter’s body with her own.

It was ok.

She was safe.

She was—

The girl turned around.

Her heart caught in her throat.

She watched, horrified, as the remaining mitachurl’s axe connected with her mother’s side, tossing her across the field like a rag doll. The woman slammed into a jutted boulder a few feet to the side of the dirt road with a sickening crunch and slid to the ground, unmoving. 

A shrill scream shattered the air like it was glass. It took the girl a moment to realize it had come from her own mouth, but that was far from important.

She stared at the body crumpled on the ground, eyes as wide as saucers and legs shaking as she tried to force herself to her feet.

All she could think was that the only person she truly loved, the single person she couldn’t bear to lose, was lying motionless in the dirt.

A primal scream radiated from the mitachurl. 

Its axe was drenched in the woman’s blood, the earth beneath its feet saturated with remains of the battle. Pools of fluid from the dead monsters collected in the divots riddling the dirt road, a gruesome display of the violence that had produced it. A mangled heart floated in one puddle, purple and flayed.

The child’s hands shook and she weakly scrambled backwards — or attempted to — as rough rocks and dirt tore at her bare legs. 

The mitachurl, having rid the playing field of its only competition, stomped after her. Its bloodthirsty eyes glistened as it lifted its axe to deliver a single, deadly blow.

CLANG!

Her mother stood, spear clutched in both hands above her head as she barely held off the mitachurl’s axe. It growled and bore down harder, but the woman grit her teeth and kept her weapon steady.

The girl stared. Her eyes trailed to the quickly spreading stain at her mother’s hip. It was a dark red, crawling across the fabric of her skirt at an alarming rate.

Though she was only seven, the child knew without a doubt exactly what it was. 

Blood.

Blood, the essence of life, of which could pour from open wounds.

Blood, the telltale sign that someone was injured, that someone was dying.

Blood.

The word pounded in the girl’s head, dark, cold, and condemning.

The ground’s rough stones were still digging into her thighs, but she didn’t bother standing up.

Blood.

The mother let out a ragged yell and shoved the mitachurl backward, her muscles straining with fatigue.

Blood.

She sidestepped a clunky swing from the monster and hurled her spear into the mitachurl’s body.

Blood.

It collapsed, murky liquid spurting from the fatal injury. The woman watched its dying body convulse on the ground before sliding her spear out and turning around…

Blood.

All over the front of her adventurer’s outfit.

On her face.

On her spear.

In her hair.

 

Drip,

 

drip,

 

drip.

 

Clang.

 

Thump.

 

“MOTHER!”

The girl was crawling forward, her knees scraped and bleeding now, her voice wavering as she called out to the woman slumped just feet away from her.

Beside her now, tears flooding her vision, she didn’t know what to do.

Her mother groaned.

“(Y/n)…”

“Mother!” the girl sobbed, her words cracking with hysteria. “You’re bleeding, what do I do?! Please, tell me what to-“

“Hush, dear…listen to me.”

Her daughter complied, thankful for the familiar reassurance of the words, ready to be instructed on what she should do next—

“I love you so much, sweetheart.”

“I love you too, Mommy.”

“You’re so brave…” the mother breathed, a small smile breaking across her weary face.

The girl shook her head.

“No, you are.” She leaned forward restlessly, eyes darting over a steadily spreading bloodstain. “M-Mommy, how do I help you?”

“You don’t need to…help me, honey.”

“Why not?”

“I’m going to…sleep.”

“For how long, Mommy?” the girl whispered.

“Just…a little…while.”

“How long is a little while?”

 

Silence.

 

“Mommy?”

 

Nothing.

 

“Mother?”

 

Not.

A.

Sound.

Notes:

yikes

Chapter 5: What is set in stone

Summary:

Your wounds are always healing, but his seem yet to close.

Notes:

I’m literally so so sorry, this chapter is UNBELIEVABLY short, but I promise they’ll get longer in the future. Like, pinky swear.

“(Y/n).”

“Hm?”

“You’re crying.”

You suck in a shocked breath and reach up to touch your cheeks. He’s right. Several tears are sliding down your face, hot and unwelcome against your skin.

“I-I’m sorry,” you say, trying to laugh it off as you use your sleeve to wipe away the salty liquid.

“It’s nothing to be sorry for. Emotions are natural.”

You give him a grateful — but watery — smile.

“I know, they’re just…bothersome at times.”

A surprisingly pleasant silence ensues as you dab away the rest of your tears.

“You were right,” you say.

“Pardon?”

“You were right about memories. They’re…” you pause, searching for the proper way to describe them. “They can be disagreeable.”

He smiles somberly.

“I suppose that’s one way to put it.”

You gaze at him, eyes dull and head bowed, his hands lain limp on the table and his shoulders slumped. No longer does his presence glow like a comforting blaze; it seems as if his fire has been extinguished, perhaps sapped of its will to burn, drenched or smothered, starved of the oxygen it needs to survive…

“Is there…anything I can do?”

He looks up at you, and with a tangible sadness that taints even the simplest of his mannerisms, smiles ruefully. Then, with a wayward glance at the cup of tea steaming on the table in front of him, he speaks.

“I believe you’ve already been of great assistance to me.”

You? Great assistance?

“Uh- I think you might be referencing the wrong person—”

“I’m referencing exactly the right person,” he affirms, a little bit of amusement leaking into his voice.

“How so? I mean, how have I been of great assistance?” you ask, flourishing your arms to emphasize the last two words of your sentence and counting it as a win when Zhongli chuckles softly at your antics.

That’s good, that he’s laughing.

It means that perhaps his focus has been redirected away from the memories that torment him. Or it means that he’s attempting to make light of the situation despite his suffering. You sincerely hope it’s of the former.

“With your tea, of course,” he says, sounding as if it’s an obvious fact that need not be stated aloud.

The realization sets in.

He uses your tea to cope, to bury the bad memories and clear his mind for a moment of fleeting but blissful peace. It makes you wonder how awful those memories truly are in order for him to go to such great lengths. 

What has he gone through, really?

You add it to the list of questions you don’t dare to ask, at least for now.

“Ah, yes, my elegantly brewed, delightfully perfect, and scrumptiously flavored earl grey tea that you seem to absolutely adore, if your usual order for the past month doesn’t deceive your preferences,” you exclaim with a growing grin.

“What accurate descriptions,” Zhongli replies. His demeanor is slowly warming up, his whirl-pooling mind gradually petering to a halt, but you already know this isn’t a permanent fix.

He’ll go back, back to that dark place that houses whatever nightmarish hell it is that he’s experienced, back down the unwanted section of memory lane, back to the cold eyes and thin lips that betray his misery…

You know.

When your mother had passed and Rey had taken you in, nightmares quickly took hold of your sleep. You’d often awoke screaming and covered in a cold sweat, covers bunched around your shivering body. Rey had always been there to calm you down, but there was never something she could do that would banish the nightmares for good. She’d held you in her arms, sung soft lullabies and jubilant tunes, told stories of gods and monsters to distract you, and though they became increasingly infrequent, to this day your nightmares remain an undeniable part of your life.

If it’s bad for you, it must be ten times worse for Zhongli.

You laugh softly, trying to keep the mood light. “I’m glad my tea’s been of help to you,” you begin, unable and unwilling to fight the smile adorning your lips. “Please continue to visit the shop as often as you can — I really do appreciate any form of company.”

“I’m certain I will,” he assures you. “The presence of another is always something to cherish.”

A silence settles briefly, neither awkward nor dismal. It brims with unspoken words and dampened emotions.

You had asked, and he had delivered, and now it was time to get back to work—

But really…

“Are you positive there’s nothing else I can do to help?”

Zhongli offers a weary smile. “I’m afraid not. Time cannot be reversed, and the events that have passed are set in stone.” He chuckles, the sound barely audible and soft with exhaustion. “Of course, if you are or become able to manipulate time, please let me know.”

His attempt at humor makes you crack another smile, albeit a small one. 

He’s alright, for now. 

But when whatever’s plaguing him inevitably returns, paralyzing and fear inducing, itching to overtake his mind and infect his thoughts, you promise yourself you’ll be there for him in any way you can.

Notes:

that was sweet

our very first side character makes his appearance next chapter…

Chapter 6: A bookworm’s dream

Summary:

A well-versed boy in blue comes to your rescue.

Notes:

Aaannd we’re back with another chapter! (This one’s definitely longer than the last one but not long enough in my opinion.)

Anyways, I hope you enjoy it, and thanks so much for sticking with this story! I appreciate you! <3

The library feels as welcoming as always when you arrive. It’s cozy and fairly under-crowded, with the barest hint of the setting sun’s light casting rays through its windows. You find a table to settle at and collect your thoughts. 

The day has been quite…eventful? All you’ve really done is talk to Zhongli, as not one other customer had stopped by, but it feels like so many things happened within your brief conversation.

His memories, your memories, crying and laughing—

Tea research.

Right.

You’d left off with three things to investigate further: sweet flower roots, lotus petal leaves, and glaze lily extract…

…and no idea how the hell to actually figure out which is capable of clearing one’s mind.

You let your head fall noisily to the tabletop.

Giving up? Currently an option. A very attractive one, too.

Hey, at least the table’s nice and cool—

“I didn’t know the library’s tables were so appealing.”

You shoot up in your chair, posture straightening as you hurriedly push some hair out of your eyes.

Beside your library table stands a boy, perhaps sixteen or seventeen years of age, ruffled sleeves crossed judgmentally across his chest. He wears an unique dark blue cape-like outfit that’s cut at an angle below the line of his shorts, and paired with white, high-calf boots. And if his clothing choices aren’t strange enough, his choppy cerulean hair is something else entirely. It almost appears as though someone’s taken scissors to everything except his bangs and left a few longer strands to hang around.

“Uh…no. The tables really aren’t that great,” you inform him, feeling quite embarrassed, as anyone caught practically kissing a table would be.

“I see. You seemed so engrossed that I assumed…”

“Well, you assumed wrong,” you say flatly.

“I suppose so, my liege.”

“My…liege?”

The boy waves his hand dismissively.

“I am a man of literature, a book connoisseur if you will, so it is only natural that my vocabulary and diction reflect that, is it not? A liege refers to a lord or a king, and I make a point to address almost everyone as such, in order to—”

“A book connoisseur?” you ask, hopeful, as the immediate question of whether or not he could be of any help in your investigation pops into your mind.

Yes, you’re desperate. Who wouldn’t be in your situation?

“Yes!” he chirps, clutching a dramatic hand to the left side of his chest as he continues to speak passionately. “A lover of the written word, a bookworm, a novelist—”

“Can you help me research something?”

He pauses, looking a little put off by your interruption.

“How exactly do you mean?”

“By helping me find information in books about some herbs that I’m researching,” you respond.

“What’s in it for me?” he asks, squinting at you from beneath narrowed brows.

“Uh…free tea coupons…?”

That earns you a glare.

“Tea coupons simply won’t do. Instead, I propose that you buy me a book in exchange for my services,” he suggests.

Now it’s your turn to look offended.

“What do you mean they ‘simply won’t do?’” you ask, a bit insulted. “Tea coupons are wonderful!”

It’s one thing to decide not to buy tea, but honestly, what does he have against it that makes him reject free coupons?

The boy sighs, sensing your distress. “It’s not that tea is an ill-tasting drink or anything, it’s just that I’m more often reading about it than drinking it.”

“Fair enough,” you relent. “I’ll buy you a book if you’ll help me out.”

“Sounds like a deal!” he exclaims, clapping his hands elatedly.

“Alright, alright, c’mere so I can explain to you what we’re looking for.”

“Certainly, my liege.”

“Just call me (Y/n),” you say, smiling lightly when he grins and sweeps his arm to the side, lowering his head in an elegant bow.

“‘Tis a pleasure to meet you, (Y/n),” he murmurs.

“The pleasure is all mine,….?”

“Xingqiu.”

“Xingqiu.”

***

Xingqiu turns out to be just the help you’re looking for. He takes one look at your little list, shuffles through a few of the books you’ve lain out on the table, and explains in that eloquent way of his why your mystery ingredient can’t be sweet flower roots or lotus petal leaves. 

All that’s left behind are…

“Glaze lilies.”

“Yes.”

You hum, flipping back a page to a detailed diagram of the flower. “Any idea how someone could bypass these effects?”

“The mind clearing ones?” he asks, turning to focus on you, who’s intently studying the book with complete seriousness and still trying to make sense of half of the words being used.

“Mhm,” you affirm.

“None.” He shrugs when you tear your gaze from the pages so you can look at him, then continues. “I mean, I don’t know of any ways. But now you know which herb produces those effects, and that’s what you wanted to figure out, correct?”

“Yeah…” you trail off, then gain your bearings. “Yeah, you’re right.”

You haven’t mentioned the other question you have to answer, but this is more than enough progress for today. You are halfway there, after all. And though Xingqiu doesn’t know what the second half of your research will be about and you don’t plan on telling him, he’s the only reason you’ve gotten this far.

In short, he deserves that book you promised him.

“So—”

“Yes Xingqiu, we’re finished,” you sigh. It should be noted that this is the fifth or sixth time he’s inquired about the exact same thing. “And I suppose I’ll be getting you a book now.”

“Thank you my le- (Y/n)! I will cherish it forever!”

“I doubt that.”

“You doubt my sincerity?”

“No, just that you’ll live that long,” you quip sarcastically. He doesn’t seem to take it the wrong way at all. In fact, he strikes a dynamic pose, arm lifted towards the roof of the library, and responds with,

“Well, obviously not. I’m but a mortal, life finite, body continuously aging, and yet my words- my words shall endure for lifetimes after my passing, a constant reminder of who I once was—”

“Xingqiu,” you interrupt. He stops rambling, but doesn’t move. You must admit that it’s quite a humorous sight, a strangely dressed boy with strange hair standing in a strange pose, saying the strangest things in a library.

“Yes?”

“What book would you like?”

He thinks for a moment, then seems to have an idea, his eyes brightening like a lightbulb. “I’ve been meaning to buy Volume Eight of Vera’s Melancholy for a while now.”

“Vera’s Melancholy it is,” you say, swiftly closing the book before you on the table and slipping it under your arm so you can check it out; afterwards the two of you make your way back downtown to Wanwen Bookhouse, a reliable little bookshop that you hope will have his book in stock.

It’s nearing the end of the day when you arrive, customers naturally beginning to dwindle, so the two of you are met with the meager remains of a line.

“(Y/n)! Xingqiu! What brings you here this late in the afternoon?”

“Greetings, Jifang,” Xingqiu begins, offering a slight bow as he speaks, “we’ve come to purchase the eighth volume of Vera’s Melancholy, assuming you carry it?”

Jifang smiles brightly, responding excitedly. “As a matter of fact, we do, and we’ve all but sold out! Would you like the last copy?”

“Absolutely!” Xingqiu declares, clasping his hands together. By the gleam in his eye and the child-like eagerness of his expression, you can conclude that he’s itching to get his hands on the book.

“Perfect! That’ll be ten thousand mora please.”

The words crash over you like a bucket of icy water, minus the shivering. Instead, you feel warm all over, your chest reaching a dangerously high temperature as you struggle to process a single sentence.

Ten. Thousand?!

Did you mishear her? Or did she just say that a single volume was being sold to you for ten thousand mora?

“Ten thousand?” you squeak, voice echoing your scrambled thoughts.

“Yes, after all, this book is of limited edition, and part of a very popular series.”

You immediately turn your gaze on Xingqiu, who seems to be trying his darndest at convincing puppy eyes. It isn’t working. Determined, he resorts to begging.

“Please (Y/n), it’s worth the mora, I promise! ‘Tis a tale of a young girl experiencing adventure for the first time- enticing and fanciful, a beautifully written work of literature -and one cannot express—”

“Fine.”

He stops, open-mouthed, to stare at you. “Really?”

You dig through your purse, solemnly collecting a handful of gleaming coins and setting them on the counter in front of Jifang. 

Ten thousand mora is a lot, but it won’t make you go flat broke. It’s true that you’re currently struggling for business, but as long as you have Zhongli — your regularly paying customer who may or may not have deep pockets based on his attire — well, you think you’ll survive splurging on a book. Maybe.

“Yes, really,” you sigh, “but never again.”

Xingqiu nods violently in response. He looks like someone who’s just found out that they’ve won ten thousand mora rather than spent it on a singular book, but you don’t want to spoil his happiness with a lengthy scolding.

Once the book is safely in his hands and your mora in Jifang’s cash box, the two of you exit the bookshop just as the sun breaks the horizon. A wondrous sunset is painted across the sky, splattered like watercolors on a canvas, smeared and splashed, vibrant in some places and faded in others. You don’t try to stop the gasp that slips past your lips.

“It’s…beautiful,” you breathe.

“Not as beautiful as Vera’s Melancholy.”

“Not as expensive either.”

Xingqiu scratches the nape of his neck, looking sheepish. “Apologies for that,” he mutters.

You decide to let it go, maybe because you’re a bit too nice, but really, it’s just one time. “I was just repaying your help, don’t mention it,” you say, waving him off.

The two of you split ways, him off to his residence, and you to your apartment.

As you make your way through the darkening streets of Liyue, hands wrapped comfortably around your arms, you get the eerie feeling that you’re being watched. 

It’s a subtle inkling that stays with you until you reach your doorway and hurriedly slip inside, soft like the creeping light of the moon on your back.

Nevertheless, you’re safe at home, and it was nothing but a feeling, right?

Wrong.

You, mind full of strategies for your upcoming research, worrying about the ten thousand mora you’ve just spent on a book, fail to notice the tall ginger man — expertly concealed in a shallow alleyway — who’s been observing you from afar.

Notes:

yes, vera’s melancholy is a real, in-game book, and yes, I did look it up.

NOW WHOS READY FOR YA BOI CHILDEEE

Chapter 7: A new friend(?)

Summary:

Who is the man with the mask on his head, whose smile glows bright yet whose eyes are dead?

Notes:

This chapter kinda makes me laugh. Hope you enjoy it!

It turns out that spending ten thousand mora on a book for Xingqiu wasn’t the best idea after all.

Your wallet has taken a hit, and — though recoverable — you think it best to take on another small job in order to keep yourself financially secure. Thankfully, you’ll begin gaining more customers as the summer months come to a close, but at the moment…

Well, at the moment you only have one regular.

The solution? Working on the weekends at Wanmin Restaurant, a quaint little shopfront in downtown Liyue. Your job consists of delivering meals and, more often than not, participating in the ingredient-seeking adventures led by none other than Chef Mao’s over-enthusiastic daughter, Xiangling. Just yesterday she led you on a wild goose chase to acquire a lizard’s tail for her ‘new dish idea.’ Needless to say, you won’t be the first to taste-test.

Unfortunately, the new job has left you with significantly less time on your hands, and research has taken a backseat in the grand scheme of your life. Any spare chance you manage to nab, you dedicate to studying, though said chances are as few and brief as a rain showers in the current summer months.

Today you’re more than content to be back behind the counter of your own shop. In addition to your sore feet — the unfortunate and painful byproduct of racing around Liyue — Zhongli hasn’t shown up yet.

It’s admittedly odd. There’s only an hour left until closing, and even so, he usually drops by at noon.

You can’t help but worry that something has happened.

Yes, it seems silly that you’d jump to such conclusions when he hasn’t shown up to the shop this one time, but…

You’re just…overly concerned or something.

It’s weird.

The hour passes quickly, and by the last five minutes you’re certain he isn’t coming. You’re not angry, just a little disappointed, but you still have to remind yourself that you really shouldn’t be getting your hopes up for everyday appearances; it’s too high of an expectation. Unlike you, the homey, birdbrained, tea-making fool who sits in her empty tea shop waiting for nonexistent customers, you’re sure Zhongli has things to do.

Absent-mindedly, you pack up shop and head out. You’re just locking the door behind you when someone calls your name. It sounds like…

Zhongli?

You turn around so fast you almost fall over. Sure enough, there he stands, strolling closer to talk to you. Something warm and pleasant settles in your stomach.

“Apologies for my inability to step in for tea today. I was occupied with other matters,” he begins, so genuine it’s practically impossible for you to feel disappointed anymore, or be annoyed in the slightest.

“Please, it’s perfectly fine,” you say, and notice for the first time that beside him stands a tall ginger man, all clad in gray and red and black. A strange red mask rests upon his messy orange locks and a hydro vision is fastened to his waist. He glances between the two of you in amusement.

Zhongli seems to realize quite suddenly that you’re unacquainted with his companion, and with a small gesture, beckons him forward a couple of steps. “I suppose I should introduce you to my friend, Childe.” You offer a small smile in an attempt at breaking the ice. “Childe, this is (Y/n).”

Childe, smiling boyishly in return, puts out a gloved hand for you to shake. You do so, feeling at ease, as this is a friend of Zhongli’s. He can’t be all that bad, right?

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he says confidently, voice young and charming.

“And you.” 

No, you decide, this isn’t bad at all. In fact, he seems like an agreeable person.

That is, until you glance up and catch a glimpse of his eyes.

They’re blue, like his vision. Deep like the sea, too. But you can’t shake the feeling of dread, nor that something is so very wrong with this man, because how can somebody’s eyes be so frightfully empty, so lifeless?

There’s no glimmer in his pupils, no hint that he feels any emotion at all. And Archons, it terrifies you. It chills you to the bone, sends sharp knifelike shivers down your spine, makes you want to run. The warmth of his palm against your own is the only thing that promises humanity.

“Girlie,” Childe says, interrupting your panicked analysis of him. “I kinda need my hand back.”

You look down. 

You’re still holding his hand.

Fabulous. Just fabulous. You release him so fast it’s almost as if he’s caught fire.

Childe chuckles. Though you feel inclined to glare, it wouldn’t be much of a success with how red your face is flushing from embarrassment.

Zhongli graciously chooses to ignore the exchange. “Now that the two of you have met, would you like to join us for dinner at Wanmin Restaurant tonight?” he asks, addressing you.

Dinner? With Zhongli? And Childe, you suppose. But who are you to decline? This is the first time you’ve spent time with Zhongli outside of work, and it’s spinning your mind in circles faster than yarn can unravel.

Furthermore, your heart feels as if someone’s just pumped several lightning strikes worth of electricity into it. Not a bad sensation, you’ll admit. But it twists your tongue enough that you stumble over your next words like a bumbling idiot.

“Wh- me?” Zhongli nods, expectant. “Y-yes, yes of course, I would love to attend dinner with the two of you.”

He sighs with relief. “Excellent.”

***

The jade sign above Wanmin glows a welcoming green in the dying light of the sun as your party of three approaches, cool and familiar in your tired eyes. You follow Zhongli to the counter with Childe by your side.

“(Y/n)!” Chef Mao — catching sight of you as you approach — gives a friendly wave in greeting. “It’s good to see you relaxing with friends for a change!” he says with a smile.

You chuckle, feeling a little awkward around your boss. “I’m glad to be relaxing,” you manage to come up with.

An unpleasant silence passes, time ticking slower than ever for a few agonizing seconds. It’s finally broken when Zhongli clears his throat and orders his meal.

“One Jeuyun chili chicken, please.”

Chef Mao is suddenly in professional mode, nodding briskly and jotting the dish down before peering up at you and Childe for your orders.

“Hmmm,” Childe muses, squinting at the menu and scratching his chin thoughtfully. Your mind is made up, but you dare not cut in, for you have a very real fear of this man, and you don’t want to cross him.

“Boiled fish sounds good,” he concludes, and Chef Mao puts that down on his notepad as well.

“And you, (Y/n)?” Mao asks.

“Jade parcels.”

Mao finishes his small list. “Will that be everything?”

The three of you exchange looks and nods.

“Yes,” Zhongli responds.

***

You receive your food in almost record time, steaming and warm, tantalizing aromas tickling your nose enticingly as your little group finds a table near the restaurant. No one has spoken since the orders were announced, but now Childe does.

“I’ve heard so much about you from Zhongli,” he remarks, digging into his meal as soon as you sit down. “I’m curious.”

You almost choke on your first glorious bite of dumpling. “He- what?”

Childe rolls his eyes and waves his chopsticks in mock annoyance. “Honestly, in his eyes, you can do no wrong.”

You turn to Zhongli on your right, as he hasn’t said a word, and sweet archons above, is he blushing? It’s slight, oh, so slight, but there’s a light cherry tint to the flawless pallor of his skin and his eyes are downturned bashfully.

“Well,” you begin shakily, chest tingling and head ringing as violently as wind chimes caught in a tornado, “I own a tea shop-”

“Now that’s the reason he likes you so much,” Childe laughs, and your stomach drops.

“Childe,” Zhongli sighs.

“What? You adore tea—”

“(Y/n)’s kind. She cares about people she doesn’t even know.” The dark haired man leans forward, his amber eyes blazing, their pupils as black as coals. And when he speaks again, it sounds almost accusing. “She shows more humanity than most. Is it so wrong to respect someone for that?”

Childe’s chopsticks are frozen between his fingers. His eyes are fixed coolly on the man across from him, but the tension in the air is tangible, dangerous.

You swallow thickly, wondering why it’s always you who has to break things up. “Guys…?”

“Hah…sorry,” Childe mumbles, shaking his eyes away and refocusing on his food. Zhongli follows suit, yet he turns to you instead; you try to smile reassuringly, but the image of him blushing is still stuck in the forefront of your mind. 

It’s cute. Really cute.

The conversation steers toward less sensitive topics after that. 

You learn that Zhongli works as a consultant at Wangsheng Funeral Parlor and that Childe has three younger siblings. The ginger is just telling you about one of them, Teucer, when you make an offhand comment about your research.

“Research?” Childe inquires, pausing to slurp the remaining broth from his bowl. “On what?”

You don’t exactly know what to say. Zhongli is right there. You can’t tell them that you’re researching him.

“Tea recipes.” It’s technically true, if not the whole story.

“Where are you getting your resources?” Zhongli asks.

“Zishi Library, Wanwen Bookhouse, Mondstadt…a variety of places, really.”

“Why don’t you visit my library?”

His library?

“Pardon?”

“My library, in my office at the funeral parlor,” he reiterates. “Why don’t you try using some of the books there?”

“Wh- I- you’d let me?” you stutter, torn between shock that he’s offering and disbelief that he really owns a library. It’s an office, not an entire building.

He smiles, soft and comforting and warm like the sun. “Of course.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” you say, exhaling in relief. “The amount of money I’ve spent on books is beginning to hurt my pockets.”

“Imagine that,” Childe giggles.

“Books are expensive!” you protest, aiming a punch at his shoulder. He dodges with surprising speed.

“Oh, I know, I’m just loaded.”

“Yeah, right.”

“It’s true!”

“Sure, carrot-top.”

“Hey, that’s mean!” Childe whines, eyes widening in offense. “Zhongli, you said she was nice!”

“You’re the exception,” you say flatly, and Zhongli laughs. 

He laughs. 

And yes, you’ve heard him laugh before, but they were only a fraction, only a piece, because now…

Now he’s truly laughing. 

It’s hoarse, like rocks against rocks, an unusually pleasing sound that makes you want to hold your breath for fear of missing it. His head is bent, and his shoulders shake, and you can’t help but stare in…is it awe? You don’t think so, but the emotion is indecipherable.

You don’t mind brushing it off and laughing along, even as Childe realizes with horror that Zhongli isn’t going to defend him, and his expression slips into a pout.

You’ll remember this moment, you think.

Childe tries to kick Zhongli under the table but misses and violently kicks the sturdy wooden table leg instead. He clutches his aching foot and shoots death glares while you watch smugly.

Yes, you’ll remember it for sure.

Notes:

F in the chat for Childe’s foot

Chapter 8: Who are you?

Summary:

A new theory awaits you in Zhongli’s office.

Notes:

WE FINALLY GET SOME PLOT PROGRESSION IN THIS CHAPTER LETS GOOOO

Wangsheng Funeral Parlor isn’t exactly what you’d expected. The building itself is normal enough, it’s the funeral director who makes quite the first impression.

“Mr. Zhongli!” a young woman exclaims when you walk in, voice sweet like strawberry jam. It doesn’t quite match her gloomy appearance and dark, brownie colored clothing; she looks almost gothic flaunting long, chestnut hair under her black hat. The red plum blossoms atop it shake as she bounces up from behind an empty desk in excitement. If it’s possible, her mood seems to brighten even further when her starry orange eyes lock on you, standing passively beside Zhongli.

“A future customer?” she asks. Her expression is incredulous, hands clasped in disbelief. It’s hard not to focus on the rings decorating her fingers and the startling black of her nails, but her words echo in your mind.

A future customer.

Oh no.

She thinks you’ve come here to buy a coffin and set your affairs in order, doesn’t she?

“On the contrary—” Zhongli tries, but she cuts in, obviously delighted.

“Does she carry an incurable deadly disease that will kill her in a matter of days? Ohhh, what an interesting way to go!”

“Please—”

“What’s the budget? If I’m to prepare a funeral and provide a coffin I must know.”

Zhongli sighs. He looks so unaffected that you have no doubt he’s dealt with this before. “I don’t believe you understand—”

“I’ve been just yearning to bury someone lately—”

“Hu Tao, calm down,” he interrupts, exasperation absent from his voice. The show of patience impresses you. “Let me clarify the situation.” 

She tilts her head in question. “Hm?”

“This isn’t a new customer,” he explains, placing a gloved hand on your shoulder. You can feel the heat of his palm through the layers of fabric, warm and reassuring like candlelight in the dead of night, and for some reason, it makes you giddy.

And then there’s poor Hu Tao, who — upon hearing the news — has deflated significantly. If not for the way she was plotting your funeral moments before, you might feel bad. Might.

“If she isn’t a new customer, then who is she?” Hu Tao inquires, appearing confused. “Not a visitor, I suppose — we rarely get those, what with everyone being so woefully healthy these days.”

“A friend,” Zhongli says without missing a beat, “and I’ll just be working on some research with her in my office.”

Hu Tao’s eyebrows rise suggestively. “Working, you say?”

You can’t help the blush that dusts your cheeks, nor the rapid jolt of your heartbeat against your ribcage; it pounds in your ears too, pulsating and thumping. What’s worse, the atmosphere has become stiflingly awkward in a flash. You can almost feel the embarrassment sifting through the air molecules around you.

“Yes, working,” Zhongli emphasizes, sounding as if he wouldn’t imagine anything different. “I’ll speak to you later, director,” he adds, and she smiles amiably, nods, and plops back into her chair. 

It’s only as Zhongli moves away from you toward a hallway do you realize that his hand — which has been resting on your shoulder — has remained in place since he first set it there. Now it slips away.

“Come along, (Y/n).”

***

The first thing that springs into your mind when you enter Zhongli’s office is how awfully expensive a room of this extravagance must be for the funeral parlor. Honestly, did someone obscenely important die and spend all of their money on a solid gold coffin? You’re at a loss.

Questions aside, the office is gorgeous. It’s far more beautiful than any place you’ve studied in before, with its rich brown walls and the cherry wood flooring gleaming in the window light like waves under a full moon.

The room itself is rectangular, like most rooms are, and though the spaciousness is surprising, you quite like the feel. Somehow, someway, there’s a coziness wrapped around it all.

And what’s more, there are oh so many books.

Books on the bookshelves lining the walls.

Books towering in organized stacks.

Books on the mahogany desk you’ve just spotted in the corner.

So. Many. Books.

Now you understand what Zhongli meant when he said he owned a library; you’re inclined to agree.

“Wow,” you say, breathless.

He chuckles and steps inside, you close on his heels.

“Use anything you need, including me.” He turns to face you. “Is there something you’re looking for in particular?”

You nod, wandering gaze still drinking it all in. “Something really detailed on glaze lilies.”

And because you aren’t watching him closely enough, you miss the shock flit across his face, you miss the way his shoulders stiffen ever so slightly, you miss the dark emotion that flickers in his pupils.

“I see.” He strides to his desk and opens a drawer, pulling out a golden brown book. It feels rough in your hands, worn down and old. You can glimpse the shriveling yellow of the pages without opening it. 

“Let me know if you need anything else,” Zhongli says. “I’ll be back with some tea shortly.” Your eyes follow him until he’s through the doorway and out of sight. Only then do they drift back to the book in your arms. You only wonder for a moment why it was in one of the desk’s main drawers before you’re opening it.

There’s all the usual stuff — where glaze lilies are found naturally, how to harvest and grow the plant; you’re nearly at the end already—

Wait. 

You stop flipping pages.

A little torn on the bottom but as yellowed as the others reads a page titled, “Glaze Lilies’ Effects on Deities and Magical Creatures.”

Deities?

You scan the list, rightfully intrigued. 

Vishaps, Tengus, abyssal monsters…

Just below the description for Onis, something catches your eye.

 

Adepti

Because Adepti are immune to human medicines, glaze lily roots will have no effect on them.

 

Eyes widening, the image of Zhongli drinking your tea pops into the forefront of your mind.

The thing is, it had an effect on him.

A small effect, yes, but an effect nonetheless. If the book is accurate, he shouldn’t have experienced a thing.

Hold on a moment, you think.

Glaze lily extract is what you use in the earl gray tea. It’s a combination of glaze lily petals and glaze lily roots.

Glaze lily roots are medicinal.

Glaze lily petals aren’t.

Is it possible that he’s immune to part of the extract — the roots — but not the other?

And does that mean that Zhongli, the man whose office you’re standing in right now, is an Adeptus?

Notes:

poor Hu Tao, all she’s asking for is someone to bury 😔

Chapter 9: Tea, trust, and truth

Summary:

You are granted the answers you seek.

Notes:

I once again apologize for the short chapter. Sadly, after chapter 11, I’ll be moving to single updates once a week (I’m thinking every Monday). I’ve got some major exams coming up, and school is…school. But I assure you, dear readers, I will never abandon this fic. :)

An Adeptus. 

A guardian of Liyue, bound by contract to protect its people from demons and evil gods. A mighty, long-living being who possesses abilities far beyond your comprehension.

It’s hard to fathom. 

And it means that he’s…not human.

But is it true?

For all you know, you’re reading it wrong, or the book is a hoax, and he’s just special in some other way.

Special! What if that’s all there is to it? What if you’re wrong and he’s simply, undeniably, human?

See this through, you tell yourself. You’ve come this far. Why shouldn’t you deserve a definitive answer, an answer from the man himself?

Yes, you’ll get your answer, you’ll get—

Zhongli strides into the room, carrying a teapot and two matching pale blue teacups on a metal tray.

Well, you suppose you’ll be getting it now.

That is, if you can work up the confidence to ask.

You close the book and try to keep your eyes downcast as Zhongli sets everything on his desk. The trickling pour of steaming hot tea fills your ears, slight and soft and—

Archons, your hands. They’re shaking like leaves.

“Found anything?” His deep voice almost makes you startle, fingers clutching at the book in your grasp. 

You have to get ahold of yourself. Honestly, how can you expect to ask him anything if you’re all out of sorts? He’s the same Zhongli you met a few months ago. The same! There’s nothing to be afraid of.

“Yes, actually.” It comes out airy and forced, and you have to will yourself to just breathe.

He’s walking over.

You swallow hard as he stops short in front of you, and why, why, why is he so close?

Maybe it’s all in your imagination.

You raise your head, struggling to meet his amber eyes; they gleam like honey in the sunlight seeping from the office windows.

“Are you…feeling alright?” he asks, features outlined in concern. “You look a little pale.”

You try to laugh, but it comes out more like a strangled huff. “Y-Yeah, I’m fine,” you say, even as your stomach twists with anxiety.

It’s now or never. 

“I uh, had a question about the book you showed me.”

He nods.

Ask.

“You see, I was wondering if…”

Ask.

“There’s this page—”

Ask!

“I—”

Oh, what the hell.

“Are you an Adeptus?”

There’s a moment of hesitation, a brief sliver of doubt, but he shakes it away.

“Yes.”

***

It’s a lot to take in, but Zhongli does well explaining it.

As a minor Adeptus, he’s only a few hundred years of age and relatively new to their ranks; you’re unsure whether ‘only’ and ‘a few hundred years’ should be included in the same sentence.

And his abilities, well, they’re “quite simple.” Merely manipulating elemental energy for now. He says he hopes to learn more in the near future, with the assistance of the other, more experienced Adepti.

“What do you think?” He questions, sounding troubled. The two of you are currently sitting at his desk sipping lukewarm cups of tea.

“What do I think?” You chuckle, smiling down at the tinted liquid. “I think you’re amazing.”

He looks so shocked you almost burst into laughter. “Really? This doesn’t change anything?”

“Why would it change anything?”

“I suppose it’s because I was keeping an important secret from you,” he says, his tone softer.

“Well, you can’t really go about telling people you’re an Adeptus when you don’t want them to know,” you giggle, basking in his resulting smile. “But I assume you’re aware of that.”

“You assume correctly.” He takes a sip of his tea, making a point to catch your eye. “I must ask, though, how did you figure it out?”

You tap your teacup with a fingernail. “The tea gave it away.”

“When I went to get us tea today?” he inquires, confusion clear in his demeanor.

You shake your head. “No, when you drank my tea. Do you know how long the effects of that earl grey are supposed to last?”

“How long?”

“At least five minutes.”

“Oh.”

You laugh again upon seeing his realization. “Mhm. You barely lasted five seconds.”

“Well, I guess it’s no use trying to hide it from you,” he says, lips upturning gently. For some reason the words send pleasant tingles down your arms, prompting a comfortable warmth to stir in your core.

“How many are aware of your…” You trail off, searching for the right term. “Status?”

“No one but you truly know, though I believe some suspect,” he replies. “The funeral director, Hu Tao— she seems to harbor some suspicions.”

It makes you feel…special, being the only one to know his position as an Adeptus. And it’s silly, but there’s also part of you that hopes he doesn’t tell anyone else.

“Let’s keep this a secret between the two of us, shall we?” he queries.

“Yes, we shall…” you say, meeting his eyes with an easy smile.

“…on one condition.”

Notes:

how are we feeling about this development

Chapter 10: Veins of ichor

Summary:

Zhongli has accepted your condition, and his secret is safe with you. So what exactly is it he must do?

Notes:

Things are getting…interesting. That’s all I can say.

*rubs hands together menacingly like the short gremlin I am*

ENJOY!

It’s pleasantly warm out when your workday draws to a close, the sky swelling a soft blue in the absence of clouds. A cool breeze gently ruffles the tree leaves and sends tremors down their spindly branches, a welcome relief from the heat of the blooming sun.

Speaking of sun, there’s so much natural sunlight streaming in through your windows, you don’t even need to light any of the shop’s lanterns. Instead, the room is well lit, bathing in all the thousand hues of a cozy afternoon.

It’s a lovely day, indeed.

It also wouldn’t hurt to mention how incredibly accomplished you’re feeling at the moment, and for good reason; your tea shop has been gaining significantly more customers. Really, with four of them in the last hour, you’re considering quitting your part time job at Wanmin.

The shop bell tingles, its front door swinging open despite the closed sign; you’ve left it unlocked on purpose.

It’s Zhongli, as expected.

He enters, holding a small bundle in his hands. You’re finding it hard to focus on that though, especially when his soft smile — the one that never fails to mercilessly twist up your insides — is already making butterflies erupt like fireworks in your stomach.

You snap back to reality upon hearing objects clink together inside the bundle, tingling like tiny crystal charms as he moves to the counter and sets it down in front of you. Curious, you watch in interest as he pulls the fabric’s ends apart to reveal several glass containers full of…herbs?

“I brought some ingredients that I doubt you have here,” he says, holding up one with needle-shaped silver leaves inside, “only because they’re very obscure and generally unknown by most tea brewers, even the most experienced.”

“That’s perfect.” You lean in to take a closer look at one of the containers. It has a brown herb inside, but you can’t identify it.

“They were commonly used long ago, some even before I was alive.” He wraps them up in a bundle once more. “Allow me to teach you how to make tea with them. That was our deal, was it not?” he asks, smiling.

“It was.”

It was the single condition to your secret-keeping, that he would teach you how to make an old tea — but really, you and he both know that you would never tell a soul without his permission. Now it’s just an excuse for you to do something with him.

Does he see it that way too? As an excuse? Maybe he sees it as a hindrance. Maybe—

“(Y/n)?” His voice is so close it takes you a moment to realize he’s right next to you behind the counter. When did he get there?

“Oh, yes, sorry- let’s begin.”

Real smooth, (Y/n), reeeal smooth.

But Zhongli seems to be having an internal crisis of his own. “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to…take off my gloves,” he begins eventually, sounding cautious. “It would make the process easier.”

You don’t even register his last sentence because did he just say gloves? The same gloves that you’ve never seen leave his hands?

When you fail to respond he speaks again, hurriedly this time. “If you don’t feel comfortable with that, I’ll keep them on—”

“No.” 

Wait.

“I mean- I meant yes, you can take them off,” you assure him. “I have zero qualms.”

An emotion akin to disbelief adorns his features. “Are you certain?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you say, giving him a kind smile.

Yes, why wouldn’t you be?

You pay careful attention as he reaches for a fingertip of his glove, pinching the fabric, tugging it off with slow precision until it slips—

The air catches in your lungs.

There’s a light thump as he releases the glove, a subtle turn of his head as he looks to you, the slightest shimmer of sunlight dancing across your eyesight, but none of it truly registers. All you can focus on — all you can see — is his hand.

His hand, because it’s glowing.

It’s as if he’s crushed pulsing embers in his fist, but instead of fiery red, a radiant gold spreads from the tips of his fingers all the way to the well defined curve of his wrist, where sections branch off like veins. The rest fades into an earthy black along his forearm.

A gasp evades you before you can think to suppress it. You know he isn’t human, but Archons, this is something else.

“You’re…beautiful,” you breathe, trying and failing to tear your eyes from his patterned, luminescent skin.

His eyes widen in shock. “Really…?” he whispers, low and unsure. 

How can he be unsure when his hands are possibly the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen?

“Yes,” you say, and hope with all your heart he can hear the awe in your voice, the awe you thought you had reserved for Liyuen sunsets and animals and tea.

A comfortable silence passes between the two of you like a gust of wind.

You want to ask him something. 

It’s personal, sudden, maybe even strange, but you can’t get it out of your head. The only thing stopping you is the fear of what he’ll say.

No? Yes? Are you overstepping? What if he decides he’s messed up and leaves?

On your right, Zhongli has removed his other glove to reveal another brilliantly golden hand, and it’s as you stare at the forking lines crawling up his arms, captivated by their designs, do you realize how badly you want this.

“Can I…touch your hands?” you ask, powerless against the resulting blush that washes over your cheeks.

It’s so out of the blue that even he is unable to hide his surprise. “If you would like to, I am not opposed to the idea,” he says, the odd tone of his voice making it abundantly clear that he’s far beyond the boundaries of his comfort zone.

“I would love to.”

You take a step and then you’re extending your hands to meet his still ones, reaching until palms hover over palms, pausing only centimeters away. He smells like Qingxin flowers and violet grass and something else that’s slightly smokier…

The world seems to hold its breath. But maybe that’s just the two of you, alone in a tea shop, lungs constricted in apprehension.

You lower a single finger to graze his skin.

He stiffens, and you draw back.

Zhongli looks frustrated with himself when you raise your eyes to meet his own. “I apologize, I am unused to…” he trails off, searching, “this.”

“That’s alright,” you reply softly, “we can stop—”

“No.”

This is the most forward you’ve heard him be so you simply nod, making sure to lock eyes for reassurance, and dip your finger to his hands once again.

He inhales sharply, but doesn’t pull away.

So you begin to trace up his wrists, along their veinlike streaks of gold, across the black expanse of his arms and over everything in between. It takes a moment, but he begins to ease under your touch.

Goodness, your heart rate is skyrocketing faster than ever. It boxes against your chest and in your ears like a repetitive reminder that yes, this is really happening. It isn’t a dream. You’re really actually touching him. 

Oh, your poor, poor heart.

Hands gently interlocked, you find yourself lost in those swirling amber eyes you’ve grown so fond of. Now you notice the golden specks within them, shimmering like diamonds as they swim beyond the rims of his pupils. Couple that with the glimmering rays of sunlight which have so flatteringly cast themselves upon his dark hair, and it’s almost unfair. He’s just too handsome.

Too handsome and too nice and you don’t deserve this, this comforting atmosphere that he’s provided you with. You don’t deserve him.

But you also don’t want to move away, nor for this to end. 

It all feels so…right.

You feel safe. You feel at peace. And though you may not know it yet, Zhongli feels the same— for the first time in decades, centuries, millennia, someone’s managed to crack his stony shell.

***

You make the tea together, per Zhongli’s instructions.

He measures the silver leaves, brown herbs, and a dash of other things from your cupboard first, placing them all in a metal tea infuser while you boil water and gather two teacups. 

You’re taking peeks at his hands, watching the gentle way he handles everything. Who can blame you, really? You don’t know how long he’ll leave them out in the open like this, or when his sturdy walls will slide back up like curtains closing on stage.

You tap your fingers along the counter as the infuser and hot water sit brewing inside your trusty teapot. He said it would take minutes for the herbs to seep in. It feels like much longer has passed though, time turning awfully, painfully slowly as you stand shoulder to shoulder in the silence. 

You’re busy running through all of the possible things you could say, discarding most as awkward or idiotic, when he speaks.

“That should be enough.”

“Right,” you murmur, reaching to extract the warm metal and discard its contents. 

The two of you finally settle at Zhongli’s usual table. You’re seated across from each other, cradling cups of steaming tea in hand, and you take a moment to relish in the drink’s unique aroma. It’s heavenly, like sprouting ginger lily and elegant jasmine blooms, with sharp twinges of thyme peppered in.

A sip reveals something deeper, more delicate. It reminds you of…

“White tea?”

“Indeed,” affirms Zhongli, chuckling softly as he sets his cup down. “You know your blends well.”

“I would hope so, considering I own a tea shop,” you say, the corners of your lips turning up in a smile at the compliment. He doesn’t seem to notice the hasty way you take another drink of tea in an attempt to conceal the silly grin spreading across your face. Instead, he fishes a neatly folded paper from his waistcoat and hands it to you. 

“I’ve written out the entire recipe, including all of the steps,” he says. His gloves are still absent, so you’re granted another closeup of the splaying colors upon his skin when you take it from him, slightly surprised at the gesture, but grateful nonetheless. 

“That’s very kind of you. I’ll be sure to put it to good use.”

He nods, closing his eyes. “I know you will.”

It’s a good feeling, seeing him so serene. The open peacefulness of his expression leads you to believe that the haunting memories — ones he told you about so long ago — have subsided. 

Subsided, for now.

But for now is enough. For now is all you need. For now you’re content, content to sit together with him in the comfortable quiet, sipping tea amongst dancing beams of sunlight.

Notes:

why can’t I just be (y/n) bro

Chapter 11: Transcendent treasures and valuable visitors

Summary:

There is a familiarity between you and Zhongli now, something soft and quiet that lingers beneath its rippling surface.

Notes:

This is monstrously short, and I apologize, but it’s the last chapter I’m posting until Monday. 😭

I promise (I know I keep saying this, but you just have to trust me) future chapters WILL be longer.

I’m so glad you’re here and enjoy!! <33

Zhongli has begun bringing you gifts.

They’d started out small — a silk flower or glaze lily, a starconch from the beach; simple things to make you smile. And you’ve kept them all, some in your apartment, others — like the flowers — you display in the tea shop, which he definitely notices.

It’s flattering, and sweet.

But the gifts have also been getting increasingly extravagant with each passing visit; as beautiful as they are, you can’t help feeling as if you don’t deserve them. 

Zhongli seems to harbor a much different opinion.

And so the trend continues — today he brings you a cor lapis bracelet, the orange gem shaped into flawless spherical beads and inlaid with figures you don’t recognize.

Trying desperately to reject it without sounding rude, you argue you won’t be able to pay him back, because really, you can’t. Not with your current state of monetary affairs.

In the end though, he insists.

“You won’t owe me anything,” he says, “it’s a gift,” and you concede.

But you still fret over its lofty cost in your head, running curious fingers over carefully made cuts in the stony beads and wondering why he’s given you this.

And then he asks a question that makes you blush, his voice turning softer than you’ve ever heard before.

Would you wear the bracelet for him?

For him?

Warm smiles, dazzling eyes, hands golden like the sunrise—

You don’t think your face could flush any redder, but you suppose…

You suppose you’ll wear it, for him.

***

“Come on, I promise it’ll be good,” a sonorous voice reassures, words accompanied by the familiar tingle of your shop bell as a group of three enter.

Two are women, one of whom tugs the third by his wrist. The second strolls gracefully behind them, her steps purposeful and head held high.

“Beidou…” the young man sighs, but he doesn’t try to pull away. “Are you sure about this?”

The woman holding his arm nods confidently, continuing her trek towards the counter. “I swear, Ningguang has the best taste in everything.”

Finally, the trio reach the front, and you take their proximity as an opportunity to get a good look at them.

The man, shortest of the three, wears maroon and white Inazuman garb and carries an intricate sword at his hip. He possesses an anemo vision too — pinned to the maple red sash tossed over his shoulder — and his hair is a shocking ivory, lest for a single blood-red streak.

As for the two women, they’re both drop-dead gorgeous. The one in the back has long, pale blonde hair, tied up in a bun with a hairpiece. It pairs wonderfully with her golden white dress and the geo vision hanging above her waist.

The other, one hand still clasped around the young man’s wrist, is clothed in dark red and black. Slits up the sides of her dress reveal long, over-the-knee boots, and another vision — this one electro — dangles from a pin at the front of her outfit. Chocolate brown hair, the back speared with a broad golden accessory in a similar fashion to the other woman’s, obscures an eyepatch.

Who do you know that wears an eyepatch? You try not to stare, working out why she looks so familiar. And she almost reminds you of a pirate…did he say Beidou…?

Beidou. 

Beidou.

As in Captain Beidou of the Crux, slayer of the great leviathan Haishan, known to all as the Uncrowned Lord of the Ocean in recognition of her undeniable strength?

That Beidou?

Then who are the other two?

“Look at all the options, Kazuha!” Beidou exclaims, and you snap back to reality.

That must be his name; Kazuha.

He smiles at Beidou’s enthusiasm, eyes following hers to the menu above.

“Rejuvenating Jasmine, please,” says the woman in yellow. You’ve almost forgotten about her, your focus having been drawn to Beidou and Kazuha.

“Certainly,” you say.

“Ooooh, that one has alcohol in it—”

“Beidou!” the woman warns, shooting her a look.

“Fine, mom, I guess I’ll try a Sweet Matcha Sunrise.”

“And I, a Soothing Maple Leaf,” adds Kazuha.

“Wonderful. That’ll be four hundred and fifty mora, please.”

The woman in yellow steps forward to place a few coins on the table. Long metal claws overlay her fingers, attached like nails, and they clink against the mora like heavy wind chimes.

“You don’t have to pay for everyone, Ningguang,” Beidou says, finally releasing Kazuha in favor of a supposed reach for mora.

Ningguang.

Wait.

As in Ningguang of the Liyue Qixing?

That would mean she’s a part of the government of Liyue, upholding the laws of Rex Lapis along with the six other committee members.

It would also mean she’s really important.

So the fact that she’s at your tea shop? And with the famous Captain Beidou (and a random Inazuman) no less? That takes the cake.

“I’ll pay,” Ningguang says, “my treat.”

Notes:

how we feelin

Chapter 12: The greatest tea maker in Snezhnaya

Summary:

Several deals of varying consequence are struck.

Notes:

HEYYY GUYSSS, IM BACK AND IVE MISSED YOUU <33

This chapter is definitely longer than chapter 11, but unfortunately there aren’t any Zhongli and reader interactions in it 😫 (I’m so very sorry). Childe will have to do for now.

My beta reader left editing this to the last minute for a Webtoon smh (I still love her tho).

I appreciate you more than you know! Happy reading!! 🤗

“This is some damn good stuff!”

“Language, Beidou. You’re in a tea shop, not the Crux!” Ningguang scolds, glaring sharply over the rim of her teacup.

Beidou winces apologetically. “Sorry, sorry, my bad.”

A beat. A snicker.

“Sourpuss.”

“Beidou!”

Kazuha, passively sipping his own tea, listens silently to their bickering. He doesn’t intervene or look bothered in the slightest; if anything, he seems used to the fuss. 

Quite unintentionally, you catch his eye.

His gaze ensnares you, scalding ruby red, but soft in a way you don’t know what to make of. You can sense a stifled anger and something deeper, something sorrowful and soul-wrenching that tugs at your heartstrings like gentle fingers — something he’s buried beneath the coal of the fire.

But he’s difficult to read, like Zhongli. 

The rest of his face remains a mask, burning eyes a gateway to a wealth of emotions and experiences you can’t even begin to imagine.

His cup clinks as he sets it against the table, cocking a single conspicuous eyebrow.

Oh no.

You turn away, face hot. 

He’d seen you looking. Not just looking, staring.

Before you have the chance to perish from embarrassment, Ningguang chuckles, and your attention spins back to her.

“You’ve got that look in your eye again.”

Beidou scoffs, smile as broad as ever.

“What d’you mean ‘that look?’”

“The one you get whenever you come up with some strange idea,” Ningguang replies, and the other woman’s grin widens.

“You know me too well.”

Ningguang sighs as if satisfied by her sleuthing, and — in a teasing tone only a dear friend can pull off without sounding condescending — asks, “What is it this time?”

You catch the curious tilt of Kazuha’s head as he too awaits an explanation.

“I know you’ve been interested in getting catering at the Jade Chamber, since it’s so hard to find time to whip something up with your busy schedule,” reasons Beidou, addressing Ninggaung. “And you love tea.”

“I do,” Ningguang confirms.

“So I thought, maybe you could hire this place to bring you tea ‘n stuff. A healthy dose of Invigorating Jasmine every day or so, eh?”

You try not to react to the suggestion, as they’re nearly guaranteed to hear any noise you make in the otherwise empty tea shop and realize you’ve been shamelessly eavesdropping on their conversation the entire time. 

It’s not a chain of events you’d like to spark.

But that doesn’t mean you stop listening; far from it, in fact. You wait with bated breath from behind the counter as Ningguang pauses to contemplate the proposal.

“It’s…an idea, that’s for sure,” she finally murmurs, and with a jolt you watch her gaze shift from the teacup cupped in her palm to you, once again staring, this time caught red handed. “Whether or not it becomes a reality depends on someone else.”

She’s looking at you with an intensity that startles color into your cheeks and a single word from your lips. You poke at your chest with a finger.

“Me?”

Kazuha and Beidou simultaneously seem to remember that you exist.

Ninggang nods.

“How do you know I don’t just work here?” you ask, wary.

“As Tianquan of the Liyue Qixing, and with access to almost every record of the city I desire, I can say quite confidently that this place runs in your family.”

She’s not wrong. 

But her claim still gives you chills, and you have the sudden thought that perhaps this woman knows more about your family than you do.

“Let’s just say I do manage this place,” you begin, “hypothetically.”

Ningguang’s lips tug upward in a subtle smile. You ignore her and stay on track with your hypotheticals.

“What would you want with it?”

“I believe you already know that,” she remarks. 

It’s a clear insinuation that you’ve overheard their little discussion, and once again, she’s not wrong. 

Unnerved by her awareness, you press further.

“So you’d like to…hire us?”

“Only if it’s alright with your owner,” she clarifies. You begin to deeply regret using hypotheticals.

“I’m the owner.”

Her smile widens. 

“I thought so.”

How in the abyss can someone look so smug and passive and calm all at the same time?

“I’m also open to the idea,” you add, trying not to feel as though you’re the one proposing it.

“Wonderful.”

***

Beidou appears pleased with herself at the acceptance of her plan. Kazuha seems intrigued.

And you?

Well, you’ve just finished discussing logistics about a schedule and pay with Ningguang. Several days a week and on weekends you’ll head to the Jade Chamber, the floating residence of Ningguang herself, to deliver and brew tea for her.

It’s an astoundingly good deal.

For one, she’s offered to pay you a staggering amount of mora, reminding you once again just how rich she is. Suffice to say, you were quick to accept.

And for two, you get to visit the Jade Chamber multiple times a week! Who could say no to that?

Nothing can wipe the smile from your face as you clean up for the day, right up until the moment you nearly collide with Childe’s chest after locking the door.

“Whoaa girlie, careful,” he chuckles, backing away a little with both hands raised. “You almost took me out there.”

You stand for a moment at a loss for words, regaining your bearings while he smiles cheerily.

“Childe,” you manage finally, clipped and a tad disdainful. It’s more of a statement than anything, but he still looks mildly offended at your contemptuous greeting.

“Heyyy, what’s with the not so subtle passive aggressiveness?” he asks, attempting to remain in your peripherals as you squeeze past and begin the purposeful trek back to your apartment. “Did I do something to upset you?”

“No.”

I’m just kind of terrified of you, that’s all. Not that you’d care.

He skips a few steps as you speed up.

“Really?” he asks, and there’s a hint of concern in his tone that almost sounds genuine. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” you say. “Now if you’ll please excuse me—”

“(Y/n)!”

You can’t be serious.

“Hey! Behind you!” a man calls from across the street. 

You grimace. Though this is the very opposite of what you need right now, there’s absolutely no avoiding it. You know the face to that voice, and you also know what he’ll tell people if you ignore him.

Having made up your mind, you slow abruptly, your overly violent walk receding to a snail’s pace. Childe nearly barrels past, but you catch him by the arm.

“That man- the one calling my name I mean- he’s been pestering me for tea recipes for over a year now,” you hiss, throwing a quick glance over your shoulder. “Please, please, help talk me out of this situation. He’s relentless.”

“You’ll tell me what’s wrong?”

“What?”

“If I help you, you’ll tell me why you’re pissed off?”

“I am not pissed off,” you snap.

Childe smirks snidely, eyebrows rising in amusement. “Clearly.”

Your fingers twitch of their own accord. Why is he so infuriating?

“Can’t we talk about this later?” you plead.

He laughs a little, but you hear no humor in it this time. “No.”

“(Y/n)!” bellows the man.

“We’ll talk about this later,” you say, trying to sound resolute. There’s no time to discuss an equal exchange of favors, and you just want to get this whole situation over with.

Childe, however, seems opposed to the idea of waiting.

He shakes his head sorrowfully, crossing his arms lazily like he has all the time in the world. “No deal, I’m afraid.”

If you wanted to punch him before, the urge has increased tenfold.

He’s shamelessly using your desperation in times of trouble to get information; you need help, he strikes a bargain, and now you’re caught in a theoretical trap with nowhere to go but his theoretical clutches.

It’s definitely manipulation. And you weren’t even angry at him before, just distrusting. Cautious. You have every right to be.

Now…

Now you really are pissed off.

But he’s the only one here at the moment that can make up for your non-confrontational tendencies, and you’re not about to throw away his potential sympathy.

“Fine,” you fume between gritted teeth. “I’ll tell you. Now help me.”

“(Y/n)!” the man calls for what feels like the umpteenth time. “I know you can hear me!”

You take a deep, much-needed breath, shooting Childe a final reprehensible look before you turn toward Third-Round Knockout. Its owner stands outside, his eyes narrowed, and you offer him a forced smile with the hope that it’ll make this interaction slightly more bearable.

“It’s good to see you, Degui,” you say, taking great care to be polite. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Degui sniffs haughtily. “Yes.”

“And that is…?” you prompt, entirely aware of his motives.

“About your tea recipes—”

All of a sudden a weight is slung over your shoulder, so unexpectedly you nearly jump. The ginger hair poking forward into your vision unveils Childe as the perpetrator.

“Actually, conversations containing her tea recipes are strictly off limits,” Childe claims, voice brimming with an effortless nonchalance you almost envy.

Degui squints a little, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Off limits?”

Childe’s arm shifts as he nods beside you.“You heard me, mister. Off limits.”

Degui peers at Childe as if he’s insulted him, and you squirm uncomfortably. 

This is about to get ugly. 

“Excuse me, but who are you?” he asks, eyes narrowing in displeasure, and if it’s even possible, Childe’s grin widens.

“Why, I’m the greatest tea maker in all of Snezhnaya!”

You turn to look at him so fast you think you get whiplash.

What in the abyss? Is he making fun of you?

Maybe it’s to get back at you from earlier, or perhaps he’s just trying to be silly, but no matter his intentions, it’s too late to stop him now.

“I make all sorts of teas,” Childe is explaining, as Degui’s wariness morphs into interest, “mostly hot ones, since we’re in a perpetual winter where I’m from.”

Degui nods. “Ah, of course.” Then, just as you would expect from him, “Are you open to sharing any of your recipes?”

You try to catch Childe’s eye, but he won’t stop smiling disconcertingly at Degui like an optimistic idiot. 

“Certainly!” he says brightly. “Do you have something for me to write one down on?”

Degui produces a leather pocketbook with surprising speed, thrusting it into Childe’s waiting hands along with a charcoal-tipped pen.

Childe smiles some more. “Wonderful!”

You watch dumbly as he scribbles something out on the paper, tongue poking out in concentration, and hands it back to Degui, who looks incredibly happy with himself. He shakes Childe’s hand enthusiastically, mumbling a multitude of praises.

“It’s my pleasure,” Childe tells him as the two of you turn to leave. “Recipes are meant to be shared.”

Ok, now he’s making fun of you. 

You always decline to share your recipes with Degui, not because you’re a bad person, but because he steals and uses other people’s ideas for his business, selling the products as his own. You’ve heard plenty of stories of his exploitation, and it’s perfectly logical to want to protect what you’ve created.

But Childe insinuated that sharing recipes is what any good person should do. He gave Degui exactly what he wanted, because you wouldn’t.

It’s exasperating.

And stupid.

And he’s totally villainizing you.

Once you’re well out of Degui’s earshot, you turn on him.

“What the hell was that?”

Childe laughs, so full and heartily it startles you a bit. “Whaddaya mean, ‘what the hell was that?’ I just saved your ass!”

“Sure you did,” you say flatly, shooting him a well-deserved glare.

He sighs. “Ok, maybe that was a roundabout way of doing it, but you didn’t give me much to work with.”

You eye him critically.

“I wasn’t making fun of you.”

“Right.”

“I wasn’t!” he denies. “It was just—” He fumbles for a satisfactory excuse. “No offense was intended.”

There’s a silence as you weave between several groups of people on the road.

“What did you even give him?” you finally ask.

Childe lets out a mirthless chuckle. “Some random ingredients that do not go together.”

You raise a brow.

“My siblings made dinner for me the last time I visited, and they created a damn potion,” Childe says with a shiver. “I just wrote in his book all the shit I found in the kitchen after puking that stuff up.”

You think of Childe’s chaotic improvisation and Degui’s obvious eagerness at getting his hands on a recipe (your sincerest condolences to whomever has the privilege of taste testing the resulting concoction), and the silliness of the entire situation finally hits you.

You giggle. 

Childe looks confused and maybe slightly concerned by your swift mood change, but his horrified expression just makes it all the funnier. Soon you’re laughing so hard you’re clutching your stomach and gasping for air.

“What- are you ok?” Childe yelps, reaching out to steady you as you hunch over, wiping the budding tears from your eyes.

“I’m fine,” you breathe, batting his hands away. You regard him amusedly. “But the greatest tea maker in Snezhnaya? Really?”

“I know, I know,” he says, rolling his eyes when the corners of your mouth twitch. “It was the best I could come up with under pressure.”

The embarrassment on his tomato-red face sets you off all over again.

***

The conversation has died down between you and Childe during the walk to your apartment. You’re aware of the reason he’s still following you, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t trying to avoid addressing it at all costs.

Obviously, Childe is of the opposing view.

“So,” he says.

You don’t respond, too busy formulating a believable lie in your head.

Childe nudges you gently. “A deal’s a deal, (Y/n). Tell me what was bothering you earlier.”

You look down, away from his prying eyes.

He’s right. A deal’s a deal.

But what do you even say?

“Bad day,” you mumble, and Childe shakes his head in disappointment.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“Really?”

“Awful,” he assures you. “Even if your face didn’t scrunch up like you ate something sour, I could’ve guessed.”

You groan. “Good to know.”

When you finally work up the courage to face him again, he’s crossed both arms against his chest and is waiting expectantly for you to spill.

Here goes— well, everything.

“Don’t kill me for this,” you say, unable to meet his eyes, “but I was trying to avoid you because you’re kind of intimidating.”

He doesn’t kill you, for starters, but his face darkens like storm clouds billowing across a calm sea.

Not good, you think, very much alarmed.

Before you can apologize, or perhaps try to soften the blow with a silly comment, he’s smiling again, eyes lifting into warm crescents as his stance loosens.

“Not so intimidating now that I’ve made a fool of myself,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows humorously. 

You shake away the unease blooming in your stomach and smile. “Not so intimidating at all.”

***

Somewhere, tucked deep inside somebody’s pocket, a hidden stone is cracking.

Notes:

hmmm…

…whatever could that last line mean…

Chapter 13: In earthen arms

Summary:

Interest leads you down a dangerous path.

Notes:

OK I GOT THIS DONE ASAP CAUSE IM CRAMMING FOR EXAMS BUT I HOPE ITS OK

Also, come hang out on discord!
carpe_librum#1130

Hope you guys enjoy! <333

The stone-riddled trail crumbles under your boots as you wipe the sheen of sticky sweat from your forehead. There’s no escape from the sun’s scorching heat, and the bag strapped to your back is beginning to feel like it’s stuffed with bricks. Your legs ache mercilessly.

It might be time for a break.

You pause, digging a neatly folded map from your pocket. It’s ancient, and a little wrinkled, but so are most of the things you find in Zhongli’s library.

(He gave you a key to his office several weeks ago, insisting you stop by whenever you like, and you’ve been intent on putting it to good use. Seeing as he was absent from the funeral parlor when you discovered the map and book you’ve since borrowed, you made sure to leave him a note.)

You found something rather helpful yesterday in particular, during a casual reading session — a location for Qingxin flowers, which you’ve been trying to incorporate into your tea recipes for years now. Sources suggest they may focus the mind and invoke a sense of motivation when consumed, which sounds like quite the valuable product to you.

And so, with significantly more time on your hands — a result of quitting your part-time job at Wanmin — you’ve dedicated the following two days to collecting Qingxin flowers for your latest creation.

Unfortunately, the summer heat has yet to let up, and today has been…less than comfortable.

You steal a quick glance at the sun’s position in the sky and make a brief map check.

A break sounds like a terrific idea indeed. 

Sidling to the edge of the road, you plop down on a boulder with a sigh of relief, letting your spear and bag slip to the ground beside you. Zhongli’s bracelet gleams on your wrist. From your pack you withdraw a box of perfectly cooked jade parcels, courtesy of Xiangling.

Though you no longer work at her father’s restaurant (as Ningguang’s pay erases any need for the job), Xiangling stops by your shop often. Your friendship with her has grown over the past few weeks, and excluding her odd fascination with unusual ingredients, you actually have a lot in common. Conversations with her are a pleasant thing for you to look forward to during the sweltering summer days.

You shift through the contents of your bag once more, extracting a book from its folds this time. Munching on a parcel, you flip open to a page you’ve bookmarked, on which all known locations of the precious Qingxing flowers you seek are listed.

Your finger hovers over one of the general areas, several more specific whereabouts written just below.

Jueyun Karst.

That’s where you’re headed.

Said to be the place where the adepti live, though you’re unsure if that includes Zhongli, mortals customarily avoid it. But the book, along with notes and strategies for finding target plants, tells tales of herb gatherers who made their livings collecting rare materials on its slopes and lands long ago. If they could traipse all over Jueyun Karst collecting stuff, perhaps you can too.

Swallowing the final bite of your last parcel and burying the container in your bag along with the book, you glance at the sun again. Regrettably, you should probably continue your travels if you want to arrive by sundown.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and hoist your spear, rejoining the path at a healthy march as flowering Qingxins prance across your mind.

***

Dusk is falling when you reach your destination. 

Though the Guili plains were a difficult place to pass by — every step one of fear as you clutched your trusty spear, struggling to stifle the violent scenes of your past — you’d made it. 

The lack of instigators had certainly aided you in the process. Oddly enough, you hadn’t encountered a single monster throughout the trip; even the camps you’d been forced to traverse had been abandoned.

But it’s not like you’re complaining; you’d rather not have to fight or kill anything, no matter how hideous or evil said thing may seem.

There’s a small shack by the lake entrance, light filtering from its crudely constructed windows. Maybe you won’t have to sleep in a shabby tent outside after all.

It’s a reassuring thought, but you tuck it away for later. The day has yet to end, and the thrill of adventure courses through your veins, a mix of adrenaline and anticipation, imploring you not to rest just yet. You’ve come too far to simply ignore the Qingxin flowers awaiting you in the hills and fields of Jueyun Karst. Why not find at least one before you retire?

Filled with reckless eagerness, you dash beyond the towering stone cliffs of the lake entrance, beyond where the path tapers off into nothing but swaying grass, beyond the Liyue you know and into a closed off lake of ruins. Rocky bluffs rise up all around, an arc laden with orange trees and golden brush, and you gape.

It’s beautiful.

Sweet flowers, and still silver waters, and towering earthen cliff faces…

You stand by the lakeside, drinking it all in.

But just as you’re closing your eyes, lips upturned in a peaceful smile, out of the silence emerges a powerful gust of wind. You stumble, glancing frantically in search of its source.

“How dare you step foot on these sacred grounds, human?” a feminine voice thunders from above.

You turn. There, on a rocky ledge behind you, stands a glowing white crane, its stunning blue wings spread aggressively.

An Adeptus?

“I—” you try, but the bird cuts you off.

“Your intentions matter not. The penalty for trespassing…” it leans forward, beady eyes narrowed bitterly, “…is death.”

Every muscle and bone in your body screams for you to run, escape, flee.

But you’re frozen, feet rooted to the ground. Your vision wobbles, a mess of swimming colors as your heart palpitates wildly.

The crane lifts off from its perch — a magnificent creature right up until the moment it dives at you. A strangled scream tangles in your throat as you let loose a measly flurry of wind in defense, anemo vision pulsing at your hip.

“And now you attack me in my own home?” the bird shrieks, touching down. 

An Adeptus for sure, you think, raising your spear. In an instant, it’s torn from your grasp and dashed against the grassy plains, crushed easily under the crane’s talons. It stalks forward, wings flaring out like ragged puzzle pieces of the sky. Another fierce blast of wind slams into you, and this time, you do fall.

Rocks dig into your palms as you scramble backwards. It all feels so terribly familiar, so horribly similar to the day of your mother’s demise. You’re dreadfully aware of the stones tearing against your bare skin, the icy fear gnawing at your limbs and chest. The only difference is that you’re the one who’s going to die.

You’re the one who won’t survive this.

“Stop!”

You hear him shout, you sense the fury in his voice, you feel the ground rumble under your palms, but you don’t truly register that he’s here, with you, until his gentle hand finds your own. You realize abruptly that he isn’t wearing his gloves.

Zhongli. Thank Rex Lapis.

“My lord!” the bird stutters, fumbling in what seems to be fearful befuddlement. “I- I was not expecting you! Apologies for the display, I’ll be sure to dispose of the woman—”

“No. She is under my protection.”

His words are so stony cold that you almost shiver, glancing up from your place on the ground to catch a glimpse of the hopelessly confused bird before you.

“Sh-she’s a mere mortal, my lord, I don’t understand—”

“All you need to understand is that you must not touch her. Do I make myself clear?”

Holy shit, your brain reels. It’s hard to comprehend what you’re witnessing, but if you’re not mistaken, the crane Adeptus is seriously intimidated by Zhongli.

And sure, who wouldn’t be, but this is the bird who only a minute before was screeching at you about the dire consequences of trespassing on sacred adeptal land and threatening you with death.

Whatever adeptal position Zhongli holds, it must be important, because why else would it seem so terrified?

“Yes my lord,” the bird whispers, bowing deeply. You can’t find it within yourself to be angry with it; right now all you feel is shock. Confusion too for that matter— why, why does it keep calling him ‘my lord?’

“Good.”

And, yes, you know you should be focusing on the perilous situation you’ve somehow managed to come out of unscathed, or perhaps the fact that there’s one Adeptus scolding another and you’re currently sitting in between them, or maybe even the anxiety that’s beginning to bubble in your chest, but Archons, his voice.

It’s really, really attractive.

You didn’t think it could sound any deeper, but he’s dropped it a few octaves from what’s normal, and your brain is seriously struggling to process it.

Someone tugs at your hand, soft and encouraging. It takes you a moment to realize that it’s Zhongli, and another to register that he’s kneeling beside you with a concerned expression, a single large hand still wrapped in your own. It feels warm and fiery, not in a bad way, but in the cozy, sleeping-by-the-fireplace kind of way, and you tighten your grip a little.

“Let’s get you home,” he whispers.

You nod, but don’t dare speak. The shock immobilizing your body is quickly morphing into something you know all too well: panic.

Panic, blurring seconds into minutes and minutes into hours, shattering your optimistic facade and making your hands shake.

You’re vaguely aware of Zhongli using some form of adeptal energy to transport you to Liyue faster than any human could ever hope to on foot or in carriage, and of him guiding you into your empty tea shop and lighting the lanterns as he situates you in a chair (how did he get in?), yet it feels as if everything’s playing in the background. As if you’re a silent observer who can’t move or speak or touch.

“…”

Zhongli is crouching in front of you. He looks concerned, and his lips are moving, but his words are muffled, soundless.

“(Y/n).”

You blink, hum, try to focus on him. His eyes are the brightest thing in the room; no lantern can compete.

“Are you alright?” he asks, and you can hear him clearly now, so warm and considerate.

You open your mouth to say that yes, you’re alright. Nothing hurts, nothing is broken. You’re alive.

But there seems to be some sort of lump in your throat that’s preventing you from speaking. You swallow, and try again.

“Yes.” It comes out quiet, and quavering. Zhongli’s brow furrows.

“I’ve set some water to boil,” he says, patting your knee gently. You fixate on his bare hands, their patterns gleaming like rivers of liquid gold. “How does a cup of earl gray sound?”

The panic in your bloodstream has yet to fade, so you settle with another nod.

Zhongli squeezes your hand. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

The answer is no, you’re not sure. Your breaths are coming in short, even as you strain to take deeper ones, and there’s a strange fluttering in your chest.

“No,” you manage, right before the air hitches in your lungs, and oh no, not tears, but it’s too late, and they’re cascading down your cheeks like lone waterfalls before you can think to close your eyes.

Zhongli’s hand stiffens against your own. You can sense his uncertainty even as you use an arm to wipe angrily at your face.

He doesn't know what to do. You don’t quite know what to do either. 

And the tears just won’t stop.

You let out a choked noise that’s halfway between a sob and a laugh, hoping to diffuse the situation. Zhongli is silent. He must be watching you fall apart, horrified by everything you are and all that you stand for, wondering why he ever thought to involve himself with—

A hand tugs at your wrist, and all of a sudden you’re buried in his chest, enveloped in the scent of him, wrapped in the warmth of another being.

You freeze, eyes widening in shock.

He’s holding you — or trying to; you’re as stiff as a board in his arms, mind racing at a mile a minute.

But then, in a voice full of tenderness, he whispers “I’m here,” and you crumble. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur into his shoulder, “I’m so, so—”

He stops you, still unbelievably gentle. “It’s not your fault.”

Letting your eyes fall shut against the tears, you clench your fingers in his clothing, realizing how alien it all feels. The warmth, the soft reassurances, crying openly in the presence of another. It’s something you’ve missed, and didn’t know you’d been missing until the moment he embraced you. His arms possess a sense of security you haven’t experienced in years.

Minutes pass like seconds, and all too soon, Zhongli pulls away. He brushes a lingering tear-track from your face with a starry finger.

“The water for your tea is ready.”

You nod. He stands.

You must fail to hide your disappointment, because suddenly he’s leaning, leaning, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

Not for the first time in the last five minutes, you freeze.

Zhongli is kissing you.

It’s on the forehead, but he’s kissing you.

You spot a smile on his lips as he finally draws away, leaving you with a brand new whirlwind of thoughts and something sweet like blooming Qingxins stirring in your chest.

***

Crack.

Notes:

FINALLY WE GOT SOME ROMANCING

Chapter 14: The honesty of flowers

Summary:

A truth of all truths is revealed.

(Or, as my beta reader so eloquently put it, ✨the plot thickens✨)

Notes:

EXAMS.
ARE.
OVER.

And another thing; THIS STORY HAS OVER 2000 HITS?! Seriously, thank you guys so much for reading and leaving kudos, I’m so happy to know that people are enjoying this. As for the comments, I absolutely adore them. They warm my heart and make me smile so incredibly hard (you really have no idea how much they mean to me, thank you <333).

Apologies for the short chapter (the only excuse I have for this is exams, I’m so sorry)!

Love you all and happy reading!

Cr…

***

The earl gray tea is sweet and earthy, smoothing your nerves like gentle fingers tossing worries to the winds. You emerge from your daze, blinking slowly as the world comes into focus.

“How do you feel?” Zhongli asks from across the table, and you smile reassuringly. His concern is always heartwarming, and a little overwhelming.

“Much better, thank you. The tea was perfect by the way,” you add, gesturing to the empty cup in front of you. 

He chuckles. “If that is so, it is only because I watch you make it nearly every day of the week.”

“True,” you say, recalling all the times he’s stood at the counter, observing intently as you brew his tea. “You’re a quick learner.”

“And you set a good example.”

Fighting a grin, you examine the interior of your drained teacup intelligently as a comfortable silence settles. You’ve been trying hard not to think about the kiss, but for some reason it rushes to the forefront of your mind now, completely unbidden, and you flush a little. Hopefully your face is hidden substantially.

“You would like Qingxin flowers?” Zhongli asks suddenly, and you look up again, a little shocked. He’s gazing out the shop window, amber eyes shimmering dully.

You wave him off. “I mean, I don’t need them, I was just—”

“But you do want them?”

“I- well—” You sigh. “Yes. For tea recipes.”

He looks away from the window, towards you. “Visit the funeral parlor tomorrow, and I’ll have some for you.”

You lean forward, incredulous. “Are you serious?”

“Completely,” he says.

Your mouth opens and closes again like a fish out of water. To think you could’ve gone to him for the flowers instead of trekking halfway across Liyue and coming back empty handed makes your head spin.

You groan, rubbing your face in annoyance. “I really should have asked you about this before galavanting off.”

He laughs softly. “Perhaps so, but the past is in the past. There is no need to concern yourself with it any further.”

Nodding, you try to push down the vivid memories of your near-death experience and all the mistakes that came with it.

It’s safe to say the entire thing was pretty stupid. However, though you certainly wouldn’t like to dwell on it, there are some details that just won't stop nagging at you.

How did he know where you were?

How was he there at just the right time?

And as for the bird Adeptus calling him ‘my lord…’

“It is quite late,” Zhongli says, interrupting your thoughts. “I’ll walk you home.”

Full and luminescent, the moon shines coolly as you stroll along the road beside Zhongli. The lanterns lining the street and buildings glow a warm orange, reminding you of just how stunning Liyue is at night.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

You turn to Zhongli, who appears equally entranced by the city’s otherworldly elegance.

Hands folded politely behind him, he studies the late-night vendors, sweeping sashes of fabric rippling over their stands, and out at the shimmering water of the harbor. His eyes are bright. He’s smiling.

But his expression is one of pride, not awe, as yours is.

Pride, and joy, and something else.

Is it sorrow? Loss?

You’re not becoming any better at reading him, are you?

Perplexed — and a bit frustrated at your emotional incompetence — you fixate back on the glimmering lights, the magnificent architecture, the twinkling stars of the sky above.

“Yes, it’s very beautiful,” you reply finally, and Zhongli’s smile deepens.

“I’m glad we agree.”

***

It’s no surprise that you’re sore the next morning, legs and feet throbbing painfully from your hike the previous day. And though you’re unsure whether or not Zhongli will have the Qingxins by now, it’s almost midday. You should at least check.

After a good half hour of postponing the inevitable, you manage to heave yourself out of bed, pull on some suitable clothes, and whip up a quick breakfast.

You’re still utterly exhausted, but the walk to the funeral parlor is short and refreshing. Hu Tao uplifts your mood further by giving a cute little wave when you enter. You return it with a smile.

“Might you be here to see our dearest funeral consultant?” she asks, balancing a fist on her chin lazily.

You shrug. “I might.”

“Well great, ‘cause he’s been waiting for you,” she says. Her lips curl mischievously. “Just keep it down. The walls aren’t exactly soundproof.”

What.

 

The.

 

Hell.

 

This woman has guts.

You go stock still, torn between retribution and embarrassment. 

All is quiet.

Hu Tao’s smirk widens.

Your embarrassment wins its invisible battle.

Blushing furiously now, you march past the front desk (and the very amused funeral director sitting behind it) and down the hall you know to lead to Zhongli’s office.

“It’s a piece of advice, that’s all!” she calls after you, but you’re already rapping frantically at Zhongli’s door and don’t hear her.

It opens a moment later. Zhongli smiles in the doorway, stepping aside to make room, which you immediately take advantage of.

“Is there a reason why Hu Tao’s yelling?” he asks. It’s a simple question, really; you hear the innocent curiosity in his voice.

But there is no way you’re repeating her words, especially not to him.

You shrug, rather unconvincingly. “Not that I know of.”

“I see.”

You watch as he closes the door and strides to his desk, from which he lifts a botanic bundle of white and green, of luscious round petals and V-shaped leaves—

Qingxins.

You shake your head in disbelief, stepping closer to get a better look at them. “You didn’t.”

“But I did,” he says, laughing at your astonishment. He offers the flowers to you. “Here, take them.”

“You can’t just give them away,” you protest, waving your hands in polite refusal. “I wasn’t able to find any reliable vendors in town that sold them, so that must stand for something. Why don’t I buy them from you?”

He laughs again, reaching out to capture your hand in his gloved one. He sets the flowers in your palm, folding your fingers over the stems gently.

“My price is your happiness, dear one.”

Your heart swells in your chest like a balloon, dozens of fireworks alighting across your face.

Dear one.

The term of endearment echoes in your mind, a sweet birdsong with simple lyrics.

But then Zhongli’s smile fades. His hand slips from yours as he turns away.

“I lied to you.”

What?

“What?” you ask, uneasy of his sudden mood change.

“I was too much of a coward to tell the truth,” he says bitterly, “but this deception cannot go on any longer.”

You stare, at a loss for words as he gathers your Qingxin-laden hands in his own and gazes into your eyes with the weight of a thousand bars of gold.

“(Y/n),” he whispers, tone hushed and serious,

“I am Rex Lapis.”

***

…ack.

Notes:

oop

(also, I’m sorry if this feels like a rushed chapter, I wrote it on a time crunch 😭)

Chapter 15: Gods and monsters

Summary:

You meet your god.

Notes:

Sorry there was no update yesterday, I promise I didn’t forget, the chapter just wasn’t up to scratch yet (and it’s a pretty important one, so it HAD to be up to scratch if you know what I mean). My beta reader said “sometimes the best things in life take time.” :)

Love y’all, enjoy!!

“I am Rex Lapis.”

(Crack.)

The Qingxins tumble from your hands to the floor.

There’s a soft thump as they make contact with the wood, but it’s nothing compared to the heightened thumping of your heart, nor the chaotic assortment of thoughts pulsing through your head. You forget the flowers in your desperate attempt to process what in the abyss Zhongli has just told you.

Perhaps you’ve heard him incorrectly. Perhaps it’s a simple misunderstanding. Perhaps he’s messing with you, and it’s nothing but a joke (which isn't like him at all).

Whatever it is, there must be a reasonable explanation. You can believe he’s an Adeptus, a powerful being with plenty of years behind him, but he can’t be…he can’t be a god.

Can he?

“You’re who?” you ask finally, ashamed at the quiet flutter of your voice.

Zhongli does not flinch, or scowl. He holds your hands still, gently, and you’re reminded once again of how he treats things with such reverence, such grace, as if they might break. His golden eyes watch you carefully.

“Rex Lapis.”

The name is like another punch to the gut. You stumble backward, hands falling from his grasp.

Rex Lapis. You heard him right the first time.

And somehow, in some way, it makes sense. How else could he be so handsome and flawless, or so well spoken? For what other reason would the bird adepti call him ‘my lord?’ It means he really has been lying, hiding under the title of a mere Adeptus, telling you things to keep you from probing further. 

But that’s not what you’re thinking about, not what you’re wondering as the man you’ve come to care so much for, the man who’s shown so much care for you, steps after your retreating form. He makes up the distance in a few short strides.

“How?” you choke out, suddenly terrifyingly aware of how vulnerable you’ve made yourself with the simple gift of trust. “How can you be a god?”

With a touch as soft as the supple stems of the Qingxins you’ve since abandoned, he catches your wrist. “In many ways, and I can show you them all, if you like, but first—” he gestures to his desk, “—please let me explain.”

You nod wordlessly, unbelievably overwhelmed.

Zhongli is a god.

A god. 

And he’s not just any god, he’s your god— Morax, the god of Liyue, of war and contracts and money. He’s one of the seven.

Why would a god, an Archon, want anything to do with you?  

“I must ask for your forgiveness,” he says, sitting down.

Across from Zhongli, you look up from the stained mahogany of his desk. His head is bowed. It rises, slowly, and there are so many words and thoughts and emotions between you that to see the blatant regret on his face is shocking.

“For…lying?” you ask, and he nods somberly.

“I hoped if I told you I was an adepti, it would be enough of the truth to…” He grimaces, massaging his forehead. “Fool you.”

You don’t respond. You’re not mad that he lied; really, you’re not. If you know Zhongli at all (which is a sincere hope after this recent revelation), he did what he did for the best.

“But then…” He pauses, and for the first time in all the months you’ve known him, you witness Zhongli speechless. He reaches a tentative hand toward you like a silent plea, a touch to jumpstart his tongue. Seeking some sort of reassurance, you allow his fingers to brush yours, already finding yourself wishing they were free from his gloves. Your chest aches more than you would like to admit.

“All of a sudden I could not bring myself to keep it from you any longer.”

His words are a whisper, shattering over your head in slivers of preciousness, spearing your heart like bittersweet shards. The ache in your chest builds passionately.

“Thank you,” you say, matching his volume. “For telling me, I mean. I don’t- I really don’t know what to think about all of it- about you. I’m just trying to process everything, I suppose.” You take a shaky breath. “Trying to process that you’re a god.”

He squeezes the tip of your finger. “I know. Take as much time as you need.”

Take as much time as you need.

As much time as you need.

As much time as you need, because Zhongli has all the time in the world. 

Decades, centuries, millenia… 

He has all the time in the world, and you…

“That bracelet I gifted you is also not what it seems,” Zhongli begins, interrupting your quickly spiraling train of thought. “It is actually a ward, meant to protect you.”

You stare down at the cor lapis beads strung around your wrist. “A ward?” 

“Indeed,” he says, “and quite the powerful one at that. I am surprised Cloud Retainer did not sense it when she attacked you. Perhaps her rage was too all-consuming for her to notice.”

Cloud Retainer. 

Is he talking about the bird Adeptus?

“Is Cloud Retainer…the bird?” you ask, studying the bracelet some more, and then Zhongli’s face.

“Yes. Though it failed to capture her attention, I should hope no monsters bothered you on your journey.”

Wait.

Could this be the reason why you didn’t encounter a single monster during your expedition to Jueyun Karst? Because of a bracelet?

Zhongli observes your awe with a small smile. “It was also how I came to your aid so fast,” he adds, then frowns. “I know my methods were somewhat underhanded- all I wanted was to make sure you were safe in my absence, but it is no excuse. Please forgive—”

You stop him with a hand on his forearm. “Zhongli. You saved my life.”

“And while that may be, your trust is important to me,” he replies, placing a hand over your own. “I apologize for any and all violations of it.”

Your heart swells with warmth. He’s done so much for you, and yet he insists on this— on apologizing for measures he took in your interest. For things he did to protect you. His lies did hurt, and he did break your trust, but you’re more than willing to provide him with another chance.

“If forgiveness is what you wish for, I give it without hesitation.”

His shoulders sink a bit at your words, the tense muscles of his arm relaxing beneath your palm as relief paints his expression.

“But this really is quite overwhelming, the whole god thing,” you continue, “and I do need time to process.”

Zhongli smiles kindly. He draws your hands into his again, and this time they are empty of Qingxins, empty of everything but him.

“I will wait for you for as long as it takes.”

You smile back, because you believe him; you know he’ll always be there to support you.

“Thank you,” you say, and you mean it. Without Zhongli, your life would be very different, if you still had your life at all.

***

The Northland Bank is dark and unoccupied, far colder than any other residence in the depths of the night, but Childe prefers the chill. He feels perfectly at home, even if the blizzards of Snezhnaya are a bit harsher than any Liyuen breeze. Unfortunately, Signora doesn’t seem to share in his enthusiasm.

“You have the sigils?” he asks irritatedly as one of her crimson lotus moths inches closer to him, drifting aimlessly about the room. He’s prepared to swat at it if it so much as lands on his arm.

She glowers at him. “Of course I do.”

“Good. Now hand ‘em over so I can go—”

“You forget your place, Tartaglia,” Signora says icily, interrupting him. “The Tsaritsa gives the orders. You follow them. I am the eighth. As the eleventh, you should know you’re at the bottom by now.”

Childe’s skin prickles, goosebumps rising on his exposed arm. Suddenly, the cold he’d adored only minutes before leaves him feeling exposed— condemned even.

He clears his throat, tries to ignore the thinly veiled threats hanging in the air. “I—”

She cuts him off again. “Just don’t mess this up.”

Even after Signora leaves, the magic of the newly acquired sigils tingling against his palms, Childe doesn’t forget her words.

How can he, when his god’s success depends on them?

Notes:

poor Childe’s getting bullied

Chapter 16: Gone

Summary:

Mysterious beings, conversing with good friends, and hopes for a quick reunion.

Notes:

Ok this is definitely not Monday, but my update schedule is getting pretty messed up by school (if you couldn’t already tell). It’s a long chapter though, so don’t come for me.

(In this chapter, my beta reader struggled particularly in spelling Kazuha, which they thought, and were very confident, was spelled Kazhua. Google cleared things up pretty fast :)).

One other quick note; things are about to descend into chaos real fast, real soon.

The streets of Liyue bustle with life, inviting sounds and enticing smells invading your senses from every direction. Vendors shout. Customers bargain. A sea breeze rustles your hair, and sunlight brushes your cheeks like they’re canvas, painting your lips and skin red with warmth.

Smiling, you heft your satchel a little higher over your shoulder. It’s a beautiful morning to be out and about, something your weekend visit to the Jade Chamber will sadly prevent you from taking advantage of.

Thankfully, visiting the Jade Chamber isn’t all about serving tea; it also means seeing your friends. And if that’s the case, how bad can missing out on a pleasant day really be? Even Beidou promised she would be there with Kazuha today, and the two of them are usually busy roaming the seas, sails high and spirits higher.

It is unfortunate that Zhongli won’t be one of those friends, but you suppose the things he’s told you most recently make up for that. By revealing the truth, your trust in him has been restored tenfold. He places his confidence in you too, trusting you not to share such sensitive information with others.

But for him to be a god, especially Morax...

It’s a lot to think about.

(You have yet to process the words or the titles, but he’ll always be Zhongli to you.)

Before leaving yesterday, he’d also strengthened the ward on your bracelet, an intriguing experience, to say the very least.

Removing a glove, he’d placed his bare hand over the jewelry on your wrist, and you’d watched, enraptured, as the golden glow of geo magic weaved paths amongst his stained fingers, flowing from their tips to seep into the cor lapis beads. They sparkled in the dim light of his office, coursing with newfound power.

By some unknown impulse, you’d wished to reach out and touch his radiant skin, to run your fingers along the golden streaks of his arms and wonder of their origins. It wasn’t the first time you’d felt such a way (and it certainly wouldn’t be the last).

Regrettably, the moment had ended almost as quickly as it had begun, and when he drew away, the bracelet felt different— warmer almost, as if it had been left to rest in the sun. 

“The ward is stronger now,” Zhongli had said, slipping on his glove. “Now anyone who wishes to bring you harm shall surely know who is watching over you.”

Thinking back on it now, you swear you saw his eyes glow, if only the slightest amount. But the barest shimmer is still a splinter of opalescent splendor, still something wonderful and otherworldly and magnificent.

You shake your head from the clouds. At the present moment, it doesn’t matter what you thought you saw, or how you feel about it. You have places to be, not memories to ponder.

As if the universe is also trying to take your mind off things, you spot the road heading towards the Chamber elevator on your left. It’s gravelly, and a little shady, and if you didn’t know any better, the first word you’d associate it with would be ‘suspicious.’ (You do know better, and the only reason for its off-putting appearance is its disuse).

Just as you’re about to start down the road, something interesting catches your eye.

Located directly across the street, their backs turned to you, two beings are participating in an incoherent conversation. 

One looks like a person. Dressed in white and gold, their hair shines in the sunlight, flawlessly blonde. And the other…

Though it seems human enough, the other appears to be floating.

It’s more than a little strange. You’ve never seen them before, and you’ve certainly never seen a creature like the hovering one. That’s not to say you’ve seen everyone, or everything, but you can generally discern between frequent visitors or residents and tourists. 

And these two…

These two are certainly not frequent visitors or residents. For one, they glance around eagerly, in complete awe of the city and the water, of the shops and ships and people. And for two, they’re wearing variations of clothing you’ve never seen before— clothing that glows…

Perhaps you’re overthinking things. It really is none of your business who they are (or what they are) or where they’re from. Tourists or not, you’d best be going.

***

The Jade Chamber is gorgeous, as always. Each time you visit, you’re reminded of its lavish decorations, luxurious structure, and by extension, Ningguang’s insurmountable wealth. There really is no place more extravagant.

Stepping inside from the elevator, you study its grandeur for what feels like the first time. 

A massive chandelier at the center of the room pours glimmering light over every square inch of polished wood furniture, and books and scrolls are placed neatly in their respective places. If you’re being honest with yourself, you don’t think you’ll ever get tired of the Chamber’s elegant golden lanterns, or the delicately carved designs inlaid on its windows, or its porcelain jars and their flowering plants, reaching up towards its arched ceilings. 

Who could get tired of such a sight?

(You suppose the fact that the Chamber is literally suspended in the sky might have something to do with it, but it’s just a theory.)

Glancing around, you search for Ningguang. She always seems to be working, planning all sorts of things out. You’ve become an expert at convincing her to step away, if only for a sip of tea and a brief chat.

Oddly enough, there’s no sign of her at the moment. You resolve to look for Beidou and Kazuha. Upon very rare occasions they arrive before you, and it’s always a treat to hear of their exciting adventures and—

Your thoughts skid to an uncomfortable stop. 

You’ve found Ningguang, but she isn’t alone. Instead, engaged in a very friendly conversation with her stands…

…Zhongli?

A sickening wave of warmth rushes over you, and you pause, entirely unaware of the way you instinctively dig your nails into your satchel strap at the sight. 

Something green and unsavory rises in your stomach.

Why is he here? 

Why is he talking to Ningguang?

And why do you feel so opposed to it?

There’s a sour taste in your mouth as you watch them, trying to understand why it’s just now that you’re realizing how absolutely stunning Ningguang is, or why they look so perfect together. They seem to be enjoying each other’s company too; why else would they be smiling?

With all of these realizations, it really is a wonder you fail to identify the beastly form of jealousy, lurking in the shadows of your heart as it rears its ugly head, digging hateful claws into every sweet thing Zhongli has ever said or done for you. Further thought upon the matter may have conceived such self-recognition, but Zhongli notices your presence before you have a chance to contemplate things for too long.

“(Y/n)?” he calls from across the room, turning away from Ningguang.

You force a smile over the unidentifiable weirdness working its way through your entire body and set your satchel down on a side table.

“Yep!” You give a little laugh, but it sounds more like a cough. “That’s me.”

Zhongli walks toward you, leaving Ningguang behind (which for some odd reason makes the tightness in your chest loosen). You really hope none of the lackluster shows on your face as your fake smile perseveres, its maintenance difficulty increasing with every second, and—

Oh.

You freeze, muscles and limbs tensing, because Zhongli…

Because Zhongli is hugging you.

Sure, it’s not the first time, but you can still be excited, you can still melt at his warmth and his kindness and at the knowledge that you know more things about him than most people. 

(More things than most beings, really.)

He pulls away, hands coming to rest on your shoulders. Whatever was building in your stomach has since slithered back into the depths, leaving behind nothing but a smidgen of embarrassment. You feel a bit silly too.

Zhongli smiles, his golden gaze warmer in the brilliant sunlight streaming through the Chamber’s dazzling windows.

“It’s good to see you.”

“And you,” you reply. Your resulting smile is real this time, and you have enough emotional intelligence to know it has everything to do with the man standing before you.

He tilts his head to the side, beams of light falling upon his silky hair like stardust. “Shall I stop by later for a cup?”

Your shop is always closed for the weekend, but that’s all the more reason to say yes. That way, you’re certain to remain unbothered by your exponentially more frequent customers. Wanting time alone with Zhongli is a valid desire, is it not?

“Please do,” you say. His expression brightens, and you continue, content to observe his growing happiness. “You’re always welcome, whether or not the shop is open.”

He whispers his next words so that only you may hear.

“Thank you, dear one.”

Your face heats faster than a sparking flame, but he’s already brushing past toward the door, giving your shoulder a gentle pat as he goes.

Ningguang smirks at you from across the room. You fight the overwhelming urge to cover your entire face with your palms.

“He’s definitely just a friend,” she drawls, strolling over as she twirls her pipe on one clawed finger. Her suggestive comment is certainly less blatant than Hu Tao or Beidou’s, but it’s a suggestive comment nonetheless.

“He is!” you insist, trying desperately to cool your warm cheeks with your fingertips. “I swear there’s nothing else—”

“Hey guys!” a voice bellows from the doorway. Beidou emerges a second later, Kazuha in tow. “Just ran into the fancy dude on his way out. What’d we miss?”

You attempt to capture Ningguang’s attention, hoping to get the message across that she should not tell them, as it will only result in more grief and teasing for you, but your actions are futile.

“A few minutes of shameless flirting is all.”

Kazuha’s eyes widen. Beidou’s mouth opens incredulously. She starts to exclaim, “You and fancy man—?” but you cut her off before she can finish.

“No! Nothing of that sort! We just talked!”

Ningguang scoffs. “And hugged.”

“What?!” Beidou shrieks. Kazuha looks equally as shocked.

“It was a friendly hug!” you protest, looking at each of them in turn.

They aren’t buying it. Kazuha raises his signature eyebrow at you, and Beidou launches into a very vocal rant about how love is unpredictable and shouldn’t be taken lightly, throwing in a couple of questionable hand gestures here and there. Ningguang watches them both with a grin.

You sigh. 

It’s going to take a while for you to get them to calm down after this.

***

Once you’ve managed to convince your three friends that you are not romantically interested in your other (admittedly very attractive and extremely kind) friend, Zhongli, the rest of your visit goes smoothly.

As you brew their tea, they begin talking about things like the vision hunt decree in Inazuma, where Kazhua is a legitimate fugitive, and Ningguang’s daily governing troubles. Listening intently, you make small contributions to the conversation before finally finishing their drinks and joining them.

The situation is bleak in Inazuma, according to Kazuha. His friend was even killed by the Raiden Shogun, the Goddess of Eternity, when he challenged her to a duel. You don’t think it’s at all right, and you voice your opinion in strongly worded phrases, pointing out that a god’s power should not be used to oppress or fight their own people, but to protect them. Your friends wholeheartedly agree.

As they continue to discuss, you think of Zhongli. 

You’ve heard plenty of stories of how he’s protected Liyue in the past, fending off all manners of evil and cruelty. You know he is thousands of years old, and that he possesses the sort of wisdom you can only imagine, the sort of wisdom you can only read about in books.

You know these things, but does that mean you truly know him?

***

Zhongli pays you a visit later that night, as promised. 

He greets you with a smile, sweet like honey, and speaks no words, but by now, you know his order by heart. 

The air is comfortable. You sit across the table from him while he drinks his freshly brewed tea, watching and waiting for his eyes to mist up, for them to cloud or fade or even close, as they sometimes do. Today they remain open, if barely so.

This is your chance to observe him. This is your opportunity to admire his features, his perfections, without fear of retribution.

But it is gone within seconds.

Seconds.

If only you had minutes, or hours, or days. Perhaps then, with more time to examine and appreciate, you could take in his full beauty.

“I must be going,” Zhongli says. The reluctance is clear in his voice, and you hum as if to assure him.

“That’s alright.”

There’s a tangible pause. Something twists and turns in the air, writhing, straining, struggling so as not to break—

“I…I will not be able to visit for a while.”

He says it slowly, almost painfully. When you look up at him, he won’t meet your eyes. Your heart twinges.

“Oh.”

“It is necessary for my work,” he clarifies, but there is no joy in his words, no perk in his eyes or lips. “Otherwise I would not wish to be absent for so long.”

You nod. “Of course. And I completely understand. Work is important, especially for blending in with mortals,” you say, shooting him an encouraging smile. He does his best to return it.

You rise with him, opening the door. He squeezes your fingers, whispers your name under his breath. It feels strange and right and strange again. Your head is a mess of questions and remarks, and all you want to do is pull him back inside, close the door, and beg him to stay.

But it is too late— with a soft ‘farewell,’ he is gone.

Gone.

Not gone gone, but gone for the foreseeable future. 

And you really don’t know what to do about that, not when your heart won’t quit screaming that something about this feels very, very wrong.

***

Crack.

Notes:

Dun dun dunnn 😈

Chapter 17: Fallen

Summary:

Everything is made to be broken.

And so, as all things must, he falls; he breaks.

Notes:

Hey guys, welcome back for another chapter! I made sure to get this out asap because exams are starting up again, and I know I’m about to get slaughtered. Literally (not literally, but you get the point). The update schedule of the coming month is going to be VERY whacked up, and it’s extremely possible that I’ll miss a few weeks, so bear with me.

Besides that not so great news, WE’RE ALMOST AT 4K HITS!! That’s actually INSANE, thank you all so much <333!!

Now then, wouldn’t want to keep you waiting ;). Happy reading!

It’s been over a week since you last saw Zhongli, and you’ve begun finding yourself looking for signs of him everywhere. You take wary peeks at strangers and try not to appear as though you’re searching for someone, whether it be on the streets or from your very own shop windows, always hoping you’ll catch a glimpse of his flowing hair and splendorous overcoat.

But it is to no avail. Zhongli is nowhere to be found.

Fortunately, not all is lost. The heavily anticipated Rite of Descension is fast approaching, a ceremony that only takes place once a year. Liyue traditionally takes it very seriously, and for good reason. It is on the one and only day of said ceremony that Rex Lapis himself descends to grace his people with a prophecy meant to guide them in their pursuit of prosperity in the coming year.

And now that you know Rex Lapis, not only as a god, but as a person…

Well, the ceremony certainly holds much more meaning than it used to. To you, it will not only be Rex Lapis’ descension, but also Zhongli’s. To you, it is a chance to see him again.

To improve matters further, you recently found out that the rite is always organized by the funeral parlor. Considering that, and that Zhongli will be the god that’s actually descending, it makes sense that he had to leave for a time.

It makes sense, but you still miss him.

How couldn’t you, when your heart sparks unexplainably each time he walks into your tea shop? How couldn’t you, when he showers you with gifts and hugs and pure, unfiltered kindness?

Really, how couldn’t you?

So, with soaring spirits and pleasant images of reunion spinning in dizzying circles around your head, you make plans to attend The Rite of Descension.

***

When you arrive at the pavilion where the ceremony is to take place, you are greeted with a crowd, as expected. The people of Liyue are always eager to interact with their god — to worship and flatter him with praises and gifts. It is their way. You suppose it is your way as well, for you were taught to respect the gods at a young age, and your mother always used to encourage you to pray. The practice is not lost on you.

As you shuffle about, searching for a place to situate yourself that’s not too close to the front or the back, the altar at the center of the pavilion comes into view. It’s dazzling, covered in delicately organized plates of food and candles set neatly about an elegant contraption at its center. 

You eye the offerings and decorations interestedly. Each of the dishes appear freshly prepared, and sunlight reflects beautifully off of the golden silverware, surely blinding a select few of the crowd who’ve found themselves at unfortunate angles. The candles fit together in a pleasing design, not yet lit. 

Zhongli would certainly approve.

(As of late, your thoughts seem to hover around his approval and habits, but you’ve chosen to ignore the implications. Today, you choose to continue ignoring them. Besides, today is different. It comes across as perfectly logical that you should think of him now, at a ceremony meant to welcome Rex Lapis.)

It seems the moment you find a stone railing to lean against, the chatter around you begins to die out. You look up, curious. 

Is the ceremony beginning?

A dedicated assistant on either side, your good friend Ningguang stands before the lavish altar. Her position as Tianquan of the Liyue Qixing means it is her duty to perform the rite. 

She squints up at the sky, shielding the sun’s rays with her clawed hands as she studies something. Her gaze returns to the people after a moment of contemplation, and she steps forward with a practiced poise you admire.

“The hour is upon us,” she says, voice echoing across the square.

Any murmurs have died out completely by now. Everyone, including yourself, watches silently as Ningguang summons a batch of crystallized golden stones. They rotate around her so quickly you can hear them whirring. Before the awe has a chance to catch up with you, she sends them off to the contraption on the altar with a flick of a finger, where they zoom into hidden slots. There’s a blast and a hum as they emit a beam of golden light into the sky.

You can’t draw your eyes from it. You don’t think you’ve been to a Rite of Descension in a very long time, and seeing it performed again is a wonder in and of itself.

But it’s more than that.

Something tells you Zhongli is close, so very close, whispering in your ear that you’ll be in his presence soon. You don’t bother asking yourself why the idea of speaking to him, of hearing his voice again, sounds so dreadfully good, or why his eyes' golden glow remains forever seared in your memory.

You probably should, but you don’t.

Instead, you watch in anticipation as pale clouds circle the light. They take the shape of a passive cyclone above the city, spinning slowly, gently.

The people are silent. The birds do not sing. It’s as though every creature and mountain and tree is holding its breath, containing its voice, pausing and waiting for something it knows will happen. 

The world is calm.

You don’t realize how unusual it is until the moment it isn’t.

The cyclone darkens dramatically, curling in on itself like a vicious tornado. Red lighting crackles from within. Somebody gasps beside you, and your chest tightens.

Is this normal?

You don’t recall anything remotely similar ever occurring in past rites, not that you remember them all that well.

But by the way the people around you are reacting, brows furrowing as they mutter incoherent words to each other, you can guess that something is off. Even an ordinarily stoic Ningguang appears concerned. Her gaze skips across the sky, studying the angry clouds and devilish webs of lighting—

BOOM.

The sound rocks the pavilion, and something shoots out from the center of the cyclone, tearing through the air as it plummets toward the ground. It moves so fast it’s essentially indiscernible. 

Your stomach drops.

There’s an earth-shattering crack as the object comes into contact with the altar. Offerings scatter and smash. Candles snap. There are shouts of shock as the great stone splits down the center, crumbling under tremendous weight and force.

As the dust settles, you squeeze past the crowding people, attempting to grant yourself with a better view of the broken altar and fallen object. You can’t keep your heart from racing as your mind runs askew.

Surely, surely not…  

People are talking again, louder now. You finally manage to slip to the front. But what awaits you there is something you are neither prepared for, nor expecting.

Golden horns, glowing fur, godly designs and earthy brown scales…

Your heart freezes in your chest, blood turning to ice faster than your mind can truly register what it is you’re seeing. When it finally does, it’s as if your world has been flipped upside down, as if everything has been turned on its axis, as if all that can be crashing and burning is crashing and burning, because that’s Zhongli.

***

He’s a shadow lurking in the trees, lithe body crouched upon a scraggly branch, as silent and still as a statue, and he remains this way, even as a cool breath of wind gusts by. It sways his dark blue locks, tickling the skin of his cheek.

He is waiting.

He trains his eyes on the midday sky. It’s warm and bright— too bright, for his tattoos glimmer softer in the sunlight. Their dimmed neon hue makes him wish instead for the snowy light of the moon.

The moon…

Does he truly prefer the night or can his attraction to it be chalked up to the past? The past, or the voices that tear through his mind like sharpened blades, or the mask, whispering sweet chants of murder into his willing ears…

No.

This moment mustn’t be tainted with his own agonies. Now is a time of celebration, not only for him but for the people of Liyue as a whole. For the Qixing and the Adepti, for peasants and nobles alike. For everyone.

Rex Lapis is coming.

The anticipation gnaws at his chest. There’s an undeniable eagerness there too, swirling like liquid fire in his gut.

But he’ll wait for as long as it takes, because this is the god who saved him. This is the god he would lay down his life for. This is the god he wants to serve for all the time he has left, and all the time after that. He would serve him forever, if he could.

And yet, as all things do, he will die.

He does not mind this— it is simply a fact of his existence. Quite truthfully, buried beneath all the cracked shards of his being and every tangled lie he tells himself, he looks forward to it. 

Is it so wrong, looking forward to death? So wrong, to long for the sweet, never ending peace it brings? Perhaps.

But right and wrong are no longer his concern anymore. Only what his god orders, what his god wants.

So he will wait.

A golden beam shoots upward from the heart of Liyue, splits the clouds and disappears behind their wispy fragments, and the yellow slits of his eyes widen.

There’s a noise, a gentle thrum in the air. 

Rex Lapis is coming. He knows this like he has known nothing else.

The wait is over.

Heart pounding, pulse as erratic as the seething maelstrom that has begun to form above, he feels an emotion he can’t quite place.

Is it joy, this strange, pleasantly warm thing that surges through his entire being? Excitement? The good kind of apprehension? He does recall something like it, all those years ago…

The vortex swells, swirling faster as it darkens into an angry gray torrent. Red lightning crackles beneath raging clouds, twisting like tortured strands of fate.

Odd, he thinks. He’s never seen this happen before, not in all the years the rite has been performed. It’s unnerving.

But then the magnificent dragon form of Rex Lapis is breaking through the hole in the sky headfirst, and his heart leaps.

It doesn’t get the chance to soar.

Instead it plummets — along with his limp and lifeless god — to the city of Liyue below.

At first there is only shock. But shock quickly morphs into fear, overwhelming, terrifying, fear, because Rex Lapis has fallen. And gods don’t fall often. Never before has his god fallen.

So why?

Is Rex Lapis injured? Tired? Ill? He should venture into the city to check—

A woman’s voice echos from Liyue, powerful, commanding. “Rex Lapis has been killed! Seal the exits!”

Something stutters in his chest.

Everything fades, his vision tunneling until all he can see are the high roofs of the city and the sloping hills behind them.

Rex Lapis, dead? It can’t be…can it?

No, he decides, shaking his head, it can’t be. Rex Lapis is too strong.

But something urges him to move closer, up this tree, leap to the next, and the next, so perhaps he can see…

A dragon, splayed over cracked and broken things that don’t matter, don’t matter because all that matters is how its eyes are closed and its body lays completely and terrifyingly still.

Rex Lapis is dead.

And he’s seen it, really, truly seen it. His mind screams, so suddenly he can feel every fiber of his being twisting, gasping, crying.

And what can he do? Nothing. 

Nothing.

He’s worthless and weak and oh, so unbelievably unworthy of what Rex Lapis has given him, and now, when his god truly needs him, he’s helpless.

Pathetic.

Pathetic and pitiful and undeserving, and he’ll never be good enough, because he’s nothing, nothing, NOTHING—

Panic, raw and consuming, climbs up his throat. He clutches his ears, but flesh cannot block the invading whispers of the mask. They seek to destroy him, to unhinge his mind, to pull him apart at the seams— Rex Lapis had been there for him before. Now he is alone, and their words are louder.

— YOU MEAN NOTHING YOU ARE NOTHING, YOU ARE ALONE, THEY ARE ALL DEAD, KILL THEM, KILL THEM, KILL—

He fights the demons off as he always has, shoving them back into the depths of his consciousness where they belong. The whispers are gone, for now.

And yet, he hurts.

Their spines leave deep cuts and his skin — torn by teeth — bleeds fresh. He knows new scars are bound to form, for there is no comfort now, no healing hands, no soothing voice.

How is he to carry on?

He is a Yaksha without a god to serve.

What should he do?

He is a Conqueror of Demons with a broken mind and an icy heart.

What is his purpose now?

He is lost.

Notes:

ya’ll must already know who the mystery pov is lol

Chapter 18: Whose broken heart does weep

Summary:

Zhongli is dead, and you soon realize your feelings for him may breach mere friendship.

Notes:

So it’s been a month.

But exams are finally over, life is coming along, and I’m back with another chapter!
(I told you I’d never abandon this fic.)
I’ll have you know that my beta reader has been shoving cursed Zhongli content down my throat for these past few weeks, and it’s been a wonderful reminder (please note the sarcasm) for me.

Anywho, today the rollercoaster ride continues. ;)

As always, thank you for reading, and enjoy!!

You see golden horns and glowing sigils, ancient characters carved upon a dragon forged of earth.

You see Morax.

Rex Lapis.

Zhongli.

Zhongli, who fell from the sky.

Your mind rushes to conclusions you wish it wouldn’t come to, spinning sickening tales as you attempt to reassure yourself.

Yes, he fell from the sky, and yes, it was quite violent.

But he is not fragile, not human.

He is a god.

And if he is a god, with thousands of years and dozens of wars behind him, capable of wielding powers you can’t even begin to comprehend, this can’t be too serious, can it?

Can it?

Ningguang’s voice cuts through the unease (and your heartstrings), loud and commanding.

“Rex Lapis has been killed! Seal the exits!”

The air leaves your lungs in one fell swoop, the array of sounds around you dying out like a storm coming to settle, but you are all but calm, all but collected, all but unconcerned, and the next thing that pops into your mind is a frantic question of a word.

Killed?

You want to shake your head. You want to scream.

No.

No, no, no.

There are gasps, hands clapped over mouths, incoherent mutterings and fearful eyes, but you aren’t focused on how the people around you are reacting. 

You can’t focus.

All that exists in your mind are Ningguang’s words, which you still seem to be failing to fully comprehend.

There’s no way she just said what you think she did. There’s not a chance that he’s…

That he’s…

Your eyes fall back to Zhongli.

Zhongli, lying broken against the remains of the stony altar meant to welcome him, draconic body splayed out amongst scattered offerings and shattered decorations.

Zhongli, the flickering glow of his golden mane waning into cold silence like the dying embers of a flame.

Zhongli…

And just like that, it finally clicks. 

Your mind finally registers the awful fact that somebody or something has killed your god, your friend, your…

Your train of thought trails off, but you pay it no mind. It matters just as little as the battered altar, or the swarms of people staring in fearful lethargy, or nearly any other aspect of your life at the moment.

Zhongli is dead.

You try to speak, but your heart feels lodged in your throat. The world is crumbling, falling away around you, and there’s a detached ringing in your ears that makes you want to curl into a ball.

This isn’t happening. It doesn’t seem real, or logical, or reasonable in the slightest. And it shouldn’t be.

But it is.

Your chest twists painfully. All of a sudden it’s like you can’t get enough air, like your lungs are constricting and every breath is a dizzying gasp. Your hands, your arms— your everything is shaking.

Are you hyperventilating? Is that what this is? You’re not sure. You think you should be crying, but your eyes feel much too dry, and a newfound weakness in your knees is making the ground look like an awfully nice place to be.

It’s almost unbearable.

Almost.

What’s worse, you’ve felt this helpless only twice before, and yet it’s so raw and familiar you can already feel the flashbacks rising, can sense the deep, lingering nausea that doesn’t leave your stomach for days—

A pause in your quickly spiraling train of thought and physical turmoil as something deep inside your soul urges you towards Zhongli’s fallen form, aching and swathed in warmth. It briefly overshadows the panic dousing your entire body. If you weren’t so distraught, you would almost call the effects peace-inducing.

You take a stumbling step forward.

If only you could run your hands over Zhongli’s scales, over his fur and horns and the markings on his limbs that remind you of tattoos. If only you could whisper his name and watch his ears twitch with life.

Another couple of steps, and another thought that breaks your heart into a million indiscernible pieces.

If only he was alive.

Your graceless walk morphs into a frantic run. It changes without your consideration, instead a reactionary mix of swinging arms and careless legs, because all you really care about is getting to him.

All you really care about is him. You don’t think you’ve realized that he’s truly gone.

You cover the bare ground of the pavilion swiftly. There are no people meandering about, and those in the crowd behind you are engaged in worried exchanges with their counterparts. The Millelith are too busy blocking off the area as per Ningguang’s instructions.

All in all, your mad dash towards Zhongli goes largely unnoticed.

Until, of course, it doesn’t.

Your feet pound across the solid ground, connecting with bits and pieces of rubble as you draw closer to the wrecked altar. A particularly large rock skitters across the pavilion and rockets up against the toppled centerpiece, eliciting an audible gong that’s sure to turn heads.

You take no notice. You do not slow, nor do you care whether others notice you. This has gone far past the point of prioritizing image or reputation, long past the point of no return.

Someone shouts your name, but your entire body is locked in the numbing grip of adrenaline, and you don’t hear them. 

Neither do you stop.

But when a clawed hand wraps around your wrist and holds it firmly in place, there isn’t much you can do.

“(Y/n)?”

You turn finally, quickly. The woman restraining you is none other than Ningguang, overcome by shock and confusion. You don’t blame her, however valid the reason for your actions may be.

“What are you—” she begins, but pauses at the expression on your face.

(Is your balance off, or is it the world that’s spinning?)

She reaches for your other hand. You’re trembling in that ugly, fearful way that makes your shoulders shake a little.

“Are you alright?”

She sounds so genuinely concerned that when you open your mouth to say no, you’re not, what falls from your lips is a sob, not a sentence.

(Where is the air in your lungs?)

Ningguang’s gaze softens.

Before another second has passed, she’s swept her arms around your distressed form. It is either this unexpected comfort or simply the ultimate arrival of the inevitable that prompts tears to spill over next, melting your surroundings into a blurry mess of golden hues and faded blue skies.

It reminds you of Zhongli’s arms around you, of his soft assurances as you’d wept and apologized for the life threatening mistake he’d swept in and rescued you from.

That was your life.

But when his was in question, you could do nothing to save it.

A bone-weary ache creeps from your head to your toes, curling amongst limbs and wrapping itself around your torso, and you’ve never felt such inescapable dread.

The sun sparkles, none the dimmer for your tears. Ningguang tightens her hug as you cry harder against her shoulder.

She tells you it’s going to be okay.

You’re not so sure if you believe her.

***

 

Ningguang sends a Millelith soldier to escort you back to the Jade Chamber.

The entire walk back and the elevator ride are horrific. You don’t know what to do with yourself— with your hands, or arms, or feet. You stumble so many times and in so many places that the soldier keeps a permanent hand on your shoulder for the remainder of the trip.

Once in the Chamber, he leaves you there, sitting dazed in a pile of luxurious blankets and plush cushions, and heads back to the city to work.

Afternoon sunlight slants in through the Chamber’s glass window panes.

Chandeliers shimmer, glimmers of glamor glancing off expensive vases and reflective wood floors, and silence abounds.

Not for the first time today, you are overcome by grief.

Wet, miserable grief.

The tears come in droves, and at first you try — to no avail — to stifle them, pressing weak hands over your eyes, wiping angrily as they slip down your raw cheeks.

You cry out.

You scream.

Your voice breaks painfully in fear of what you know, and salty tears roll faster over skin.

Tears, tears, why the tears? 

You would shriek it to Celestia if you could.

But soon you realize they aren’t stopping, that there is nothing you can do to hold them back.

And so you let them fall.

Fall.

Dampening sheets and clothing and pillows.

Fall.

Smooth and cool and warm and jagged.

Fall.

Fall and fall and fall some more until there’s nothing left to fall.

Why, is what you want to ask, lying over mussed covers, tear-tracks drying on your reddened face.

Why is it that you feel this loss so strongly, so deeply, so personally that you simply cannot let it go?

It is not something you expect to be answered.

But perhaps it could be.

Perhaps, you allow yourself (because you simply cannot hold the thought back any longer), perhaps it is because it involves Zhongli.

Perhaps he is the very reason you feel so heartbroken, so lost and upset and terrified. Would you be reacting in such a way had it been any other ordinary god or person that died?

The answer is no, you would not.

But Zhongli is a dear friend, a tiny voice in your head reasons. He’s saved your life, trusted you with his secrets, and shown you inconceivable kindness. Why shouldn’t you be sad or angry? Why shouldn’t you care?

And then, like an abrupt wave of thought rising up from the depths of your subconscious, a realization both terrible and beautiful crashes over your head: friend doesn’t quite cover the way you feel about Zhongli.

Has it ever covered it, really?

He’s always been far more special, far more important to you than that, and ever since you first met him, this knowledge has sat tucked away somewhere in the hidden recesses of your mind, untouched lest for the occasional prodding.

So no, not a friend. That much is very clear.

But if not a friend, then what…

Oh.

 

Oh no.

 

Nononono.

 

You can’t— you shouldn’t—

 

Even as your mind denies it, you know it to be true.

You do.

You care for a dead god, and not in the platonic way.

A sense of weightlessness swells in your chest like a rapidly expanding balloon, warming your insides, crawling up walls like flowering vines.

You’re in love with Zhongli.

In love, and love is a wonderful thing.

But the balloon within you is quick to pop, its remains sinking to the pit of your stomach as the stark realization sinks in.

Or, you were.

Notes:

where have those cracks gone I wonder…

Chapter 19: Open wounds

Summary:

Good friends take care of you at your worst, and the Fatui scheme in the shadows.

Notes:

Hey everyone!

This chapter was late because ao3 was down for a bit, as you may or may not know. But here we are again, and it’s not a short chapter, so please enjoy!

(My beta had to take a little break from editing this chapter at one point because it awoke some inner trauma, WHICH IM TERRIBLY SORRY ABOUT BTW BECAUSE I KNOW THEYRE READING THIS, but don’t worry, they’re feeling better now! Idk if that’s a TW, but just know that this scene contains depressing themes.)

One other thing: I’m going to be completely offline for a week (starting in a week) without any access to devices, including the ones I write on, so I will be unable to update then. Hopefully I can get one other update out before that week, but we shall see. Just know that if you don’t see an update after this for the next two weeks, that’s why. I haven’t disappeared off the face of the earth, and I’ll get back to writing asap.

With all that out of the way, happy reading!
(Or, not so happy, but it’s still reading :))

Love.

Heartbreaking, bittersweet love. 

How accursed, you think, feverishly wracking the Chamber’s cabinets for the teas you know are stashed there. It makes sense to leave a healthy supply wherever you work, and it’s at times like these that having it comes in handy; you need a cup of earl gray, and you need it now.

You find an unopened container at the very back, as your friends at the Chamber aren’t usually ones to drink earl gray. Instead they tend to prefer brews that alter their mood in pleasant ways, or spruce up their senses.

It’s understandable. Earl gray is only truly meant for one thing.

Forgetting.

Somehow, you cut your hand opening the box. A harsh laugh escapes your lips, an entirely new wave of tears threatening to spill over as blood trickles from your palm to your wrist like a lone crack in your skin, but no.

No.

Just a few minutes more, and you’ll be free.

A few minutes, and you won’t feel a thing.

With trembling fingers, you lift a heaping handful of tea bags from the box to a teapot of boiled water. There is silence, broken only by the choppy breaths of air that leave your mouth as you hover over the pot. You watch the five bundles of herbs float in it for a moment.

Then you delve back into the tea box for more.

Five bags become ten, become twelve, become seventeen, until the entire box of earl gray tea bags have been emptied into the teapot, and their aroma permeates the air like a thick smoke.

You reach for a teacup in the adjacent cabinet next, a small plain one at the front that you nearly drop in your fumbling.

When you turn back, the tea still has a long way to steep, and your hands are shaking so strongly you almost can’t lift the teapot.

You pour yourself a cup nonetheless.

The tea comes out only slightly tinted, due to lack of steeping time. It would normally be an orange-tinged earthy brown, a muted color that reminds you of rich ombré locks and—

A significant amount of hot water from the teapot splashes across the table you’re working over and catches your arm in the crossfire, and you hiss in pain, cursing the gods vehemently under your breath.

All of the gods but Zhongli.

Never Zhongli.

How could you ever curse him, him with the honey eyes and kind hands, who touched your heart and soul like no other had before?

Him, who you see in everything?

You know you can’t stop loving him, so easing the pain is what you must do.

It’s the best you can do.

But oh, there are so many things you remember. So many things that hurt beautifully to recall, like the way he’d smile with his eyes— so soft, so gentle, as he always was with you. 

There was the way he held you too, as if you might shatter in his arms like a thousand crystalline shards, never to be reassembled again.

And his hands.

What a loss you never got to hold them more, to run your hands (your lips?) over his gold-spangled palms and wrists and arms, memorizing every dip and divot along the way.

You know his friends.

You know his job.

You know what he loved and how he felt and who he was…

The cup of earl gray wobbles in your grip, and you tighten your hands around it in desperate frustration.

You know that earl gray tea was his favorite.

A final thought runs through your mind before you chug the entire scalding cup in one go, and it squeezes your heart tremendously.

But are these things all you will ever know of him?

***

Childe gives the Traveler a sigil of permission and sends them to Jueyun Karst.

It’s a risky move, but he has to make sure the sigils work before he can use them to free Osail, and the Traveler is the perfect candidate for the job.

Besides, making it seem as though he trusts them doesn’t do him any harm. An unexpected ally would be quite the benefit considering his upcoming operation.

Then again, who can he really trust but himself?

Even the Traveler hadn’t trusted him at first, dishing out plenty of sideways looks and wary questions, mostly on why he couldn’t ‘just do it himself,” and he tried to answer them the best he could without sounding silly or unsure, considering how theoretically, he could.

However, that would mean being the first to put his life in the hands of the Fatui’s synthetic sigils, and he isn’t the most enthusiastic about that idea. Finding a suitable substitute was the sensible thing to do.

Thankfully — and oddly he might add — the Traveler was rather accepting of his hastily thought-up explanations and fell prey to his persuasion after only a few short minutes.

(Accepting, he wonders, or just gullible?)  

Their floating companion became especially incentivized at his mention of possible treasure.

Now, having handed over a single sigil to his capable guinea pig, Childe leans up against the nearest building amongst the bustling Liyuen streets, relishing in his victory.

Assuming all goes according to plan, he’ll learn whether or not the sigils work by the end of the week.

If the Traveler lives, he knows they’re usable.

And if the Traveler dies…

Well, if the Traveler dies, he’ll have to come up with a different approach to free Osial, and he loses a potential future enemy without a fight.

And that’s alright, Childe tells himself, even though it makes him feel a bit bad, sending the Traveler into a situation they may end up dying in.

He ignores the uncomfortable pull in his chest and tries hard to think of something else— something positive, like the other possible benefit of this experiment.

Presuming the Adepti are unaware of Rex Lapis’ death, the Traveler’s arrival with the news will make for a nasty realization and, if he gets lucky, create a great deal of tension between the Adepti and the Liyue Qixing in the process. While they’re busy bickering it out, Childe can snatch the gnosis from right under their noses with significantly less trouble than he would have without the distraction.

Supposing the internal fallout happens, and he is successful in his snatching, the gnosis will end up in the hands of the Fatui, his god will be plenty pleased, and maybe, just maybe, he’ll get a promotion.

He grins.

It’ll be perfect, if it all works out.

If it all works out, and expecting the best is wishful thinking.

He’s only human, after all.

But in a silent battle between gods, Childe’s determined to do his part.

***

You awaken on Ningguang’s comfortable couch, several blankets tucked thoughtfully over you. Everything is quiet. The chandeliers’ lights glow dimly above, but outside it is dark now. A smattering of stars is all you can make out through the Chamber’s windows, twinkling like proud beacons against the startling night sky.

Your eyes scan the rest of the room, an inkling of panic crawling up your back.

Why are you here?

You’ve never stayed overnight in the Chamber. There have been instances where you’ve fallen asleep here, when intense conversations with your friends dragged on beyond daytime hours, but Ningguang has always woken you with a gentle shake and a smile and sent you on your way home.

So what happened?

Why here?

How—

And then it all comes rushing back.

Zhongli, your feelings, the tea— all of it, in one slamming avalanche of thought that would surely knock you off your feet if you were standing.

You sit up so fast it sends your head spinning, aching, like someone’s pounding a nail into your skull, and you gasp, cradling it.

“You’re awake.”

The voice comes from the left, toward the counter and cabinets. You turn, slowly. You’ve learned your lesson with headaches and hasty movements.

Ningguang stands with a single palm resting on the countertop, watching you carefully. The teapot is gone. So are the empty tea box and teacup.

“Yes,” you say, and the words come out hoarsely, like your throat hasn’t been used in days.

She sighs, hand falling from its perch as she walks to the couch and slides down gracefully to sit beside you.

There is a moment of tangible silence, in which you feel your heart rate heighten.

Then, “So, what was all that about?”

Silence, again.

You swallow. Her eyes on you seem so scarily cool, so intent on finding the truth, but you know you can’t tell her.

You can’t.

It’s for a variety of reasons, mainly the one involving your friendly relations with a god— the very same god who just perished in a ceremony of Ningguang’s directing.

(And Archons forbid you have feelings for him.)

Lying is your best option.

Lying is your only option.

So lie you do.

“I just- I’ve been really stressed, and I guess with everything that’s been happening lately…” You take a deep breath to calm yourself so you can get the next words out, fiddling anxiously with the blanket strewn across your lap. “I don’t know. I just felt so sick all of a sudden.”

“I see,” Ningguang murmurs after a moment, like she’s thinking hard about what you’ve said. “Rex Lapis’ death was the final straw.”

She bought it.

You glance up tentatively, finally able to meet her eyes. 

She looks…sympathetic. Worried.

“Yes,” you confirm.

The fear sinks in your chest briefly, a stone in still waters.

“And the tea?” she whispers.

And the fear is back, rising with the floodwaters as you scramble desperately for an explanation, an excuse, a single ounce of reasoning that makes sense—

“Headaches,” you blurt, “the tea was for my headaches.”

Ningguang frowns this time, eyeing you critically, and oh, now you’ve done it, because why on earth would you drink earl gray when you have a perfectly good box of Soothing Green Tea stocked in the very same cabinet?

Ningguang would know. She works herself to the bone so frequently that with her, headaches are commonplace, and you brew green tea for her nearly every day.

In other words, she knows something is off.

She must, considering your momentous screw-up.

But if she does, she doesn’t say anything about it.

No questions.

No comments.

No nothing.

“Very well.”

The response comes eventually, mercifully, and the tenseness in your shoulders unravels.

“But I’d like you to stay here at the Chamber for a few days while you recover.”

You nod in agreement, staring at the blanket clenched in your fists. You aren’t sure if your voice will cooperate otherwise, and you certainly can’t look at her now.

Ningguang pats your hand reassuringly, rising from the couch and making to exit the room.

But she can’t go, not yet.

She has to know how grateful you are, how incredibly lost you would be without her. How good of a friend she’s been and continues to be.

Before she’s out of earshot, you force out a single meek word.

“Wait.”

Ningguang pauses in the arched doorway.

“Thank you,” you say, so faintly you doubt she hears you at first.

But then she turns fully, and you see her benevolent smile and kind eyes and the way her face softens at your words, and your broken heart swells just a little.

“Anytime.”

***

The next few days are torturous.

They say time heals all wounds, but that’s far from the truth. If anything, it only rubs salt in your cuts and gashes.

Time gives you a chance to think about everything— about every smile and every touch and every damn sign you ignored. About how he’s dead.

Sure, you cry.

You cry plenty.

But there are other times too, times when you sit in a daze for hours, staring at nothing.

Feeling nothing.

(Or perhaps feeling all too much.)

To her credit, Ningguang takes far better care of you than you could ever do for yourself. She’s the only reason you eat or drink anything, and quite possibly the only reason you’re alive.

Your appreciation towards her is unfathomable.

Unfathomable, like your sorrow.

On what you believe is the fifth day, Kazuha and Beidou visit.

Beidou immediately showers you with questions, and though you know she means well, you don’t try to answer any of them. Instead, you focus on the precise lining of the couch cushions, searching for mistakes in the sewing you know aren’t there.

Sensing your obvious discomfort, Ningguang leads her friend into another room to talk.

She leaves you with Kazuha.

Kazuha, with his compassionate smile and always helping hands.

Kazuha, whose pain you now know.

Kazuha, shuffling closer.

You draw your gaze from the couch with much difficulty to see him standing before you, face adorned with concern. It’s the same emotion you’ve seen on Ningguang’s face often throughout the past few days.

Then his warm maple eyes meet yours, and in a quiet voice so as not to alert the others, he asks something that makes your eyes widen.

“Who did you lose?”

Notes:

Dumbli’s really playing with fire rn

Chapter 20: Acceptance

Summary:

Childe makes his moves, the Traveler fights for their life, and you find comfort in a close friend.

Notes:

So this definitely took more than two weeks, but I’ve got a substantial chapter for you guys so I hope you’ll consider sparing me lol.

Also, OVER 6000 HITS??!! AND NEARLY 280 KUDOS?! You guys are amazing and thank you so so SO much for reading! <333

Love you all, and enjoy!!

TW: Brief uses of foul language

“You’re stronger than you look.”

Childe’s voice is a lyrical mix of deranged excitement and overwhelming bloodlust, a combination that makes the Traveler’s skin crawl uneasily. It gives them chills in the nasty, unnatural way, sends little pinpricks of ice cold fear popping up along their spine like tiny warnings; it tightens terrifyingly around their lungs, fisting veins and nerves and muscles and archons, it sounds like evil.

And all they can do is tread backward carefully as Childe’s lingering footsteps draw ever closer, echoing like ominous reminders of the situation at hand. His shoes clack in the tense silence as it spools out from behind his words, and the Traveler’s heartbeat thunders in their ears.

There is nowhere to go, or hide, or flee to.

There is nowhere to run.

They’re searching for an escape that doesn’t exist— will never exist, not unless they can defeat the unflinching, unyielding man before them, his mouth set in a disconcertingly stoic line.

As though their thoughts have a way of influencing reality, Childe smiles— smiles, lips pulled taught in a crazed way that should look friendly but is decidedly not.

“Cat got your tongue?” he teases, gaze never wavering as he circles like a bird of prey over a freshly procured meal. 

It’s not the most appealing image ever, especially when you feel like the meal, but the Traveler doesn’t respond to his jeering question. Instead, they just want to tell him to stop.

That it’s over, that they give up.

Why?

Because Childe looks insane.

And maybe he is, they think. Insane in his mentality, but also in his battle prowess. It’s truly impressive, the way he turns the tables with ease, catching them off-guard in the counterattack or swiping the advantage for himself.

Yes, they’ve disarmed him a few times and landed some solid blows, and sure, he’s sustained a scratch or two.

But he’s good, very good, and every time the Traveler thinks they’ve won, he finds a way to slip through their grasp like a scaly, slimy fish.

As one would imagine, it’s quite infuriating.

It’s more than that, though.

More than sly tricks and sparring skills and the effortless spin of a blade. More than the simple fear and adrenaline of a fight.

It’s far more.

Before they’d clashed, when he’d smiled and told them he loved the thrill of battle, his eyes had been empty, completely devoid of emotion, like the tide had rolled in and washed everything away.

But if they were frightened then, true terror is what they feel now, surging through their body like white-hot fire, casting logs into an already raging blaze, because now, submerged in the thick of combat, his eyes glow a maniacal blue.

Childe takes a leisurely step forward, idly twirling his detachable electro-infused swords as he advances, and the Traveler’s focus snaps back to the fight.

It’s not because his clothing has blackened into an ashy gray, or because he’s pulled the red mask in his hair over his face, or because he seems so calm and collected, that they shiver.

It’s because he’s a murderer, and a ruthless one at that.

How many people has he killed?

Why does he kill them with such a lack of remorse?

Would he, if given the chance, kill them, the Traveler?

They grit their teeth, watching the ginger approach warily. He’s dangerous, skilled, so practiced in his fighting they fear just how many more tricks he’s sure to have hidden up his sleeve.

The edges of his swords crackle with electricity, the deathly mask against his face seeming to burst flare-red with light, and then he’s leaping forward again in a single agile pounce, weapons slicing through the air.

A partially unsuccessful dodge earns the Traveler a nick on the thigh.

All it should be is a simple cut— uncomfortable, bleeding, but small nonetheless. Not painless, but not exceedingly painful.

Not this.

It’s the electricity, they know.

But that doesn’t change the fact that a searing pain is coursing up their entire leg, burning and stinging, skin blackening like frostbite but under quite the opposite circumstances.

Great, they want to shout, aloud for all the world to hear, just great.

“Got you,” Childe sing-songs, giggling insanely as he watches the Traveler hiss in discomfort. 

They’re still on their feet, sword raised and eyes on their opponent, but their injured leg is on fire, throbbing with the sensation of thousands of singed nerves.

“Psychopath,” they mutter under their breath. Childe hears it.

“Yes, and?”

“Fuck you.”

He whistles, glancing around like there’s an invisible crowd that’s just as shocked as he is. “I didn’t know you had it in you to use such vulgar language.”

The Traveler narrows their eyes, hefting their sword a little higher as their knuckles grow white around its hilt. 

“Shut up Childe, I’m not here to chat.”

They spit his name out like it’s a curse— like it’s the most disgusting thing that’s ever been in their mouth. Suffice to say, he doesn’t take too well to that.

Not too well at all.

His shoulders slump drastically, every ounce of excitement draining away in an instant when he says in the most distressed voice he can muster, “Traveleeeer, you’re hurting my feeelingsss.”

His tone is so human the Traveler almost feels bad, but then they catch the sinister glint in his cerulean eyes and it immediately rids them of any sympathy.

“Oh, get over yourself,” they sneer. 

A cruel grin splits his twisted face. He laughs, and it’s a jagged, displeasing sound. “A bit harsh, don’t you think?”

“You deserve it,” they say, swallowing the rising apprehension in their throat and tightening their grip on their sword when he edges closer once again. He’s intimidating, but it’s nothing they can’t handle. This is just another fight, just another battle they must win, just another test— albeit a rattling one.

Even so, Childe isn’t quite done with the conversation. His head tilts to the side, asking the question before it leaves his mouth, and his blades crackle louder. “Do I? Do I really deserve it?”

He’s preparing to attack again, they can feel it. There’s that telltale skip in his step, and the way he spins his swords faster, like the hint of a threat.

“More than anyone I know,” they cut back.

And suddenly, as predicted, he dives forward, swinging with a chilling precision that sends their confidence skittering, launching from their chest like a nervous animal.

Somehow, they block his first hit. It comes as fast as lightning, and as flesh-searing too, landing so heavily against their sword they’re forced to push him away with two hands. He comes back for a second attempt, just a touch weaker, and they block him again. There’s a grunt of frustration before he hurdles in for a third time, and they deflect just barely, tumbling to the ground with the effort.

Childe dances backward, the smirk never having left his face, and the Traveler’s burnt leg aches as they struggle to stand. Paimon pops forward to help, making a multitude of concerned comments.

“Not bad,” he says all too easily, snapping his double blades into one in a single, smooth movement. He strolls towards them lazily. “Your swordsmanship is quite impressive.”

The Traveler glares up at him. This condescending attitude of his is beginning to get on their nerves. If he doesn’t pipe down with the pompous overconfidence, they might just punch him in the face— assuming he’d let them.

They’re just reaching for their sword on the ground, propped up precariously on one knee, when Childe chuckles darkly.

“But, that’s about as far as you’ll get.”

With a menacing spin of his purple sword, he executes a lethal jab, narrowly held off by the Traveler’s swirling wind-blade when they scramble to their feet.

He’s too powerful to hold off for long though. Sliding backward with the force of his attack, they summon a collection of geo spikes. The rocks pierce the floor by their feet and slam with a solid crack against Childe’s back, and they’re thrown away by the strength of the blast, landing in a crouch.

He must have felt that.

The dust clears and the Traveler holds their breath, watching, waiting, hoping—

But Childe is nowhere to be found. All that’s left of him is a sizzling sword, buried inches deep in the very middle of an arc of golden stones. Paimon makes a soft gasp beside them.

And then they hear that laugh again, the one that makes them want to shrink, wrap their hands around their ears, rub hands over the bumps rising on their arms. They whirl around, and there he is, standing with a single hand placed against the suspended corpse of Rex Lapis— on the Exuvia.

“Didn’t think you had that card hidden up your sleeve…” Childe says, sounding far more amused than surprised.

“You were just playing us to get close to the Exuvia!” Paimon cries.

His voice drops its playful air. “Oh, quiet down. Stop acting like some wide-eyed recruit.” He raises a crackling hand toward the Exuvia. “You’ve seen this world. You of all people should know…”

The Traveler opens their mouth to say something. Maybe if they surrender, they can postpone this, and if they can postpone this, it gives them time to think of a way to defend the Exuvia and incapacitate Childe, which has already proved far easier said than done.

But all their hopes for such a plan are dashed when he shoves his electrified fist into the Exuvia before they can get a word out, shouting, “This should have been expected!”

It should have, and yet it wasn’t.

And it’s all over now, the Traveler thinks helplessly, as Childe’s arm sinks further into the chest of the Exuvia. The quest for their lost sibling has ended before it had the chance to begin.

***

“Who did you lose?”

It’s not that the question is unexpected, it’s just that hearing Kazuha ask it aloud is a realization both shocking and grounding, a reminder that this business of loving someone isn’t all in your head, and everything you’ve been through in the past week is more than a simple cataclysm of thoughts.

Your tongue chafs like sandpaper against the inside of your cheeks, and you free your hands from beneath the couch’s stuffy blanket. They’re warm and clammy with something similar to trepidation.

You take a deep breath to steady yourself, and Kazuha waits— sinking to one knee and placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, watching patiently as your tired mind spins slowly about for a justifiably vague answer.

“A friend,” you finally manage. Although you’re not quite sure you can call Zhongli that anymore, it’s certainly not a lie.

“Ah,” Kazuha says, squeezing your shoulder, and there is a brief, relieving silence during which your frantic pulse slows, because this is Kazuha you’re speaking to, Kazuha you’re trusting. Kazuha, who you’ve never heard use an unkind word, or get so heatedly angry he yells, or even plot revenge against someone who clearly deserves it. Kazuha, who also lost a dear friend not long ago.

You know you’ve made the right decision when he murmurs his condolences, and they’re overflowing with empathy for an experience he shares.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he murmurs, the understanding evident in his tone.

“It’s ok,” you hear yourself saying, but it’s not okay, and neither are you, and—

“Is it?” he whispers.

Flitting up from where they’ve since drifted to your lap, your eyes meet his. “No.” Your voice wobbles, and you swallow as if to steady it so you can say the word again. “No, it really isn’t, but he’s gone now, and…” A choking certainty climbs in you. For a moment you try to stifle it, to hide it away from the man kneeling before you, but then you remember you can trust him, and it bubbles to your lips, bursting on them like an eruption of emotion. “And oh Kazuha, I think I loved him.”

As if he knows the time for speaking has passed, Kazuha doesn’t respond; instead, he opens his arms for you without a second thought, with a gaze as soft as it is coaxing.

You fall into his embrace, and it is warm, and it is comforting, and it reminds you once again of times past— times when all was well. You wonder absentmindedly if those times were as long ago as they feel.

But does it matter anymore?

Those times are gone, however long ago they may have been, preserved in your memories and by nothing else.

Swimming in this solace, this peace, you promise yourself you will not cry. In reality, you don’t think you could, even if you wanted to. Tears have been a constant presence over the past few days, and now, after crying them all out, all you feel is… empty. Like there’s nothing left inside of you to lose.

You don’t know how long you remain like this, something that somehow becomes a reassurance for the both of you, but when it’s over, and Kazuha finally pulls away with a melancholy smile, something like acceptance settles in your gut.

Acceptance, as you run weary fingers over your engraved cor lapis bracelet later that night, the only material object you have left of Zhongli.

Acceptance, closing your eyes to the world as you search for some semblance of rest, of sleep, in this relentless hell of the gods’ design.

Acceptance, acceptance, acceptance, because how much longer can you deny his death?

Notes:

The question is whether this “acceptance” of y/n’s is a bad thing or a good thing…

Chapter 21: A spark in your memories

Summary:

Losing everything can only happen once you’ve had it.

Notes:

Hiya, I’m here! A week late! My family kinda dragged me away on an unexpected and extensive vacation, and, well, you can see what happened. There’s not much else to say about it, but I’m terribly sorry.

Anywho, Chapter 21 is here! I hope you guys enjoy, and as always, thank you for reading! <33333333

(My beta reader says you’ll kill me in the comments for this chapter, so you’ve been sufficiently warned? I guess??)

Light pries at your eyelids. Wind skitters through your hair. You are barefoot, and something cool and wet pools about your ankles; a supple material brushes briefly against your leg before it retreats, coasting away from your motionless body. All is still but for these things that gently ruffle your senses, calm and needling, serene and peculiar, and you stand, rightfully confused.

Where are you?

How did you get here?

Are you alone?

The breeze gusts harder, faster, and you open your eyes.

The first thing you notice are the flowers.

Glaze lilies float on water like tiny silken boats for as far as the eye can see, their pastel petals upturned toward the pale blue sky as gentle ripples from your ankles sweep them ever farther away. From time to time they bump into each other, but their collisions are so soft all you hear is the occasional slosh, and you are struck by the sudden impulse to reach down and touch them, to stroke their dainty petals and cradle the blossoms in your palms.

You nearly do, bending over and reaching for the flowers curiously; they’re practically between your fingers when something visceral tells you to look up instead, an urge so inhuman it’s almost divine.

So you draw your eyes from the flowers, from the petals, from the gently swaying water at your feet, and proceed to be thoroughly and properly stunned, because there, draped across a throne of golden and glyphed stone, a hood drawn somberly over his head, sits Zhongli.

Zhongli, and he is irrevocably, undeniably alive.

Your heart erupts in your chest, warmth spreading startlingly to your stomach, and your knees nearly give out beneath you. You mouth his name once, silently, and it feels achingly familiar, like an old friend on your lips.

And then you start running.

Water splashes up the length of your legs, and glaze lilies upend around you, a trail of sunken flowers emerging in your wake. The ground is smooth and solid against your bare feet, and your arms pump frantically, but somehow everything’s still moving too slow, much too slow, like you’re suspended in this strange place, heaving jagged gasps when you wish to yell, stumbling on soft petals in shallow waters.

Even as you near him at what feels like a snail's pace, Zhongli does not move from his seated position, does not rise to greet you as you were sure he would, and a sour sense of doubt climbs up your throat.

Could he be… dead?

Dark stabs of fear lodge themselves in your chest, reclaiming a clammy hand over your heart, and the breath catches in your already taught lungs.

Please, you want to shout for all the cruel designers of your fate to hear, to howl at the empty sky above, to beg, please no.  

And, oh, you can’t do this again, you just— you can’t. Can’t see him like this, can’t feel like this, can’t endure the pain of this loss over and over again because you’re human. Maybe if it was the other way around, your death instead of his, it would be easier on the both of you. He’s certainly done this sort of thing before, what with the abundance of wars between gods in the past. He’s probably lost plenty of friends over the years, but you…

Not you.

You haven’t.

You can’t.

The icy-hot vice of dread is seeping through you, coating your muscles in a sluggish freeze that aches like grief and burns like anger and you can’t, you can’t, you can’t.

But then you see his arm shift on the armrest of his throne, fingers adjusting on something that resembles a cube, and relief washes over you like a tidal wave.

He’s alive.

Alive, and your heart thuds in your ears, and your head is spinning beautifully, and everything is right in the world until the water lapping at your ankles alerts you that you’ve stopped running. You start again; by either illusion or eagerness, your legs seem to carry you faster.

When you’re finally standing before him, close enough to converse comfortably but not enough to touch (because some part of you is terrified that if you do he’ll fade away like ashes on the wind), you use the silence as an opportunity to take him in.

His outfit is of an archon, hooded and elegant, all precision and calculating hardness, but who you see is Zhongli, not an impossibly ancient god whose wisdom is his weapon, whose hands are stained with all manors of blood. It is with those same hands that he helped you— those same arms, now on display from the shoulder on down, that he held you.

And as always, they’re unspeakably gorgeous.

Markings adorn his skin like methodically dripped trails of ichor on rich, un-scarred earth, otherworldly in an admirable sense, and his fingers are bright and star-touched. Everything above his elbows is entirely new to your eyes, but it still makes you swell warm with pride to think of all the times you’ve witnessed the veiny designs of his arms before, all the times you’ve felt them with your own hands. 

(You have the abrupt urge to touch something again. This time, the objects of your longing are not flowers.)

With your attention set firmly on his arms and hands, it’s only natural that what you focus on next is the rock nestled in his palm. It’s made up of cubes both golden and brown, fitted together with a crude circularity that makes it all the more odd to look at, and you squint at the blocky object, puzzled.

It’s so…

Familiar?

No. That feels like the wrong word to use. You need something else, some other means of describing the strange way it tugs soulfully at your chest, but before you have the chance to think much more into it, Zhongli sets the rock down on an armrest and stands.

You meet his eyes in an instant. Somehow, his gaze seems slightly different, lacking, like your vision is fuzzing over in places. It’s as warm and welcoming and golden as always, and yet…

And yet something is off.

You just can’t place what.

Zhongli starts toward you, sending the water around the base of his throne rippling away in tiny waves and a collection of glaze lilies drifting. Your heart leaps into your throat, thumping heatedly against your tongue; you want to say something, but what? His name? A greeting? Something witty or clever?

Honestly, how are you supposed to address someone who you thought was dead? Everything you come up with sounds absurd in your head, and you can hardly be angry with him right now either, only grateful that he’s alive and well and with you.

In the end you say nothing, but it’s not because you give up on thinking of something.

It’s because Zhongli ends up directly in front of you, so close his breath is like a ghost on your skin, so pretty you can hardly comprehend how he’s real. His hand slips under your chin, fingers holding you gently in place, and you almost forget how to breathe.

What is this? 

Your mind reels, spinning out hundreds of frantic questions as your arms and legs prickle numbly.

Why is he so close?

Why hasn’t he spoken?

And his hand on your chin?

Is he…?

You’re suddenly dizzy in the stretching silence that smells of flowering glaze lilies and sweet, dewy water, as if their odors alone have made you sick. You glance briefly at the gentle part of his lips and the downturn of his eyes towards your mouth, and oh, he is.

He’s going to kiss you, and not on the forehead this time. 

Not on the forehead, on the lips, a little voice in your head chants giddily, on the lips.

And as Zhongli tilts your face marginally higher, slowly but surely closing the space between you, you realize you want him to— that you’ve wanted him to for a while now, if your feelings haven’t betrayed you.

Your eyes flutter closed, and his hand remains fitted softly against your chin, and in the absence of your sight, you become acutely aware of the tangible anticipation in the air, of your skin, now rolling with goosebumps, of every breath from your lungs to your lips until they’re mingling with his and you can no longer tell the difference.

You want this.

You want this so bad.

And it’s quiet, so quiet, but you feel like you can hear everything, sense cool water flowing and glaze lilies shifting and heartbeats pounding—

And Zhongli.

You can hear Zhongli, his robes shuffling the slightest bit as he leans in, cradling your cheek now; you can hear Zhongli, and then you can feel him kissing you, and it’s nothing like you could have ever imagined.

It’s more.

His lips are honey in taste and in sensation, smooth and plush like sweet cushions, and you sink into them with an ease that feels almost practiced.

But you’ve never done this before, not with him. So why does it feel so perfect, so right?

Your mind can’t find a reason, mainly because it’s otherwise occupied. Besides, how can you focus when there seems to be no space in your chest for your heart, no space in your chest for anything at all? It’s all afloat now, scrambled with butterflies and warmth, brimming over into this kiss, this moment, this thing you’ve missed so agonizingly but never truly had.

Zhongli kisses you with a passion you never knew existed, strong and gentle and too much and too little all at the same time. He kisses you slowly, then quickly, then greedily. He kisses you like you are the last and the first he will ever love.

As if they can’t keep to themselves, your hands find his chest, his shoulders. They’re very firm, something your hazy mind barely manages to identify, and you don’t move your hands. You want to stay here, stay here forever, even if the world keeps on turning somewhere far away.

You want to stay here forever with him, but you don’t have forever.

You don’t have forever.

Your chest goes unbearably hollow for the barest moment, but then none of it seems to matter because he’s kissing you, and you think you are no longer sane, and all of time speeds and twists and slows like molasses, dipping thickly around the two of you. His lips serve as the only reminder of where you are, and you are hungry for them, mouth aching wonderfully, head pounding dazedly.

It’s all a beautiful rush, filling your veins like sugar and gold, dancing on your tongue and engulfing you in warmth.

But then, without any hint of a warning, your heart is suddenly pumping so hard it’s painful, spasming in sharp little bursts that have you gasping away from Zhongli’s lips. You clutch at the left side of your chest as another bout of them sear like hot knives under your skin. Then come the memories, jumbled and surreal.

You see Zhongli hugging you.

You see Zhongli smiling at you.

You see Zhongli… dead.

You blink, staring up at the real(?) him, and there it is again, that faded look in his eyes. Your heart jolts.

No.

NO.

You can’t do this, you can’t.

“Are you real?” you whimper, hearing your own voice crack as more images flicker across your consciousness.

Zhongli showing you his hands for the first time.

Zhongli bringing you to his library.

Zhongli saving your life.

And all of a sudden you don’t want to know. You don’t want to know if he’s real, or if this is a dream, or if your mind has been so screwed up by grief you’re flat out hallucinating.

You don’t want to know, so you clap a quick hand over his mouth before he can respond, cherishing the way his lips brush softly over your palm.

“Don’t answer that,” you whisper, “please, don’t answer that.”

He does not. Somehow, this only makes it worse, and your eyes prickle, emotions slithering out from the pit of your stomach. Even an anguished thought of ‘you’ve cried enough already’ is incapable of stifling the sob that rolls up your throat as you pull your hand away so you can kiss him again.

While the first kiss was of hope, of a wish that had been building up in your chest for far too long, the second is of all-out desperation, and you scramble at his robes, struggling to pull him closer as your tears roll in like a storm. They are hot against the languid honey still playing on his lips, but to your horror, the sweetness is dulling, dissolving into nothing but warm salt.

So you kiss him harder. You kiss him, and you kiss him, and you kiss him, and your heart pounds so intensely you don't think you’re breathing anymore.

At some point, his solid arms wrap around you, settling securely on your back, and you reciprocate the hug, drawing away from his mouth so you can bury your face in his chest.

Once again, you’re crying in his arms.

But this time you will not let him go, you tell yourself, clawing at the silky fabric of his robes. In fact, you refuse. The gods can drag him from you themselves.

There’s a crack.

You pause, catching your breath, searching for the source of the noise with darting eyes, and within seconds, you find it.

It’s his arm.

His arm.

His arm is cracking.

For all its pounding and screaming and aching, you think your heart just about stops. You stare dumbly at the limb for a moment, unable to comprehend its stony gray exterior or quickly spreading fractures, mind blank in stunned silence. When another crack sounds loudly, it seems to finally clue you in on what’s happening. 

He’s crumbling, crumbling to dust in your arms.

Panicked now, you turn your gaze on his face, only to glimpse paled gray eyes and fissured skin, splitting into nothing before your very eyes. Your jaw lolls. Your eyes widen. You let out a strangled yell, fumbling for him, but your hands fist empty air.

“Zhongli!” you call. “Zhongli!”

The only response is the soft scritch of stone against stone as he disintegrates, blowing into the wind like ash just as you’d feared.

And then he is gone once again.

Head swimming and chest burning, you fall to your knees in the flower-laden water. Numbness invades your senses, smokey and blinding. You watch your tears join the shallow ocean, but seconds later you’re stiffening, brows furrowing as you push up from your hands so you can see better.

Are your eyes bleeding?

The water is crimson, slipping sickeningly against your palms and knees like real blood; you can’t help but ogle your stained hands. But shock soon morphs into disgust, and you clamber to your feet in horror, choking back the bile in your throat.

What in the abyss is this?

Glaze lilies are wilting, and you are the epicenter. They shrivel, first at your feet, then farther and farther away, until you can no longer see any movement past a horizon of blood and browning petals.

You do, however, see the throne where Zhongli once sat, the geo object he held still resting on its armrest. It’s mere feet away, and there’s nothing stopping you, so you start towards the golden structure. Besides, it’s the only thing here that still harbors the possibility of linking back to Zhongli.

Your hand finds the misshapen rock first. It’s rough in places and smooth in others, and once again, you find yourself inexplicably drawn to it. Unfortunately, you don’t have the chance to wonder why, because it crumbles to dust moments later, slipping freely through your fingers. The throne quickly follows suit.

Standing alone in a sea of dead flowers, blood swirling around your ankles and nobody else in sight, you fear what comes next. Will the sky splinter, the blood rise until you drown? Will you plummet through the ground or be torn apart by some hidden beast in this great expanse of space?

What actually follows is far less deadly, but terrifying nonetheless, for your blood seems to freeze in your veins and your body flashes cold.

A dragon roars, and it is earsplitting, and woeful, and chilling.

And you wake up.

Wake up, because it was a dream.

Or a nightmare. You have yet to decide.

It’s raining outside, and dark, but the Chamber is well-lit and warm. Tears wet your cheeks. Covers lay twisted around you, and there are pillows on the floor.

And it hurts to think, hurts to even acknowledge, but you know your acceptance of his death was the right choice to make.

You are now more certain than ever that Zhongli is dead.

Notes:

um

Chapter 22: Scattered beads

Summary:

Others have fallen.

Now it’s your turn.

Notes:

Hi guys!!!

Ok, so a quick thing before we begin. The summer is almost over, as most of you are aware, and that means I’m about to get SUPER busy with school, work, extracurriculares, etc.. In other words, updates will once again get irregular, and when I say irregular, I do mean it. JUST TO REITERATE, I AM NOT AND WILL NEVER ABANDON THIS FIC. It’s my only project at the moment, and I love it (and you guys :)) much too much to ever do that. However, updates will be slow, so please bear with, I’ll be trying my hardest! Thank you all for your understanding, and now that that’s out of the way, let’s get to the good stuff. ;)

Enjoy!! <333

The Liyue Qixing, even when allied with the Adepti, cannot fight against Osial and win. 

Ningguang knows this before the ancient god is awakened by the Fatui Harbinger with his forged sigils of permission, knows this as their small group battles the water-hydra himself with Guizhong Ballistas while simultaneously fending off the Fatui, knows this when none of it works, because only Morax is capable of such a feat.

She tells the Qixing, and the Adepti, and the strange Traveler from another world these unfortunate truths, watching their faces fall and shoulders slouch, resolve plummeting further in her stomach when Cloud Retainer and Moon Carver exchange a solemn look.

They know just as well as she does that without Rex Lapis, they are doomed; Osial is simply too powerful.

Amongst roars that shake the skies and a somber quiet that could silence them, Ningguang’s gaze finds the elegant pavement of the Jade Chamber’s patio. She stares emptily at its patterns, carved with such precision, such grace, and wonders what will become of it— of Liyue.

Will the city flood? The people die? The Jade Chamber fall?

Ningguang furrows her brows, eyes still fixed on ridged stone.

The Jade Chamber… fall.

Her mind turns quickly, tossing the experimental idea about in her head. It’s dangerous, and dubious, and there’s no way to know if it’ll really work, but…

Perhaps there is another way.

Perhaps they don’t need Rex Lapis to win.

Perhaps, using the power of something only she controls, they can defeat the mighty water beast, pin him back beneath the waves where he belongs.

And it means losing things, losing lots of things, mainly her possessions and her home, but it would protect Liyue. It would save the people she swore to protect. It would be worth it.

So perhaps…

“This isn’t over!” Ningguang calls over the howls of the seething god below, watching as her friends turn to face her. The Traveler and Paimon wait for elaboration with polite attentiveness, and Keqing offers a soft smile that boosts Ningguang’s confidence immensely, but the Adepti seem confused by her words.

“One was under the impression we had no chance against Osial without Rex Lapis,” Cloud Retainer says, and Moon Carver nods in agreement.

“That is indeed what you told us, Lady Ningguang.”

Ningguang does not deny this. “You are correct.”

“But?” prompts Xiao, the lone Yaksha, when she doesn’t finish.

“But I believe there is a way.”

Xiao’s eyes narrow. “A way?”

Ningguang sighs, shaking her head. “It sounds absurd, but…” She pauses, trying to formulate her thoughts as the group waits expectantly, but there isn’t much of a gentle way to put it. “…I believe we can stop Osial by dropping the Jade Chamber on top of him.”

There is silence.

Then a roar like thunder splits across the sky, and the Chamber rocks a little under their feet, lanterns and lights flickering.

“Please, trust me,” Ningguang urges over the sounds of Osial thrashing, finding her footing. “This may be our only chance!”

The Adepti share another look, something grim sweeping across their faces briefly and disappearing just as quickly. She watches impatiently, wanting their blessings but knowing she must try this either way. It will be more difficult if they disapprove, of course, and will introduce an obstacle she is not prepared for, because they are Adepti, and it’s entirely possible that they’ll try to stop her. She is certain they could, if they worked together.

But will all of them stand against her, or only a few? They know — as she does — that they can’t afford to be divided at a time like this, even if the Adepti and the Qixing tend to remain separate.

However, it isn’t out of the question for them to force a rift…

Her restlessness must not go unnoticed, for as she continues to fret, a reassuring hand settles on her shoulder. She recognizes its owner as Keqing.

“I stand with you,” her friend whispers, and some of the tension slips from the knot building in her chest.

“And so do I,” pipes the Traveler. Their floating companion bobs vigorously.

There is a lull, a pause, and Ningguang holds her breath. She is acutely aware of Keqing’s hand squeezing her shoulder, of Osial screeching in the distance, of the roiling storm clouds above and the Chamber rocking beneath her feet. Finally, the Adepti finish their silent deliberation, and the half-human, half-adeptus known as Ganyu speaks.

“As do we.”

Ningguang feels her entire body lighten, and the air leaves her lungs in a single relieved breath, yet there is no chance for her to respond, no opportunity for her to thank them for their trust, because suddenly the storm crackles louder. Osial’s shrieks echo in the darkness, one of his five heads rearing up and lunging for the Chamber, and oh, she thinks numbly, they are out of time.

“Xiao!” she shouts, as the Chamber shakes once again, and his golden eyes find hers. “My dear friend is inside! Please, escort her to safety as I bring down the building!”

“It will be done,” Xiao mutters, and with a sharp nod he is gone, vanishing into thin air amongst odd tendrils of black and green smoke. Ningguang prays he makes it to (Y/n) before she sends the Chamber crashing into the sea, and truly believes he is capable. He’s an Adepti after all.

He’s an Adepti, and she’s the leader of the Liyue Qixing, so while Xiao begins search and rescue, she prepares to destroy everything— all she’s worked for and built and collected, every ancient text and tome and artifact. Lamentations are already surging through her mind, aching like irritated skin that has not yet broken, twisting themselves into a hollow hole of bitterness in her chest, but her pain is unimportant. Her loss means far less than thousands of lives.

And if this sacrifice is the only way they can save Liyue, then she must be the one to make it.

***

Xiao’s goal is simple.

All he has to do is find the girl, escort her from the Chamber, and deliver her to safety.

And considering his abilities, it should be easy.

It should be quick.

It should be simple.

It is not.

For one, the Chamber itself is drastically more expansive than he ever could’ve imagined, rooms stretching far beyond the average residence in both the horizontal and vertical sense; he spends multiple precious minutes inspecting each, but somehow still manages to come up empty handed.

For two, he has no idea how to get the attention of the girl he’s searching for. He finds himself wishing Lady Ningguang had at least informed him of her name so he could call for her instead of rifling through all of these giant, vacant rooms, most of which happen to be laden with a startling assortment of trinkets that don’t make his job any easier.

Unfortunately, luck doesn’t seem to be on his side today, and the annoyance at his predicament slowly morphs into a growing sense of panic as time passes. Xiao begins to feel as though there is a clock ticking away in the back of his mind, barely there, but quite obviously present, and all the while he remains terrifyingly unaware of when it will reach zero.

He knows what happens at zero.

He knows, and Lady Ningguang knows, and so does everybody else involved, and the knowledge only makes him search faster, because he’s been given the singular task to save someone, and—

“Xiao.”

A voice echoes in his head, soft and uncertain, and he freezes, unsure if it’s reality or a trick of the mask. He still isn’t sure ten seconds later, utterly unmoving as his heart rate quickens in what he hopes is anticipation.

But then the same voice shouts his name again, freakishly loud and so heart-wrenchingly desperate he can’t help but suck in a shaky breath when he recognizes it as the Traveler’s— the Traveler’s, who’s aid he promised he would always come to if they would only call his name, and who must currently be doing so because they’re in danger.

There is a wavering silence before his name is screamed once more, and he realizes with a stark sense of certainty that he must abandon his mission here for a promise he made with a friend long before he ever considered making one to Lady Ningguang.

He wants to hit something.

He wants to yell at the unfairness, at the overwhelming misfortune of it all.

(He wants, the mask wants, he wants, or does the mask?)

He does neither of these things.

Instead, Xiao closes his eyes, apologizes to the girl he does not know, but wishes he could save, and Ningguang, who he has failed, and chooses the Traveler.

***

The Jade Chamber is shaking.

The Jade Chamber is shaking, and it’s shaking hard.

In fact, it’s shaking so hard you nearly slide to the floor from your place nestled on the couch when you finally wake up, buried beneath at least two blankets and anchored by several pillows. A ferocious roar tears through the air, and though the Chamber’s walls do much to muffle the sound, it still rings like alarm-bells in your ears.

You sit up much too fast, blinking as your eyes adjust to the lights.

They’re flickering.

Something that sounds like it’s made of glass crashes behind you. Books are falling too, slipping off of shelves and tables, scrolls sent rolling, and then an entire bookshelf topples over and dumps its entire contents in a bent up pile of paper and distorted covers.

“What in the abyss?” you mumble, stumbling to your feet, pillows and blankets since abandoned. The Chamber jolts abruptly, and you careen ungracefully to the floor like the rest of the room’s untethered objects, landing with a painful thud and a clatter.

A clatter, because your bracelet has just shattered, the string holding it together around your wrist snapping against the hardwood and sending dozens of beads bouncing away in a jumbled mess of orange.

 

(Crack.)

 

Fumbling desperately, you scramble for the escaping beads as they bounce and roll elusively in the quaking Chamber, and though your frantic hands seem far from enough to corral anything, you manage to catch just one. The rest are soon long gone beneath couches and tables, hidden under chairs and against walls where you simply can’t reach without risking your safety.

But that doesn’t mean you don’t try to recover them.

You stand — legs wobbling dangerously — and begin inching step by step towards the wall. Perhaps you can find a handhold there, a place to stabilize yourself while you collect more lost beads, or maybe—

You gasp as you’re flung quite violently against the back of a couch, narrowly missed by a chunk of falling glass from the trembling chandelier above. It sheds polished diamonds like rain, peppering the floor in loud cracks as they smash into spraying shards of glass, so you close your eyes and huddle against the couch and squeeze your single bead tight and hope to the sound of your breathing and the beat of your heart that it will all just stop.

And then, suddenly, it does.

The lights stop flickering.

The Chamber stops shaking.

The room around you stops crumbling to pieces.

After a moment of utter stillness, you find it within yourself to clamber to your feet — wincing a little at the bruises that are sure to form — and lurch towards the window in search of answers. The bead is still clutched in your fist, cool and firm but sharp with carvings, a much-needed reminder that you are not having another nightmare.

That this is real.

You press yourself against the window so you can squint through the glass, and are those…

Are those heads?

Made of water?

The sea and the sky froth with dark waves and clouds, swirling ominously around a mysterious water-being, and your heart catches in your throat.

What is that?

A sea monster?

A demon?

A god?

The thought makes the hairs on the backs of your arms stand up, but you shake it off, leaning harder against the window as you try to keep an eye on the entity.

A god.

You almost chuckle.

That would be absurd.

Why would something like that be here, in Liyue? It’s not like there are random gods waltzing about, and yes, though that was common during the times before the Archon Wars, most of them are dead by now, either killed or lost to time.

So, what sort of—

The Chamber shudders.

Your heart drops.

And then the airborne building is free-falling, plummeting from the sky like a rock, and you’re screaming, and the window is breaking beneath your fingertips, and oh.

You’re flying.

Falling, actually.

Falling, and it’s through a broken window in the Jade Chamber, from an incredibly high altitude, with no way of catching yourself.

Everything seems to be moving in slow motion— your body, your mind, the Chamber rocketing past you towards the ocean; and yet when it finally makes brutal contact with the water below — the crushed sea monster eliciting an ear-splitting screech that makes you wonder if it’s truly been killed — the world around you is suddenly right back up to speed.

And the resulting explosion is dizzying.

A plume of burnt orange rises up from the icy sea, and pieces of the smashed Chamber are launched every which way by the blast, made deadly by their velocity.

You don’t see them in the darkness of the clouds, the night, the chaos.

You can’t.

But you feel them.

Something sharp and searing whips across your side first, slicing the entire length of your stomach, and your cry of pain is cut short as another unknown projectile bashes against your head.

 

(Crack.)

 

Everything is blurry after that. 

You’re vaguely aware of the solid splash your body makes against water, and that you’re sinking, sinking, sinking…

Things are slowing again.

Your thoughts.

Your heartbeat.

Your entire midsection is on fire, but the freezing water around you does little to cool it. You glimpse bubbles, drifting up and away from your mouth to pop freely at the distant surface, as round as the bead still wrapped in your palm. And there’s something else too, something red, snaking up from your body like smoke in the sky. Like dye.

Are you dyeing the water?

Your fuzzy mind doesn’t find anything wrong with that.

You’re just...tired.

That’s all.

So, so, tired.

Your limbs are prickly and heavy, and your head is pounding, and your lungs ache for some reason.

You feel like sleeping.

You want to sleep.

Is that so wrong?

No, you think sluggishly, eyelids fluttering, sleep will help. 

Sleep is what you need.

You can sleep.

So you close your eyes, and your body slips away beneath the waves of Liyue Harbor, and the only tangible thing you have left of Zhongli floats out from between your limp fingertips.

 

(Crack.)

Notes:

The cracks…

THEYRE BACK

Chapter 23: From wings of hope to blood-soaked coats

Summary:

Zhongli questions his decisions and faces their consequences.

Notes:

Hiiiiii guysssss.

Ok so, I was expecting a car or maybe even a bus, but school really hit me like a semi-truck. HOWEVER, I’m back with another chapter, and you can’t kill me yet ‘cause there are still more on the way that I know (or at least hope) you want hehe.

ALSO, A BIT OFF-TOPIC, BUT OVER 8K HITS IS INSANE, THANK YOU SMMM 😭😭

Anywho, let’s get going, and please don’t bully me about the length, I’m eternally sorry if it’s too short :((

(P.S. This is for anyone who doesn’t know the lore and/or play the game: there are some terms in here (as there also were last chapter) that you may not know and will have to look up to understand better, and I’m sorry about that!!)

Zhongli stands on the balcony of Northland Bank, wondering for what must be the millionth time if leaving the fate of Liyue to the Qixing and Adepti is a good idea.

He knows they are more than capable. He has witnessed the Adepti prove themselves countless times throughout their thousands of years by his side, and he has watched the Qixing overcome adversity just as level-headedly.

But abandoning them in a fight against a god he alone has defeated when he is entirely aware of the ill-will between the two groups?

It is definitely risky, not to mention outright dangerous. It puts not only their lives in danger, but also the lives of his people— people he has sworn to protect.

And if they fail…

Well, if they fail, he will be forced to step in, revealing that his death, his great fall from the heavens, was all a hoax. The knowledge would bring anger and confusion. Such controversy would spread like wildfire. But most importantly, most vitally, he would lose his chance for subtlety.

And so stepping in must be avoided at all costs. Only when the situation becomes dire, or entirely unsalvageable, shall he resort to it.

Otherwise, how will he know if the city can survive without him?

And besides that, will all he has done to protect (Y/n)— the leaving, the lying, the playing dead and staying silent when he knew it would hurt her, will it all be for naught?

He reminds himself that his reasons were valid ones. If he told her he was alive, there was the possibility of Childe finding out and completely ruining his plans. Upon realizing Rex Lapis’ death was faked, and after processing the fact that he, a god, had trusted a mortal with such information, Childe would most likely try to bargain her life in exchange for the gnosis; hence, no Osial, no battle, and no knowing if the Qixing and Atepti could handle the protection of Liyue on their own.

So it had to be done.

For her safety, and for his strategy.

However, that does not mean he does not feel terrible, or awful, or remorseful. Oftentimes he is sick with worry, wondering what she is doing and how she is feeling, and if she thinks of him as much as he thinks of her.

It is torturous, really. He tries to remind himself that he will see her again soon, when all of this is over, and that then he can finally try to explain himself. Perhaps he can try to explain more, like this strange feeling in his chest that simply will not dissipate, or the way his mind is constantly revolving about her, or even—

“You’re looking a little glum there, Morax. Something wrong?”

Signora leans casually against the railing beside him, clothed in her Harbinger garb despite the chilly evening, and though her words are teasing, they carry an easily distinguishable touch of malice. He turns away from her cruel eyes and taunting smile. If he is glum, it has little to do with the task at hand.

“I am merely anxious for them,” he explains passively, speaking on the dilemma of the Qixing and Adepti. She does not respond to this, and for that he is grateful; though he has formed a contract with the Fatui — one not even a god like himself can break — he would rather not converse in a moment such as this.

Instead, he peers out at the foaming harbor. The crackling of lightning and sudden onset of darkness makes it immediately clear that Osial has awoken, taking the form of a five-headed water-hydra, as he always has, and Zhongli feels a sickening sense of nostalgia, watching the old god rise from the depths, stirring up great waves and roaring so thunderously the ground seems to shake.

Signora chuckles softly, gazing out at the emerging Osial. She folds both hands before her like she’s preparing to watch a show, not a battle.

“And so the entertainment begins.”

The words are icy, targeted. Zhongli does not reply. He would not call this entertainment, nor anything other than a test; it is a trial of epic proportions, of terrifying odds and deadly consequences, and it should not be labeled otherwise.

Nevertheless, it does begin.

And, as expected, it is brutal.

He can hear the screams, can hear Osial’s roars and the distant clash of swords— can feel the violence even when he cannot see it.

But despite all of the pain and fear and terror, despite the chaos that threatens to destroy everything he has ever created, Zhongli senses an incredible abundance of strength.

He senses it in the Traveler, making a stand against Osial.

In the cursed human Shenhe, freezing the waves momentarily before they crash limply back to the sea.

In the Adepti and Qixing, working things out as they go.

He knows they are all strong.

He can see it.

And he is proud.

But the Fatui are plenty strong too, wielding their well-crafted weapons and boasting durable armor, sweeping forth in wave after inexhaustible wave.

And Osial…

Osial is stronger.

He does not falter, or pause to rest, or tire in the slightest.

His aggression is tangible, and it is dangerous, and Zhongli almost cannot bear to watch his people struggle to hold the flailing god back with the Guizhong ballistas they have since mounted upon the Jade Chamber.

He watches anyway.

He must.

But time does pass, and his hands eventually begin to unclench against the balcony railing as they fight, intensity growing before his very eyes; fight, tossing any shred of self-preservation to the wind, battling Osial and Fatui soldiers simultaneously; fight, and not only are they working together, they are supporting each other, collaborating as a cohesive team. As a whole.

They are fighting, and it is working.

Zhongli realizes this with sudden, alarming clarity, the uncomfortable knot in his chest loosening like it has been abruptly snipped to pieces. He feels a startling amount of excitement and relief rise up in its place, mixing with a strange sense of sorrow he imagines comes with what he will lose if the battle pans out in the way he wishes, because they just might be able to pull this off.

Might.

And might is a far better chance than any other he could have ever imagined, than anything else he envisioned happening during this fateful moment in time.

So he is content.

Brimming with anticipation, overstuffed with anxious nerves, but content.

Signora looks like she feels far from the same; she sulks beside him, quite disappointed with the turn of events, and he simply cannot find it within himself to feel sorry for her. He is aware her comrades are engaged in this tussle, but truly, this is the best outcome for them both. The Fatui will obtain his gnosis, Liyue will be safe under the care of his trusted followers, and he can finally, blissfully, retire.

And with retirement, with freedom, comes (Y/n).

(Y/n), who he will no doubt approach with his heart in his hands, will, for her and only her, lay bare every secret, every thought and emotion and memory he has ever possessed.

He will never leave her again, he assures himself, heart swelling warmly with the thought.

Never.

These things are all well and good in the moment he thinks them, buoyed by sweet, sweet hope (and something new he cannot quite place), but then Osial destroys the ballistas in one devastating blow. The shards of their supporting platform plunge to the water alongside the wrecked machines, and the pieces of Zhongli’s revelatory hope crumble with them into the roiling sea, gone without a trace.

Zhongli feels his eyes widen, his chest tighten with shock.

Then he lets his head dip, eyes casting away from the mess of pain he has thrust his people into, and his shoulders sink; really, he should have known.

He should have known it was impossible, should have known he would have to retain his position as an Archon, should have known lying and faking and playing dead would only lead to more problems than they were ever worth.

Should have known, should have known, should have known, but now it is far too late.

His heart is unbearably heavy, like it has just fallen from soaring recklessly in the skies to crash hard on the cold ground below. Osial’s screeches echo in his ears, and he thinks he hears Signora laughing.

But then something else, something rooted so deeply in his bones it feels wrong for it to move, shifts. His head whips back towards the Jade Chamber, hovering still over the water.

(Y/n).

Her name flashes through his mind on instinct, and he knows immediately that she is up there, dangling quite literally over a writhing god.

And is the Chamber… moving?

Yes, he realizes with sudden horror, as the cor lapis bracelet he gifted her screams terribly, like— has it broken?

(Crack.)

And oh, it has. He feels it shatter, senses the snap of broken string and bounce of scattering beads in his core. The realization sears his mind overwhelmingly as the Chamber continues to migrate, pausing finally when it is directly over Osial.

And then, all within the span of five seconds, Zhongli comes to two more reality-altering realizations.

One is that he has to get (Y/n) out of the Chamber and away from the battle as soon and efficiently as possible.

Two is what the Qixing and Adepti plan to do with the Jade Chamber.

He realizes both five seconds too late.

The Jade Chamber falls like a stone.

His heart drops.

Someone screams, and he does not know if the voice is Osial’s or his own.

(Crack.)

 

Somehow, (Y/n) still has a fragment of the bracelet with her; a bead perhaps. He can feel it moving, pulsing in her grip as she is flung from the Chamber, and without a second thought he is lifting himself atop the balcony railing, and Signora is shouting at him to get down, and everything is going according to his plan because the Chamber is crushing Osial, but he does not care.

He does not care, and he tells Signora so. The test, the trial, whatever he called it in his ignorance— it is all over now. Such things are no longer his primary concern, not when someone he deeply cares about is in danger, and he will interfere if he wishes. She cannot stop him.

She is silent for a moment, processing the decisiveness of his words, asking finally of the fate of his gnosis. He frowns and steadies himself on the railing. Her blatant disregard for anything other than the Fatui’s wants is rather disgusting, but he has no time to express his distaste.

“It will be yours,” he says instead, and jumps.

She yells in shock, disbelief coloring her voice as he plummets towards the road below. When he is halfway to smashing in his fragile human form against the street, two massive wings sprout from his back, spreading wide to slow his fall. They are speckled gold and brown, akin to the horns emerging from his skull and the scales popping up like splotches along the planes of his skin, and yet he does not transform fully, for doing so would rob him of the ability to carry (Y/n) safely. It is much more practical to cradle her in human arms, where serrated claws and scales will not harm her.

And so he flies, half dragon and half human, drifting about over the debris-riddled sea in search of the one thing that truly matters.

Not Osial, who’s defeat seems insignificant now, his banishment unimportant. Not the Qixing and Adepti, who’s momentous accomplishment lingers in the back of his mind like a distant thought or long-forgotten memory.

Not them.

Her.

And she is here, he can feel it.

In his heart and his head, his chest and his stomach, his limbs and his bones and in everything he is.

But where, cries a desperate voice in his head as his sharp gaze scours the water, scrutinizing every piece of mangled Chamber floating amongst the waves, where is she?

The bracelet, or the fragment of it that she still possesses, guides him, pulsing louder now, and she is—

His breath catches horribly in his throat.

She is sinking.

He panics, tucking his wings and diving headfirst into the icy water where he twists about frantically until he finally finds her, eyes closed and body limp and still sinking.

 

(Crack.)

 

His wings propel him downward. Sure enough, a bead is slipping out from her relaxing fist, but he pays it no mind, swimming closer so he can pull her into his arms, noticing as he does so that the surrounding water is a tad darker than usual.

Chalking it up to the blackness of the night and Osial’s presence, Zhongli returns quickly to the surface. The sky is cavernous with parting storm clouds as he lifts himself from the salty brine of the sea, holding tight to the treasure wrapped within his arms. Everything feels barren but for the lights of Liyue in the distance, towards which he flies.

He touches down on the shore barely a minute later, wings retreating back into his shoulder blades along with the rest of his draconic features. (Y/n) is cold against him. He lays her gently on the sandy beach, and kneels beside her, and confirms that she is breathing, and oh.

 

Oh.

 

He knows what the darkness in the water was.

He knows because he sees it now, coating her side, staining the cool pallor of her skin a vibrant crimson.

He knows, and the word pounds repeatedly in his ears like a drum, louder and louder and so utterly terrifying his hands begin to shake.

 

Blood.

 

Blood.

 

Blood.

 

The clothes around the base of her torso are shredded and soaked with it, shedding light on a nasty wound that spans the length of her stomach, and she is losing far too much for it to be healthy.

Zhongli reaches for his overcoat and tears at the flowy tail-end so he may use it to staunch the bleeding in some way. It is neither fast nor easy, but once he has a sizable section, he bunches the expensive fabric around her side and presses it into the oozing gash.

He says her name once, twice, three times. There is no response. Not a word, nor a flutter of an eyelash; only cold, frightful silence. Drowning in it, he longs to hold her hands, to brush away the wet hair from where it has stuck stubbornly to her cheeks, to press a kiss to her forehead as he has done once before— but he is otherwise occupied, and so he settles for begging Celestia for her life.

Begging, because what is he to do without her?

 

(Crack, crack, CRACK. )

 

A woman’s voice sounds suddenly behind him, confused and disbelieving and all too familiar, and he freezes at the name that leaves her mouth. It is a name he thought he would never hear directed towards him again.

“Rex Lapis?”

Notes:

bababooey

Chapter 24: Confrontation

Summary:

Ningguang confronts a man she thought to be dead.

Notes:

So um.

I’m back.

And before you kill me, I can explain, I promise.

I got covid (FOR THE THIRD TIME I DONT KNOW HOW I ALWAYS GET IT) and it set me super far behind in school. I finally caught up, but then I got sick AGAIN, this time with something like a head cold which absolutely SUCKED let me tell you. Anyways, I recovered from all that, BUT THEN THERE WERE COLLEGE APPS TO DO AND WELL—

I think you get the picture, but now I’m back!! (There are still so many college apps to do, but, well, I’ll worry about that after I post this ;)).

Thank you all for your patience and love (AND FOR OVER 10k HITS IM CRYING), and please enjoy this average length chapter that took me WAY too long to write (please cut me some slack, I’m a lil’ stressed out over here).

<33333333

Ningguang witnesses the winged man land on the beach while regrouping farther inland with the rest of the Qixing and Adepti.

Despite his distance from them, her mind is immediately sent turning, tumbling, questioning; who is he, she wants to know, and why does he seem so familiar? Where has she seen those dark horns and glowing eyes before, or such vibrant hues of gold and brown?

Where and when?

Ningguang squints, taking a tentative step in his general direction. The man is on his knees in the sand now, leaning over something as his golden wings mold back into his shoulder blades like skin.

He’s just so odd. 

Odd, and by the looks of it, not human either.

But that’s just it, Ningguang thinks, frustrated with her inability to place him; if not human, then what is he? An Adeptus?

She dismisses the thought fairly quickly when it becomes apparent that she would recognize him. He could, of course, hail from another land or be an entirely different being, but the stark presence of gold on his person is such a marker of Liyue that she can’t help but believe his origins are of the city. Besides, she hasn’t heard of any flying men in other countries as of late.

The word demon slips into her head next, and she dismisses that too; though it’s entirely possible, she senses no demonic energy from him. Just…an idle power lying in wait under the surface, familiar yet strange, but certainly not evil—

And then it hits her.

The ground seems to sway beneath her feet, and her vision fuzzes dangerously at the awful realization that she’s seen him plenty of times and in plenty of places, so many that it would be absurd for her to forget.

But today…

Today it should be impossible. 

Today the relief in the pit of her stomach hardens into confusion, because if she’s not delusional, the man on the beach is believed by all of Liyue to be dead.

Dead, and her feet are already moving, and Keqing is asking where she’s off to, and now that she’s closer she thinks it really is him, that it must be—

“Rex Lapis?”

The words pass her lips in a single, broken gasp. The man turns, and it’s…

It’s Zhongli.

Zhongli, not Rex Lapis.

Ningguang’s heart calms as his identity sinks in, the minor reassurance of a friendly face a welcome respite in light of the day’s events, but…

Zhongli?

With wings?

“Yes,” Zhongli says softly, and it takes her a moment to register that he’s responding to her. “I am Rex Lapis.”

A beat.

Her blood goes cold.

“You..” she breathes, mouth agape, feet suddenly off balance in the uneven sand. “How are you alive?”

Heavy footfalls sound behind her, followed by an audible gasp, but Ningguang does not care. She does not speak either, for all she can do is stare at Rex Lapis, with his solemn golden eyes and muddied clothes and… are those tears? She does not know, and she cannot tell. She just stares, and stares, and stares, not entirely sure what to do.

How did he survive? How is he here? How is the same Zhongli she’s known for years… Rex Lapis?

She has so many questions it makes her head spin. So many questions, all popping up like little sprouts of thought and branching off into hundreds of others she can’t hope to chase. It’s almost impossible to focus on any one thing.

But when the pure shock finally melts away, rolling from her trembling form like rainwater, it leaves pure rage smoldering in its wake. Ningguang isn’t sure what’s worse: the pure bombshell of Rex Lapis being alive, or her abrupt realization of what he’s done.

“You faked your own death.”

The words feel wrong on her lips, but they must be true. How else would he be here, living and breathing and flying? No god, not even an Archon, can come back from the dead.

Zho- no, Rex Lapis, does not respond this time.

“You faked your own death,” Ningguang repeats, slower and mostly to herself. She almost can’t process it. “You…you abandoned us.”

Rex Lapis is silent. His hands hang limply at his sides, eyes as dead and detached as his body should be, and a searing sense of betrayal rises rapidly in Ningguang’s chest.

“You left us to fight a god only you had ever faced before, and put thousands of lives in danger,” she hisses, leaning forward. “Thousands of lives, all of which belong to your people!”

He looks away.

His indifference infuriates her to the point that it’s almost sickening. Where is his remorse? Where is his courage and kindness? She wants to scream and stomp her feet until he looks her in the damn eye and tells her what in Celestia he was thinking when he lied and stepped away from a battle he was meant to handle.

“You’re a god for Archon’s sake!” she yells instead, “how could you be so selfish?”

He utters not a word, bowing his head in the face of her anger.

“And to show up now, after it’s all over?”

His gaze remains trained on the ground.

“What is wrong with you?” she spits vehemently, so wrathful she thinks she could physically attack him.

Once again, he is silent.

Ningguang curls both hands into shaking fists. How can he be so disrespectful, so afraid? His duty is to protect Liyue, and yet here he is, shying away from a simple confrontation.

“Coward!”

There’s a painfully empty moment in which she waits for him to deny it— to tell her she’s wrong. To apologize even. But he never speaks, never moves, never makes any attempt to own up, so she hurls more cruel words at him with as much venom as she can muster.

“You’re a coward, Rex Lapis!”

She takes a step towards him.

“Just admit it!”

She takes another step, and another.

“You aren’t worthy of being a god, let alone an Archon!”

He watches her approach, but does nothing to acknowledge it, and if something could make her any angrier, this does.

“Why don’t you—”

She pauses mere feet away from his kneeling form, in the midst of her next heated comment; pauses, because…

Is that?

No, Ningguang thinks, as the world seems to flip on its axis again.

No, it can’t be.

But when she peers past Rex Lapis and discovers what’s behind him — what’s been behind him this entire time — she knows that it is.

(Y/n).

She lies unconscious in the sand, wet hair plastered to her pale face and damp clothing against her limp body, and her skin is an icy mix of whites and purples. A stream of blood trickles from her forehead. But the worst part, the thing that sends Ningguang’s heart plummeting in her chest like a stone in water, is the laceration cutting across the girl’s uncovered stomach. There’s a single piece of fabric pressed against the wound in a hopeless attempt to staunch the bleeding, and in her haze of horror, Ningguang recognizes it as a section torn from Rex Lapis’ coat.

She attempts to chastise him again, but finds that she cannot. Her voice is simply gone.

“It is my fault.”

Dragging her eyes from her friend’s fallen form, Ningguang meets Rex Lapis’ saddened ones.

“It is my fault she was put in such a situation, and my fault she was harmed in it,” he whispers, and there is such unbearable heartbreak in his words, she almost wants to forgive him. “She is still alive,“ —and here Ningguang feels her lungs fill with a breath of hope— “but if she dies…” A tear works its way down his cheek. “If she dies, it will also be my fault.”

Ningguang can only hear the word alive, can only focus on it as she falls to her knees beside him, reaching out for a pulse on (Y/n)‘s freezing wrist. 

But Rex Lapis is still speaking.

“You had to fight Osial because of my selfishness, and your success was simply meant to grant me the peace I wished for.”

Ningguang finds the pulse she’s looking for, weak, but present, and she sags with relief against the ground.

“I failed this city, but you have not.”

It is only now that Ningguang realizes that Rex Lapis isn’t just addressing her, but the others she fought with as well, and she turns away from (Y/n) to see them gathered behind her, some stunned, others angry, and most an indistinguishable combination of the two. Keqing stands at the front, and though she may have been the first to run after her, it’s clear that they all followed Ningguang here, all watched as she reprimanded their god, and all chose not to intervene.

And then…

Then it occurs to Ningguang who she asked to escort (Y/n) from the Chamber and entrusted with her protection, and who is just as responsible as Rex Lapis for her current condition.

Xiao.

He stands near the back of the group beside the Traveler, head bowed. Ningguang knows they don’t have much time, that (Y/n) doesn’t have much time, but Archons, she can’t help herself.

“Xiao!”

He looks up. The rest of the Adepti and Qixing are silent, and she senses Rex Lapis stiffen beside her.

“You promised me you would save her!” she shouts. Her voice wavers, and she thinks she might start crying. “You promised!”

Xiao, to his credit, meets her eyes steadily.

“I did,” he says. There’s a pause, and he seems to struggle for a moment before continuing. “But I promised someone else their life long before I promised you hers.”

He does not specify who, but Ningguang knows— knows, but does not know why he’s chosen to protect them instead of (Y/n).

Them, the Traveler, who must have been unable to safely exit the Jade Chamber during its crash, who’s aid Xiao came to instead of (Y/n)’s; the Traveler, eyes downcast and hands clasped so tightly Ningguang can see the white that rings their knuckles; the Traveler, who defeated the eleventh Harbinger, and yet, even with all of their unbelievable powers, could not escape a building as it fell from the sky.

Ningguang wants to yell at both Xiao and his friend like she did Rex Lapis, but she finds she doesn’t have the strength. Instead all she can do is stare again, wondering why things had to turn out this way. Then Ganyu steps forward amid the tenseness.

“I understand your hostility, Lady Ningguang, and” —she looks from Ningguang to Rex Lapis to Xiao and then to Ningguang again— “it’s certainly justified. I’m sure we all feel similarly about today’s events. However, we have a much more pressing issue at the moment.”

Ningguang follows Ganyu’s gaze back to (Y/n), still lying unmoving in the sand with Rex Lapis’ torn coat section held firmly against her side.

“She’s alive, but she doesn’t have long,” says Ganyu. “We must act quickly.”

She is, of course, correct. Ningguang is wasting precious time, lashing out when they should be working to secure (Y/n)’s life.

“You’re right, Ganyu,” she whispers, lowering her eyes. “I apologize for my rashness. It is not the time nor place for this discussion, but we will have it.” She makes sure to address both Rex Lapis and Xiao. “For now, (Y/n) is our top priority.”

Ganyu nods at Cloud Retainer, and the two of them join Ningguang and Rex Lapis beside her body.

“What can be done?” Rex Lapis asks, his voice full of genuine concern as Ganyu moves to fasten the cloth around (Y/n)’s wound. Ningguang knows his alter ego is Zhongli, and therefore he knows (Y/n) well, but for him to be so worried for her…

Ningguang is not stupid. She knows something must be going on between them. She sees the gentle way he handles her, the way he looks at her too. She remembers them hugging in the Chamber, and how she teased (Y/n) about it afterwards.

And then she’s reminded of the days following Rex Lapis’ “death,” of (Y/n)’s overwhelming sadness and pain. She was so depressed, and Ningguang couldn’t understand why.

Now it all makes sense.

“One will channel Adeptal energy into the girl, my Lord,” Cloud Retainer replies, dipping her beak until it brushes against (Y/n)’s bloody temple. “It will support her body until she can heal.”

Rex Lapis’ stature softens at this. He is relieved. Ningguang turns to Ganyu.

“We should get her to Baizhu. He can heal her while the Adeptal energy keeps her alive.”

“Alright,” Ganyu agrees. “Help me lift her.”

With Rex Lapis supporting her head, and Ningguang her back, the three of them heft her up onto Cloud Retainer’s back.

“One will deliver her to the healer quickly, one assures you—”

“Rex Lapis,” someone sneers, interrupting Cloud Retainer’s parting words. “Did you really think you could just fly away?”

Ningguang turns towards the source of the voice, as do the rest of the Adepti and Qixing.

A tall woman stands on the beach in a gown and a mask. She smiles, and the hair on the nape of Ningguang's neck stands up; she knows as well as anyone else who the woman is. She sees it on all of their faces, the same realization, the same shock and fear, because the eighth of the Fatui Harbingers is here.

***

Your head hurts.

Your head hurts a lot.

It aches so badly you think your mind might be splitting in two, so you grit your teeth and try not to scream, curling into a ball as you pray for an end to the pain.

And then, blissfully, it fades, ebbing away until there’s nothing left but the thud of your heartbeat in your eardrums.

“Wake up, darling,” someone whispers, stroking your face gently.

Slowly but surely you open your eyes, blinking blurrily at the woman standing above you. She moves in and out of focus, still moving a cool hand across your cheek with such tenderness you wish to close your eyes again.

“Who…who are you?” you mumble sleepily instead. Your limbs feel like jello, and trying to sit up seems like a cruel joke.

The woman laughs, and it rings out like sleigh bells and placidly running creek-water and everything sweet and comforting. You suddenly feel very warm, very safe, here with this strange lady.

“I think you already know that, dear.”

You squint up at her, vision gradually clearing.

Do you know her?

She does seem familiar, but…

You can’t be sure.

She has such soft hands though, you think passively. Soft hands, and kind eyes, and brown hair…

Your eyes widen.

Your heart leaps.

You sit up so fast your head almost starts spinning all over again.

“Mother?”

Notes:

Gosh I’m so excited to read your guys’ comments I’ve missed them so much 😭

Chapter 25: Of rooks and roots

Summary:

Zhongli gives up something invaluable, and you begin to wonder where in Teyvat you and your mother are.

Notes:

Hey guys, I’m back!!!

I’m so sorry I was gone for so long (I was busy getting steamrolled by school lmao), but I’ve arranged a special double update since it’s Christmas that I hope will (somewhat) make up for it.

Now before we get into it, I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas, and if you don’t celebrate Christmas, then happy holidays!! Thank you for sticking with this story and for being so supportive; I love you all so much! <33333

(P.S. I wrote a little Christmas oneshot for my best friend and editor, lavender_star_dust, so feel free to check that out!! :))

“Mother?”

The word breaks past your lips, so hushed you’re surprised she hears it at all.

“Yes,” she whispers. Her hand cups your face with such warmth, such tenderness, and you’re reminded of someone else, someone you know you’ve lost but just can’t seem to let go of. “It’s me, sweetheart.”

You want to say something in return. You want to tell her you’ve missed her. You want her to know how much she means to you. You want to, but all that bubbles up and out of your throat is an awfully strangled noise, and words fail you like they always seem to.

“Oh, honey,” you hear her murmur, and before you can try to speak again, perhaps to apologize this time, two gentle arms — your mother’s arms — curl around you.

You can’t help it when the tears begin to fall, but really, can you ever?

They trickle down your cheeks like hot fire, but she kisses them away with sweet lips, whispering little comforts in your ears, and you crumble to pieces. There is nothing you’ve craved more than her love in all the years you’ve gone without her by your side, and now you have it.

Now you have her.

And so, secure in your mother’s embrace, you feel for the first time in a long time as though everything is going to be alright.

***

Zhongli senses Signora before he sees her.

He knows what she wants from him — what her god wants, because this was never truly about her desires — but he still finds himself wishing he could postpone this, if only to secure (Y/n)’s survival. He needs to make sure she is alive and safe before anything else.

Signora’s sharp words and sharper tone dash any hopes he has of compromise. 

He hears his name first, spat vehemently like a curse. The Adepti and Qixing turn to face her, and he follows suit only because he must.

“Did you really think you could just fly away?” she asks, painted lips tilted in a discomforting smile.

He does not respond. She stands in the sand in the same gown she was dressed in on the balcony, its base now damp with seawater and smeared with dirt, and he wonders briefly if she followed him across the water somehow.

Zhongli hears Cloud Retainer take off from the beach behind him, and his gaze settles on (Y/n), strewn limply across the Adeptus’ back. They are just beginning to shrink over the great expanse of the harbor when Signora speaks again, low and commanding this time.

“Give it to me.”

Ningguang steps forward, placing her body between him and Signora as if to shield him. He thinks it kind, despite knowing that if one of them is to be shielded, it should be her, but then Signora laughs.

Laughs, the sound scritching up her throat like the sand over the ruffles in her stained gown, and it feels so wrong against his ears, he fights the urge to cover them.

“You can’t protect him,” she sneers, “his promise is unbreakable.”

“His… what?” Ningguang asks, glancing between him and Signora.

Zhongli knew this would have to happen eventually, that revealing his past actions would be forced upon him in one way or another.

He just despises doing it.

“My contract,” he says.

Ningguang’s eyes widen with shock. The anger from before seeps back into her face, her voice.

“You made a contract with the Fatui?”

He struggles to keep his gaze from sinking to the ground, or wandering to the mangled fabric that hangs limply by his side.

“I did.”

She starts to say something in return, but breaks off when Signora begins to move towards them. Shifting closer to him, Ningguang extends a protective arm across his body.

“Don’t come any closer,” she warns.

Signora does not stop. She maintains her slow trek through the sand, dress snagging on tiny rocks and shells, smiling all the way. Zhongli hears the Qixing and Adepti moving behind him. Despite what he has done in terms of abandoning them, he is still their god, and he knows they will fight to protect him if necessary.

But it will not come to that— he is certain of it.

Mere feet away from them now, Signora pauses. She reaches out a hand to him, palm up and empty. Her eyes are hard.

“Well?”

The question sounds loudly across the beach, a single word left to hang in its resulting silence, and Zhongli places a hand on Ningguang’s arm, still cast in front of his chest like a protective barrier. She turns to look at him, eyes glowing hot with shock and fury, but he just nods solemnly.

There is no other way around this, no loophole or circumvention or escape, no matter how much either of them wish it so. Truly, the outcome of his decisions was settled long before he stepped foot on this beach, or saved (Y/n), or leapt from the Northland Bank’s balcony in order to do so.

It is simple.

It is clear.

And it is utterly unavoidable.

His contract must be fulfilled.

Ningguang does not move. She looks at him searchingly, as if finding some fault in his expression will explain everything. He sighs softly, preparing to brush past her of his own accord. There is no time to explain. He needs to end this as quickly and efficiently as possible so he can go to (Y/n), who is currently mortally wounded, and he cannot afford to waste another minute.

Then Ningguang’s arm falls.

Signora smirks. She watches him step forward, her face the picture of triumph. She knows she has won, and if the conditions were any different, he would dislike her display of it.

But right now he has no time for chastisement, so he simply reaches into the folds of his overcoat, wraps his hands around the chess-like object buried in the recesses of his chest, and extracts it from its place within him. Something crumbled brushes against his hand as he does so, and though he thinks it strange, for he rarely stores broken things within his coat when he can so easily repair them, he sets the curiosity aside for later.

Instead he watches Signora’s grin widen, and hears a chorus of gasps behind him, and feels the air around him hum with power. On the palm of his hand dances an invaluable object, a link to Celestia, a source of incredible knowledge.

His gnosis.

His chest feels strangely empty without it, like a vital piece of him has been stripped away, but he supposes that makes sense, considering how long it has resided there.

“You…you can’t.”

He turns back towards Ningguang, who stares at him, stunned. She shakes her head fervently, eyes dipping to his gnosis and then rising to his face again.

“You can’t, it’s—” She gulps, eyes darting frantically. Her hands claw desperately at the air, and he notices she is shaking, and then a cross between a laugh and a sob launches harshly from her throat. “It’s your gnosis!”

He meets her wild eyes. “I must.”

This time she does laugh, but it is mirthless. “Then what about Liyue? What happens to us when you step back for good?”

Zhongli watches anger spurt from the cracks in her mask, saying nothing, and doing nothing, and cradling his gnosis as Signora waits patiently for him to hand it over.

“What about your people? What about your duty? What about being an Archon, Rex Lapis?” Ningguang cries, and he feels his heart twist uncomfortably.

She is right, of course; he is being unbelievably selfish in all of this. He possesses all the responsibility there is. He should stay. He should protect. Stepping down is equivalent to shying away from duty, and he knows it, but…

But he is just so tired.

Living for so long has its perks, but there are more downfalls than one can imagine. For one, he has been fighting to protect Liyue for nearly his entire life, and the exhaustion is catching up to him. Just because he is a god does not mean he is immune to weariness.

For two, life without another close immortal is agonizing. Though mortals can make dear companions, they do eventually and consistently die on a predictable timescale. 

(Here he thinks of (Y/n), and his heart aches.)

The most Zhongli has ever been involved with beings that can fill the void guarded by time are the Adepti, whose extended lifespans make them easier to form meaningful relationships with, and…

And Guizhong.

He hates how it still hurts to think of her name, even after two millennia.

If she were still with him, would he be here now, ready to give away the marker of his godhood and step down from his position as Archon of Liyue? Would he be a greater leader than he has become without her? It is impossible to know, and yet he wishes to. She was his closest confidant, his most trusted friend, dare he say, his lover—

“What about (Y/n)?”

Zhongli blinks. Ningguang is trembling. Behind her he glimpses Xiao standing next to the Traveler, face drawn with more shock than he has ever seen on the man.

They must expect him to pause to think about it, or to at least respond.

He does the exact opposite.

Ningguang’s question reminds him that (Y/n) is his top priority now. That means wrapping this up, so instead of saying something, he turns to face Signora again. Her outstretched arm has dropped, but now she reinstates it in the air between them with a sickening smile.

Zhongli takes a deep breath. His heart is racing, and Ningguang is saying something else behind him, and he thinks Xiao is too. He wonders what the other Adepti and Qixing are doing. He wonders if they will try to stop him. Then the gnosis slides cleanly from his palm to Signora’s, and it is done.

His final contract is fulfilled.

“Thank you, Morax,” Signora says, tucking the gnosis into her gown. She smiles haughtily. “It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

She turns and struts away, and all of a sudden two hands grip Zhongli’s shoulders from behind in a vice of pure rage. Their long metal fingernails tell him that they belong to Ningguang, just before she forcibly wrenches him around to face her.

“What in the abyss is wrong with you?!” she shouts, removing her hands from his body if only to violently shove him with them a moment later.

“I made a contract,” he says simply. “It had to be done.”

“That’s not- it doesn’t—” she starts, but he is already walking towards the edge of the water, wings sprouting like blackened streaks of lightning from his shoulder blades. He is gone into the sky before she can say another word, soaring across the harbor towards the only thing that matters now.

***

After your tears of joy subside and you can seem to think again, your location becomes the next big question.

The first thing you notice is the great tree that towers before you. Glowing white lines climb from its trunk to its leaf-tipped branches like veins, branches which themselves reach towards the sky for hundreds upon hundreds of feet.

The second is how otherwise empty the area is. There is quite literally nothing other than you, your mother, and the tree for as far as you can see in any direction.

“What is this place?” you ask finally, staring back up at the glowing tree and its beautiful white leaves. You think they look like silk, and wonder if they are as soft as it too.

Your mother, one arm still draped around you, sighs. “I’m afraid you are in what we call the ‘wood between the worlds.’”

You furrow your brows, tearing your eyes from the unfathomable array of branches twisting into intricate mazes above your heads.

“The what?”

And who’s we, you want to ask too, but you’re distracted by a tree branch as it falls and cracks harshly against the ground, spewing leaves and splintered wood. There’s something oddly disconcerting about it despite there being other, similar branches to it littering the ground around the tree, something strange that sends chills prickling down your spine and has you rising from the ground in favor of taking a closer look.

Your mother does not intervene. Neither does she join you. She watches and waits, and when you do finally realize why you found the fallen branch wrong in such an inexplicable way, she cannot meet your eyes.

“Why is it faded?” you whisper.

Your mother stands. You look at the branch again, at its blackened leaves and grayed wood. The other fallen branches scattered about the base of the tree appear the same, and you suddenly feel ill.

“The ‘wood between the worlds,’” she says, brushing nonexistent dust from her lap as she starts towards you, “is just what it sounds like. It’s a place where the worlds of life and death are always battling, always well within reach, and are even manipulatable.” 

She stops beside you, and you follow her gaze up to the glowing tree.

“Unfortunately, however strong, or long-lived, or powerful one may be, in every being’s life, death eventually triumphs. So to keep track, we have a clock.”

She gestures to the tree’s flowing branches and sturdy trunk, both pulsing with incredible light.

“Behold, the tree of life, timekeeper of all.”

Notes:

Any Narnia fans out there who caught the book reference? ;)
Don’t forget to check out the second chapter in the double update!

Chapter 26: No man’s land

Summary:

You’re alive…right?

Notes:

Welcome to part two of the double update! Enjoy!!

It is nearing dusk when Zhongli reaches Bubu Pharmacy. The clouds burn a brilliant reddish-orange against the evening sky, setting the city awash in warmth, but he has neither the time nor the will to appreciate it.

(Y/n).

He needs to see (Y/n).

He needs to hurry too, for although they have not yet caught up, he knows the Qixing and Adepti are likely hot on his heels. With them will surely come Ningguang, who — no matter how deserving of her cruel words he may be — he desperately wishes to avoid until he is aware of (Y/n)’s fate.

And so, with all of these worries and wishes and wants swirling about like a sea of raging storm clouds in his mind, Zhongli touches down. Even before he has the chance to reabsorb his wings, he is dashing across the pavilion, his breathing jagged for a reason that has nothing to do with running, his heartbeat hammering in his ears like a drum.

The door to the pharmacy is unlocked. He tears it open and bursts inside, heaving.

“Hello?”

He looks down. It is Qiqi, the little zombie girl whom the Adepti resurrected. She stares up at him with soft, magenta eyes, perhaps confused by his disheveled state or obvious urgency, and he wonders if she recognizes him. She usually does not.

“Do you need something?”

“I am here to see someone, a woman,” he manages finally, tongue like lead in his mouth, and she nods, tugging absentmindedly at the sigil secured beneath her hat.

“Ok. Let me get Baizhu.”

She slips through a door at the back, returning a moment later with Baizhu in tow. He smiles kindly when he sees Zhongli.

“Welcome!” he exclaims, offering a slight bow. “A lovely evening isn’t it? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Is there a young woman here?” Zhongli asks, feeling his chest constrict painfully. He fiddles with the hem of his gloves, waiting anxiously for Baizhu’s response.

“There is!” the man says, his smile brightening. “A bird Adeptus brought her in about a half an hour ago or so and insisted on staying by her side. They’re both in the back room now.” He gestures to the door from which he came. “She’s unconscious and was bleeding heavily from her head and abdomen, and I believe she has a concussion, but she’s currently stable. Do you know her?” he asks.

But Zhongli barely hears him.

All he can think of, all he can focus on, is the fact that (Y/n) is alive— here and alive, and without another word he makes a beeline for the back room, desperate to see her. His head pounds in sync with his footsteps, and anticipation sucks all air from his lungs, and when he finally reaches out to push through the door, he is afraid of what he might see.

Afraid, because what if he is mistaken? What if he heard Baizhu wrong? What if the woman on the other side of the door is not (Y/n)?

In the split second before he enters, Zhongli’s head is a mess of doubt. He worries his way through the possibilities, tossing reason to the sideline as fear grips his mind, his heart.

But then the door opens, and he sees her — (Y/n) — alive, and safe, and in one piece.

He could kiss her.

He could cry.

He does neither, because one moment relief is flooding his body, and the next, he fully realizes her condition.

She lies unconscious on a raised medical bed to the right of the doorway, Cloud Retainer perched by her side and beak pressed softly to her forehead. There are bandages bound round her head and stomach. Her clothes are the same as they were when he found her in the water, ragged and dirty and stained with her own blood.

He cannot help the way he freezes in the doorway, cannot help the immobilizing chill that works its way through his body.

She just looks so… broken.

And it scares him.

Cloud Retainer calls out something that sounds a lot like “my lord,” but his head is spinning, and he does not know if he is breathing, and then he feels it— a tearing, throbbing burn in his chest unlike anything he has ever experienced. His right hand flies to assuage the scorching pain, but it makes little difference; this is agony of the soul, suffering brought on by emotion. There is very little physical cause for it.

He watches the slow rise and fall of (Y/n)’s chest in an attempt to calm down, reminding himself to breathe like she is, and it works.

It works, mostly.

There is still that horror, that fright lingering in his system like an infectious disease. It makes him sick with worry— vulnerable beyond belief. Yes, he knows he should feel something — he cares far too much about her to be unaffected — but by Celestia, his heart has never ached so terribly for any of the gods of Teyvat nor for any of its people.

Baizhu snaps him from his spiraling thoughts with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Sir?” he asks, sounding concerned. “Are you alright?”

Zhongli clears his throat, fighting for a smile. “I’m fine.”

And really, he is. He is fine, and will be fine, as long as she is.

“How…how long will it take for her to recover?” he asks.

Baizhu hums, stepping deeper into the room. “With wounds like these, it would normally take over a month for her to get back on her feet, if back on her feet at all,” he says, strolling towards the bed where she lays. “She’s honestly been very lucky to get this far.”

Zhongli wonders if (Y/n) will ever fully recover, worrying what he will do — what he will say — if she does not, but Baizhu is not finished.

“However, I think the Adeptus is speeding up the healing process somehow. It might only be a few weeks before she’s well enough to go home!”

The newly formed knot releases in Zhongli’s stomach. He knows very well what Cloud Retainer is doing, though Baizhu does not, and he is grateful for it.

“One is simply using one’s abilities to keep the girl’s body stable,” the Adeptus in question explains. “She will heal on her own, albeit faster.”

Baizhu nods slowly, looking intrigued. “Fascinating.”

All of a sudden, there is a great commotion in the lobby. Baizhu is just excusing himself to go investigate when Ningguang bursts into the room, breathing heavily. Her gaze flicks from Zhongli, to Baizhu, to (Y/n), where her eyes settle, softening.

“Archons,” she breathes, rushing to (Y/n)’s bedside. The rest of the Adepti and Qixing file in after her. Some, like Keqing, follow close behind, and others, like Xiao, linger near the back. Zhongli notices the Traveler with them too.

Ningguang is relieved, he knows; they all are. But it is quite a shock to see a friend so battered, so broken. He would not be surprised if she was as scared as he is.

Zhongli’s heart sinks when Ningguang finally turns back towards him. She steps away from (Y/n), beckoning to someone behind him, and Xiao emerges, head bowed and hands clasped.

“Come with me,” she says sharply, addressing the both of them, “we need to talk.”

***

“How exactly is it a timekeeper?” you ask your mother, still staring up at the glowing white tree in the strange “wood between the worlds.”

She points to the tree branch you saw fall. “That branch represented a life. It was attached to the tree a little while ago, glowing and white, but then it faded and fell.”

You look at her, eyes wide. “Does that mean the life it represented… is over?”

It’s an alarming sentiment, you think, but when your mother nods, you know it to be true.

“Correct. In the world of the living, whoever was connected to that branch has died. Its fall was simply a reaction, a symbol of their time in that world coming to an end.”

You’re silent for a moment, taking this new information in.

The tree of life, suspended between the worlds of life and death, keeps track of the living up until the moment of their demise. When that time comes, the branch serving as their personal clock falls from the tree, as dead as the being it was tied to.

That much makes sense. That much you can comprehend.

The only thing you don’t quite understand is…

“Why am I here?”

Your mother smiles, her eyes as warm and full of life as you remember, but now there’s something else there, something bittersweet.

“I think you know that, dear.”

“But I- I don’t,” you say, laughing a little in spite of yourself. Why would you ever be here, in this confusing no-man’s-land, and with your mother no less? You’re just about to ask her why she thinks you know what you’re doing in this place when an abrupt realization hits you like one of the falling tree branches.

Your mother— she’s dead.

And she has been for years, but now she’s here, looking as alive and well as the day you last saw her.

As for you, you’re…

…alive?

Your heart plummets terrifyingly in your chest, and your fingers feel clammy.

You are, aren’t you?

For some reason, you’re not so sure anymore.

You try to think about the last thing you remember happening in the real world— the world of the living, and there’s a brief moment of petrifying emptiness in which nothing comes to mind.

Then it all comes rushing back.

You remember Zhongli’s death, and the horrific, debilitating sadness that followed.

You remember Ningguang’s care, and Kazuha’s sympathy.

You remember falling with the Jade Chamber.

You remember incredible, blinding pain.

And then…nothing.

Out of everything you’ve seen and thought here, nothing disturbs you more than this does.

“Am I dead?” you finally manage, voice choked with mind-numbing fear.

“No,” your mother says, “but you will be if we don’t do something about it.”

***

When Signora finally meets him at Northand Bank with Rex Lapis’ gnosis secure in her grip, the first thing that Childe comments on is her appearance.

“You look like someone dragged you through the abyss,” he jokes, and she shoots him a murderous glare.

“I’d suggest you shut your mouth, Childe. You’re not the one who attained the gnosis, nor the one who will return to Snezhnaya in the Tsaritsa’s favor.”

Childe grits his teeth, wishing he could do something to combat her. Unfortunately, she is his superior, and he has done his job rather poorly as of late.

“All I had to do was strike a contract with Morax himself, and the gnosis was as good as mine,” she continues, waving the glowing object in front of his face. He feels his blood go cold.

“You what?”

She smiles at his dismay. “I formed a contract with the god of contracts, is that so shocking?”

“No, I just thought you might tell me first,” he snaps, wincing a little as pain shoots through his side. He’s still injured from the battle with the Traveler, an embarrassing loss that could not have left him in worse shape or graces.

“Well, at least now you know,” she says blandly, as if that will make up for it.

It doesn’t. Nothing really can, not even an apology, which he knows she’ll never give. She’s doused him in shame, removed him from her plans when they should be working together, and it makes him furious.

He starts to respond, but she’s already headed for the door, tucking the gnosis into her gown.

“We’re leaving tonight,” she says. “I’ve arranged—”

“No.”

This time it’s him who cuts in, him who takes control, and she half-turns back towards him, eyebrows raised.

“No?”

Childe crosses his arms, ignoring the uncomfortable ache of his muscles. “I’ll travel separately. I’d rather not spend any more time with you than I have to.”

“Fine,” she says, entirely emotionless, and turns away again. He watches her exit the building, the tightness in his chest easing with relief, but he knows he can’t leave yet.

No, he thinks, resolve hardening, not yet. 

He isn’t finished here.

There’s still revenge to take, after all.

Notes:

Broo Xiao and Zhongli bout to get DEEPFRIED by Ningguang lmaooo

Chapter 27: Remorse

Summary:

Xiao has made mistakes he is unsure how to fix.

Notes:

So it’s been quite a while, but I’m back!!!

These past few weeks have been a nightmare because of final exams, but now I’m finally free of them!! 🥳🎉

I’ve missed you guys so much, and I’m so excited for where this story’s going!! Thank you for all your comments, kudos, and love, and I appreciate you all so much more than you know! <33333333

Xiao feels sick.

His stomach is a churning mess of guilt and fear, and something like shame is notched uncomfortably between his heart and his throat. Every time he catches a glimpse of Rex Lapis in his peripherals, the nausea tears deeper still, catching in his ribs, his lungs.

He feels sick, and tired, and so terribly remorseful it aches.

He couldn’t look at his god back on the beach, and neither could he look when their little group of warriors first arrived at the pharmacy, and now, as Ningguang ushers them both into another room, he still can’t.

It’s a shame, really.

All these years, all this time, all down the drain because of one momentous mistake.

Back before the Archon wars, Rex Lapis had saved him from a horrible fate, had swept him away from cruel imprisonment and taught him what it meant to be kind— what it meant to protect.

They’d fought eons of wars together, sharing in every victory and every loss.

They’d trusted each other with their lives.

Xiao thought they could have almost been considered family, if not by blood.

And then he had to go ahead and ruin it, ruin it like everything else he’s ever touched— send their entire relationship tumbling out of his unworthy hands to a place where there’s no recovering it.

The mask hisses, screeches, whispers wickedly in his ear that he has no right to miss the relationship he had with his god when he never deserved it in the first place.

And the awful thing is, it’s true.

It’s true, and Archons , he feels sick.

Disgraceful…weak…alone…

His stomach tumbles again, and his mind twists, and his heartbeat pounds in his ears like a thumping countdown.

It’s his fault—

His fault the girl was nearly killed.

His fault for being selfish.

His fault for making a promise he couldn’t keep.

It’s all his fault.

Weak…idiotic…coward…

If he had just been stronger, smarter, braver— there was always something he could’ve done.

But he hadn’t.

He.

Hadn’t.

And now he was paying the price.

“Xiao.”

Xiao’s stomach clenches. His palms are warm and sweaty in that distinctly nervous way, and his head is all arush with the howling words of the mask, and he just wants to leave.

Karma…your fault, all your fault…kill…fight…demons…mask, use the mask, USE THE MASK—

“Xiao.”

It’s Ningguang. Her voice is calm, soothing even, but Xiao still has the desperate urge to run.

“Are you alright?” she asks, sounding genuinely concerned. He wonders why she would be, especially for him, especially after what he’s done (or hasn’t done, really).

He nods, though he most certainly is not.

“Good,” she says, “then I believe we have some important things to discuss.”

“Yes,” murmurs another, deeper voice.

Rex Lapis.

Xiao keeps his eyes trained on his lap, fingers digging farther into the already bunched fabric of his clothing, because he knows if he looks up he won’t be able to hold a gaze with the piercing golden eyes of his god.

A stifling silence passes.

Ningguang sighs. She sounds exhausted, like she’s so worn thin she can’t keep up the usual front of composure, and if it’s even possible, Xiao feels worse.

“So, where should I begin? With the gross negligence of duties? With broken promises?”

“With my faults,” responds Rex Lapis, his words equally tinged with weariness. “There are many.”

Ningguang huffs out a mirthless laugh. “Indeed there are, Zhongli.”

Xiao senses his god wince.

“I apologize for that- for the lies, for everything. I did not intend for any of this to go the way it did.”

“And yet you did,” she snaps back. “You intended for the Qixing and Adepti to fight together for the city without your aid, intended for us to win, intended to hand over your gnosis at the end of it all. Did you not?”

A brief pause. Then,

“I did.”

Xiao can hear the shame behind his words.

“And you apologize for it?” Ningguang asks.

“How could I not?” Rex Lapis says, like he can’t imagine feeling any other way, and oh, Xiao sees it though he isn’t looking, feels it though he’s grown quite numb, knows a dam is breaking before the rest comes gushing forth—

“How could I not, when the one I love was nearly killed?”

Xiao’s mouth goes impossibly dry.

The words settle with a harsh certainty in his mind, prickling coldly.

He thinks the world is spinning.

The one Rex Lapis loves?

Who was nearly killed?

The world is spinning, and his hands are shaking, and he itches for the mask, and Archons, he couldn’t have fucked up more.

“Ah,” says Ningguang, “there it is.” She smiles grimly, reaching up to cradle her forehead. “I knew there was something between you, but I couldn’t be sure.”

Rex Lapis says nothing, but it might as well be a confirmation— verification that the girl Xiao failed to save, the one he left in the doomed Chamber, is his lover.

It’s bad enough that Xiao failed to keep his promise to Ningguang on her behalf.

But to fail his god?

What kind of Yaksha is he?

“And Xiao,” Ningguang says, finally addressing him. He stiffens. “You saved the Traveler instead of (Y/n). Care to explain?”

Failure…unforgivable…faithless wrench…

Xiao wants to throw up.

He’s aware that Rex Lapis already knows what he’s done, that he found out back on the beach when Ningguang yelled at him in front of everyone, but to say it out loud, here and now, especially in light of what he’s learned…

He doesn’t think he can do it.

“Xiao?” Rex Lapis asks, and he sounds so worried, so kind, like he still cares about him after everything.

This care — this love — it gnaws and burns so terribly Xiao just can’t hold it all in anymore.

He can’t.

He won’t.

He doesn’t.

And so the tears come— not fast, nor hard, but pattering softly over the backs of his hands like raindrops, as clear as crystals through his blurring vision.

Ningguang gasps.

Rex Lapis inhales sharply.

Xiao cries, and it doesn’t make a sound, and there is nothing but this emptiness, this barely intact silence that grates against his senses, for five agonizing seconds.

Then he feels a hand on his shoulder. Another settles gently on his forearm.

“Xiao,” comes the even voice of his god, “breathe.”

He blinks, tries to inhale slowly, curses inwardly when the air shakes in his lungs. He so desperately wants to claw at his chest, his throat— his eyes, which won’t seem to stop overflowing.

“Take your time, Xiao,” says Ningguang. She squeezes his arm reassuringly. “You’re ok.”

But he’s not ok— he’s not, he’s not, he’s not. It’s as if the world is collapsing around him, like it’s all crumbling to pieces atop his head, like everything is ending and it’s his fault, all his fault—

“Xiao, look at me.”

This time Rex Lapis’ words are firm, a command, and Xiao lifts his head with a jolt. His god’s stoic gaze flicks across his tear stained face, his trembling form, his utter brokenness, and Xiao watches it soften like butter.

“I’m- I’m so sorry,” he manages to choke out, scrambling for something, anything, as the mask whispers dreadful things in his ears. 

Your decisions… your choice… your fault…

It’s like a hive of vicious bees is swarming in his head, buzzing and stinging and flying about.

You deserve to suffer, they screech, and to be punished, and to—

“I forgive you.”

The chatter, the pain, it all fades away. His eyes widen in disbelief, and his fists flex, and he wonders if he heard Rex Lapis correctly, or if it’s just the mask playing cruel tricks on his mind again.

“You… what?” he croaks.

Rex Lapis meets his eyes with a steadiness that’s almost unnerving.

“I forgive you, Xiao. You were unaware of her importance to me, and you had a promise to fulfill.” He smiles softly, and Xiao feels his lungs relax, his muscles begin to loosen. He can’t help but gape, utterly speechless.

Forgiveness is something he never expected, nor was he hoping for, but to say it’s unwelcome would be the furthest thing from the truth; truly, he has never been more thankful, more grateful, more sorry—

“I can sense the strength of your remorse, my loyal Yaksha,” says Rex Lapis. “You are not at fault here.”

Ningguang says nothing to this, but Xiao can sense her hesitancy. She isn’t as ready to forgive him, it seems.

He understands.

He doesn’t think he would forgive himself so easily either.

Besides, he broke her promise even when he knew (Y/n) was a dear friend, long before he found out how much the girl meant to his god.

(His god, his kind, strong, loving god, forgiving him with a smile on his face. The mask is blissfully silent.)

“Thank you, my lord,” Xiao whispers, because he thinks his voice may crack if he tries for anything louder. “I am forever in your debt—”

“No.”

Xiao freezes. Did he say something wrong, something offensive?

A soft smile dances on Rex Lapis’ lips. “Xiao, you will never be in my debt. You have done far more for me than anyone ever has. If anything, it is I who am indebted to you.”

Once again, Xiao is speechless. He stares at his god like he’s said something atrocious, because he has.

How could Rex Lapis ever be indebted to a Yaksha? How, when Xiao’s service has never been about accruing any sort of interest, when his loyalty has never had a cost?

“Go to the Traveler,” Rex Lapis urges, hand finally falling from Xiao’s shoulder. “Ningguang and I have a few more things to discuss.”

Xiao doesn’t have the strength to argue, nor the will. Ningguang’s hand draws away from his arm as well, and he rises, shuffling to the door. Hand on the knob, he turns to look at his god one last time.

His eyes are warm, his smile kind.

But there’s something else behind it, something swelling with unease and fear and anticipation. He’s on edge.

It’s not hard to work out why.

Xiao feels sick.

He leaves the room before the tears have a chance to come rushing back.

***

“I’ll die?” you splutter incredulously, feeling quite numb all of a sudden.

Your mother reaches out to take your hand, and you let her, clutching it like a lifeline. “You probably would if I wasn’t here.”

“But you are,” you say.

“But I am.”

“So what do I do?” you ask.

She smiles. “Find yourself.”

“How?”

She points up at the tree with her free hand. “Your branch is up there somewhere. Everyone’s is until they die. The trouble is, there are a lot of beings, and a lot of branches, and if you don’t find yours before it’s too late…” she pauses, eyes finally finding yours. “It’ll fall.”

The understanding hits you like a deflating anemo slime.

If you don’t find the branch that connects to you, it will fall from the tree, and you’ll follow it in death.

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh,” says your mother, cracking another smile. You don’t think this is any time to be smiling, but you don’t question it. She knows far more about this place than you. If anything, her calmness is a little reassuring.

Your eyes flit over the tree branches, already searching, scouring— but as for what you’re looking for, or how exactly you’ll know which branch belongs to you, you have no idea. Realizing the hopelessness of the situation, you turn back to your mother.

“Then how do I find it in time?”

Her grip tightens on your hand, soft and reassuring. “You must feel.”

“Feel?” you ask, confused.

“Connect to your emotions. Find your memories and search them for what makes you you,” she explains. “If you can do that, you’ll find your branch.”

You’re still not quite sure what she means, but you have another question. “What do I do if I find it?”

She leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, and you melt into the touch. “When you find it, and don’t worry, I’ll walk you through everything.”

“Alright.”

A beat.

“How do I…get up there?”

Your mother smiles. “Don’t you have an anemo vision?”

“But how do you- you died before—” you splutter, shocked by her knowledge of your life after her death.

“Just because I’m dead doesn’t mean I haven’t been watching over you, dear,” she says. “Now, let’s fly, shall we?”

Notes:

My beta reader referred to Xiao as a lil trauma bucket and I strongly agree

Chapter 28: Breathe

Summary:

Progress is both made and lost.

Notes:

Uh.

Um.

So.

*clears throat uncertainly*

GUESS WHOS BACKKKKKKKK!!!!

After nearly a year of absence in which I experienced several questionable romantic relationships, cooked (and was cooked) at college, and lost quite a bit of motivation to the procrastination station that is my mind, I've arisen from the grave! Feel free to hurl all sorts of insults at me, I can take them (I can't). The good news is, I'm back with another chapter, and will hopefully continue to pump them out. (I did promise that I'd never abandon this story, though that was a bit of a lengthy hiatus. I did say you could hurl insults.)

Anyways, the bad news. As a broke, tired college student majoring in STEM, I can't promise a regular update schedule. As I'm currently on break, I've finally had a chance to catch my breath and get to work on this story again, but I'll be back on the college grind soon enough :(.

All I can hope is that this story brings you enjoyment and entertainment, and I thank anyone reading this for doing so. The number of kudos, hits, and comments is staggering and heartwarming (in my eyes), and once again, I can't thank you enough for the love.

So, with apologies out of the way (and attempted explanations that probably sound like excuses lol), please enjoy chapter 28!!!

The door clicks shut behind Xiao as he exits the backroom of the pharmacy.

The air is quiet, but not sour, neither inflamed with anger nor iced over with frost. A resolved silence settles instead, decisive and grim.

Zhongli knows that this silence — loaded as it may be — is the closest thing to contentment they’ll ever have. He knows, and Ningguang knows, because there is no point in discussing actions and decisions that cannot be undone or unmade—  no matter how much either of them may wish it so.

Truly, what is important now is (Y/n). Her recovery, her well-being— it is all they can both think about, and he knows it. He sees Ningguang fidgeting, tugging at her metal claws, and he watches the way she tosses noticeable glances at the door every so often. He feels her anxiety, because it is his own.

Zhongli folds his hands across his lap, sucking in a single, deep breath.

He thinks of Xiao, who has just left to see the Traveler. He thinks of his tears and his eyes, of how his hands shook and his voice trembled. He thinks of his apology.

Zhongli exhales.

He closes his eyes and bows his head and suddenly feels so inconsolably awful it renders him sick; Xiao was forced to make a decision he should never have had to even consider, dropped blind into a situation with no right answer, and the only one he has to blame for it is himself.

But now….

Now he has to set that aside.

Now they must prioritize the people, for the future of Liyue is far more important than his own shame, or Ningguang’s righteous anger. Both of their personal sentiments will have to wait.

Zhongli opens his eyes, raising his head slowly. Ningguang is still fiddling with her claws. He reminds himself that after everything is said and done, he can be beside (Y/n) again.

“Ningguang, I want to leave Liyue to the command and protection of the Qixing.”

Ningguang looks up, her eyebrows raised in a cross between shock and confusion.

“What?”

“I…” He swallows, hard. Her eyes are piercing. “I am stepping down.”

There is silence— brief, tentative. Zhongli’s breath stills in his chest. For one foolish second he thinks she might accept his resignation without any pushback, that things will settle without another tongue lashing. She knows it is his goal to leave after all, courtesy of his actions back on the beach.

But then Ningguang’s fury rushes forth again, flooding from her mouth like a frothing bout of sea foam, and he is reminded once more of how desperately she cares for Liyue.

“I know you no longer have your gnosis, but you simply can’t,” she protests. “What will the people do? What will they think? Do you expect the Qixing to be able to protect Liyue like you have?”

“You have already proven that you can.”

She blinks, expression twisting with rebuttal. Then the realization sinks in, almost horrifyingly.

“No,” she breathes.

“Yes,” he insists. “It was the only way.”

“But- but the people. You’re their god.”

“They will be alright,” he assures her.

“How will you tell them?”

He allows himself a wan smile. “They already think I am dead.”

She laughs, the barest sliver of mirth twitching on her lips. “Right. How could I forget?”

A resolved silence settles, and Zhongli feels his muscles begin to loosen, the torrent of his mind calm. Warmth blooms in his chest, and it is almost enough to wash over the hollowness buried beneath his ribs.

“Thank you.”

Ningguang’s eyes widen. “What for?”

“For doing— for being what I cannot,” he says. “I could not be more grateful.”

She smiles tiredly, but it is real, and the warmth spreads from his chest to his arms and legs. For what must be the hundredth time today, he thinks he may cry.

But this time, it is not tears of sorrow that threaten to spill, not tears of anger.

No.

Tears of joy.

Tears of freedom.

Tears of relief.

“It’s our pleasure, Rex Lapis,” says Ningguang. “We won’t disappoint you.”

He lets them spill. Silent, gentle, twirling down his cheeks like raindrops as he rises for the door. He does not wipe them away. Ningguang does not see. But she does follow him out, back into the room where the pieces of his heart lie.

The others, it seems, have since relocated in another section of the building, but Baizhu and Cloud Retainer remain glued to (Y/n)’s side. Baizhu turns to face them as they enter. His brow is furrowed. Zhongli catches his eyes, tainted with uncertainty.

“Is something wrong?” he asks. His lungs feel stiller than the air in the room. He realizes suddenly that he is holding his breath and wonders absently if Ningguang is doing the same.

Baizhu steps away from the bedside toward the two of them. “I’m not sure.”

The words thunder in Zhongli’s mind like a drumbeat.

I’m.

Not.

Sure.

“You’re not sure?” Ningguang echoes, voice strained.

Baizhu is shaking his head. “I just— I don’t know. There’s something hindering Cloud Retainer’s Adeptal energy, and—” he cuts himself off, clearly frustrated, and Zhongli fights the urge to hurl desperate questions at the man.

Baizhu sighs, closing his eyes. When he reopens them, something new has replaced the uncertainty, something that makes Zhongli uneasy.

“She’s stopped healing. In fact, I think she might be regressing.”

Zhongli feels his lungs tighten further. He blinks, heart pattering sluggishly as the floor seems to sway beneath him.

Ningguang manages a shaky, “She’s what?” but Baizhu is already explaining, or trying to. All Zhongli hears are the words ‘blood’ and ‘energy’ as Baizhu emphasizes how unfamiliar with all of this he is, and how strange the trajectory of her recovery has been, and it sends him spiraling before he can even think to be rational.

But there is no being rational here. Not when it has to do with her. Not when this is all his fault.

Ningguang is saying something to Baizhu now, but he does not know what, and it does not matter.

What can she say that will help?

What can she do?

Nothing.

Nothing, because if even Adeptal energy cannot stabilize (Y/n), then there is nothing any of them can do.

But, by Celestia, this is agonizing.

Zhongli reaches for his chest, desperate to assuage the tearing, screaming, pain that is hellbent on renting his heart in two. It spreads like fire, binds his lungs in thorny tendrils, sweeps through his body like a rampant disease, and now—now his heart is beating much too fast, and his thoughts are crumbling like dry clay, and his legs are far from steady.

“Zhongli?”

Ningguang.

Somehow he manages to find her face amongst the roaring terror of his soul. She eyes him worriedly, stepping forward as she reaches for his shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

Words of affirmation die on his lips as his vision clouds dangerously. The best he can do is focus on standing.

“Hey,” she says, expression shifting sympathetically, “it’s ok. You’re ok. Just breathe.”

He nods with some effort. 

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

And he tries, he really does. To let his mortal lungs expand like they are meant to. To let them keep him alive.

But then four words slam into the walls of his mind, and fear wraps a hand around his throat, and he cannot breathe.

He is losing her.

And for the first time in a long time, he is helpless to prevent it.

Entirely, horribly helpless.

***

Your first attempt at activating your vision is sad, to say the very least.

A measly burst of anemo energy fizzles beneath your feet for a moment, boosting you several wobbly inches off the ground before dying unceremoniously in a cloud of windy vapors.

You stumble a little, but take another stab at it, not quite convinced that there’s anything wrong. You’re just out of practice is all.

But just like the first time, the sketchy stream of air you manage to conjure up is quick to dissipate, and you tumble to the ground.

“What’s going on?” you ask, looking up at your mother in confusion. “Is something wrong with my vision?”

She moves to kneel beside you and pats your arm reassuringly.

“No, don’t worry.” She reaches for the amulet fastened at your hip, tilting it up so you can see, and you notice that its greenish glow is a great deal dimmer than usual. “Your connection to it is weaker here. You must begin focusing on your memories beforehand.”

“Ok,” you say, pushing yourself to your feet. “Just… memories?”

“Memories that define you. Ones that you feel have worked their way into your soul.”

You nod, still a little uncertain.

Worked their way into your soul? What does that mean?

There really doesn’t seem to be a formula for this, but you’ve always trusted your mother more than anyone else, even if this version of her is just some projection of your dying mind (which, you’ll admit, isn’t the most pleasant thought to be having at the moment).

So you close your eyes, constructing a mental image of the woman beside you. It seems only right that you begin with her, the parent that has shaped you in more ways than you’ll ever be aware of, the person you’ve missed for over half your life.

You visualize the moments you can easily remember and dig deep for the ones you can’t quite grasp, collecting them like handfuls of paper cutouts you can paste along the walls of your mind.

Then you search for your anemo powers.

The images and scenes from your memories waver in your head, corners peeling away from the walls, but you slap them back up, determined to pull this off. You’re so close. So close you can feel the wind in your hair, sense it curling around the base of your legs and weaving between your fingertips. So close you could reach out and touch the memories. So close, and then you’re weightless.

Then you’re flying.

You smile so giddily it almost hurts, running over the memories of your mother once, twice, a third time. You’re rising steadily, albeit slow.

How high are you? Ten feet? Twenty?

You open an eye out of curiosity and immediately regret it when the swirl of air beneath you thins frighteningly, shrinking into a puttering plume.

You slow to an unsteady stop.

To your relief, a stop is where you remain for several seconds, catching your breath and shooting a nervous thumbs up at your mother below.

You don’t get the chance to determine her reaction.

Instead, the relief at this seemingly harmless pause in your ascent is quickly replaced by a sinking feeling as the remaining wind at your feet fades into wisps.

You’re no longer rising, or floating, or even hovering.

You’re falling.

Falling, and you can’t seem to get a handhold on your powers, and your mind is too scattered for memories, and your mother is shouting for you to remember, so you squeeze your eyes shut against every instinct and try.

You’re falling, just like before.

The wind whistles in your ears like an eerie melody as you plummet.

Just like before, when you fell from the Jade Chamber after Zhongli died.

Your muscles tense reflexively, bracing for the pain—

Zhongli.

Soft hands and gold-spangled arms and a voice as smooth as velvet flood your head, materializing a landslide of pulsing memories. They fill the walls of your mind in a rush of cosmic warmth as anemo swirls bountifully in your toes, your arms, your chest.

You jolt to an abrupt halt in the air.

A shaky breath rushes out and you gasp for another to fill your lungs, heart thumping dangerously loud in your ears. You don’t dare open your eyes. You can’t afford to lose concentration again.

“That’s it,” murmurs a soothing voice beneath you— your mother. “Keep thinking about that. Don’t let it leave your mind.”

And you heed her words, repeating his name in your head like a mantra, stepping through memory after memory. You begin ascending timidly, eyes still firmly closed.

Zhongli, Zhongli, Zhongli.

You think of your long talks and walks through the city together and of the time he saved your life.

Zhongli, Zhongli, Zhongli.

You think of his kind words, of his trust in you.

Zhongli.

You think of your love for him, and it coats all of these sweet memories in a golden hue, dappling your mind in shimmering patches.

Soon enough, you’re climbing with confidence, wrapped in wind and light. This time though, you rise faster.

This time, anemo bursts from your body without hindrance, a fountain of everlasting air.

Because this time, he is with you.

***

In.

He inhales.

Out.

He exhales.

In.

Inhale.

Out.

Exhale.

Zhongli swallows, hand loosening slightly against his chest. He is sitting down now, as per Ningguang and Baizhu’s insistence, holed up in the side room once again. The door is closed, but he can still make out the echoes of a conversation, and though he wants to know the details of what they are discussing, he knows that if he were to find out—

The air catches painfully in his lungs and he is back to fist clenched, bent over breathing, a sheen of sweat prickling down his neck.

In.

Inhale.

Out.

Exhale.

He has never felt so pathetic. 

Never, not in all his years as a god or an Archon, through bloody wars nor eras of peace. No, this is something disastrously, terribly new.

A stifling sense of heat creeps under his clothes, along his shoulders. His chest feels tight and a drop of sweat trickles from his forehead to his chin.

In.

He tugs weakly at his overcoat with his free hand, but it is fitted to his form and does not easily slide off so easily.

Out.

Using both hands yields a better result. After a series of methodical pulls, he untangles his arms and settles the overcoat on the chair behind him. Something else crumbles into his lap.

In.

Zhongli blinks down at the smattering of dust across his pants and gloves. Amongst rocky shards of golden and brown lies a sliver of startling blue— archaic stone.

He fishes it out, brushing away grime and rubble so he can read the words carved into its surface.

Out.

At the first line, he almost stops breathing altogether.

“In breaking this dumbbell, you have gained access to all of my wisdom.”

This is Guizhong’s stone dumbbell, cracked open at last. 

Memories of past wars and lives flash through his mind in a haze of delirium and anticipation and he rushes on, desperate for any sort of useful knowledge. He knows he is grasping at straws, but if this is the epitome of her wisdom, it could contain a solution to (Y/n)’s case.

No, not could.

Must.

“Love is the answer, Morax. It always has been and always will be. I crafted this dumbbell to shatter if you should ever fall into such a state, and since you are reading this, it seems you have. I wish you much joy. Love is such a beautiful thing.”

The archaic stone slips from his hands, clinking pitifully against the floor.

He thought that everything had already been broken, that every delicate piece of his soul had already been smashed to unrecognizable bits.

But now he feels it.

Now he flinches, gasping, as something weak and small within him, yet so strong he has never known it to be there, shudders and snaps.

He lets out a choked sob.

He loves her.

He loves her.

But Celestia is too cruel, he thinks, pressing gloved hands against freshly forming tears as they roll down his cheeks.

Too cruel to let him have this one, most precious thing.

Notes:

the mysterious cracking object has finally been revealed, how do we feel??