Work Text:
It was a few months before his 23rd birthday when Childe was summoned to Zapolyarny Palace to attend an audience with the Tsaritsa.
“Tartaglia, my youngest,” she had said, “It is time you return to your post in Liyue. Liyue has recovered from the temporary awakening of the Overlord of Vortex and forgotten about your transgressions. Thus, the time for you to resume your duty as a diplomat in Liyue is nigh.”
Great, back to running mundane errands again, is what he wanted to say.
“Yes, your majesty,” is what he says instead.
As he rises to leave the grand hall, the Tsaritsa adds, “Do pass my regards to the Geo Archon when you see him.”
How am I supposed to gain an audience with a retired archon, is what went through his mind.
“Yes, your majesty,” is what he says again before the large doors to the grand hall shuts behind him. The harsh, icy winds of the outdoors immediately surround him, taking away all lingering warmth. He holds his hands up to his lips, blowing at them as if his body heat could transfer through his already thick gloves.
He supposes it will be pleasant to be in a place that isn’t in winter all year long. And if he remembers correctly, it should be summer in Liyue around this time of the year. With the welcoming thought of seeing Liyue in summer once again, the young harbinger wraps the scarlet scarf around his neck tighter and makes the long trek back to the warm cottage he calls home.
Opening the door reveals a pleasant surprise, for once.
“Welcome home, Big Brother Ajax!” Teucer pounces on him the second he steps through the door, his little hands grabbing onto his pant legs and stretching the fabric. Childe gives his head a pat, ruffling his hair and drawing a squeak from the little gremlin.
He chuckles. “I was away for barely an hour, Teucer. Must you be so dramatic?”
“Have you ever considered that he learned it from you?” A familiar voice draws his gaze to the centre of the living room, where he spots two people that he knows very, very well.
“Lumine!” Excitement bleeds into his voice at the sight of his favourite sparring partner before he turns to her less landbound companion, “And Paimon! I’m so glad you got here safely.”
He had received a letter from the travelling duo claiming they would visit him around this time of the year, and though he had no doubts that they would reach Morepesok in one piece, he couldn’t be sure that they wouldn’t stir up trouble again like they did the last time. Childe had to bail them out of the icy dungeons of Zapolyarny Palace, which resulted in Pantalone deducting more than half of his paycheck. He had to tell Teucer he could only get him two of those adorable yet expensive Melusine plushies from Fontaine, and the little gremlin looked so disappointed that Childe ended up taking a loan to get him the promised three.
And now he was 1 million mora in debt, but it was well worth the pure joy that welled up in Teucer and Tonia’s eyes when they saw the gargantuan plushies.
The rest of his day was spent catching up with Lumine and Paimon, where Lumine shared with him her recent excursions at Natlan, the state affairs of Fontaine, and the most recent Lantern Rite Festival at Liyue.
“He misses you, you know.” Lumine suddenly says in the middle of Paimon’s passionate rant about how the lanterns at the festival this year looked like sticky honey roasts. Paimon pauses abruptly, and the air becomes charged with an odd tension, the kind of tension that appears when someone in the conversation says something very, very bad.
Childe, however, was just confused. “Sorry, Lumine, but I’m not sure who you’re talking about?”
That seems to have been the wrong thing to say, because Lumine and Paimon both turn to him with a look of pure horror. The last time he saw that look on their faces was when he jokingly told them about his run-in with a riftwolf in the abyss, and how the beast had almost clawed through his right arm and left him crying himself to sleep from the pain for nights after that, his body steep in its venom.
“It was kind of funny how I was crying so much from such a small wound,” he had said to them and laughed, like he was just telling a silly campfire story.
“You were fourteen,” Lumine had said, “You were just a child.”
And Paimon had sputtered nervously, changing the topic to a discussion on the best foods in Teyvat.
“Zhongli, of course!” Paimon says, as if it were the most obvious fact in the world. Childe imagines himself asking what colour the sky is and Paimon answering with the same confidence and certainty.
“It’s been three years, Childe,” Lumine adds solemnly. “You should at least write to him.”
Three years... Is she referring to his time in Liyue? Well, he supposes ‘Zhongli’ sounds like a Liyuen name, so is she talking about someone he met in Liyue? Come to think of it, he vaguely remembers the travelling duo mentioning the very same person several times in the past...
As Lumine’s expression turns from inquisitive to skeptical, Childe quickly schools his expression to neutrality and declares, “Don’t worry, I was just sent back to Liyue to continue my diplomatic duties, so I’ll meet up with Zhongli very soon.” The name tastes unfamiliar on his tongue, the same way it rings not a single bell in his head.
But Lumine and Paimon’s expressions relax, as if satisfied with his answer, which means he must have said the right thing. Their conversations flow freely after that, not another mention of the man named Zhongli.
The truth is that Childe has a secret. The truth is that Childe doesn’t remember much of his time in Liyue. He remembers the boring, seemingly endless paperwork, remembers collecting the sigils of permission that became a crucial part of his plan, remembers the fall of the Geo Archon at the Rite of Descension, summoning the Overlord of Vortex, fighting Lumine at the Golden House, and at the end of it all, finding out that he had been one-upped by Signora, the eighth harbinger.
What he doesn’t remember, however, is everything outside of that. He doesn’t remember how he spent his leisure time in Liyue, what he had for lunch and dinner, how the first Lantern Rite he experienced was like. There are gaps in his memories that he doesn’t know how to fill, periods in his stay in Liyue that feel like endless, dark pits. He had never felt the need to fill the gaps, because all he needs to know is that he had played his part excellently and met all the Geo Archon’s expectations.
But after seeing how concerned the travelling duo looked... he supposes his business trip to Liyue would be a good chance as any to start piecing them together.
And perhaps he could start with this mysterious man named Zhongli.
***
Liyue Harbour is exactly as Childe remembers with its warm sea breeze, grassy plains, and bustling streets. He had forgotten how much its land teemed with life, a huge contrast to the frozen landscape of his homeland.
“Master Childe!” Childe turns to the direction of the voice and finds himself smiling at the sight of Katya, his most loyal aide when he was stationed in Liyue.
“Katya,” he leaps off the ship to land on the docks before practically throwing himself at her, his arms wrapped around her in a tight hug, “it’s been so long!”
Although they had been exchanging letters, Childe didn’t realise how much he really missed her until she was right in front of him. He still remembers how much she helped him out, particularly during the time after he fell from Liyue’s grace. There was also that one time he got really sick, and she had to nurse him back to health. It was no exaggeration to say that Katya’s presence was the one thing that made his previous stay in Liyue bearable.
Unfortunately, Katya didn’t seem to share his sentiments, “This isn’t very proper of you, Lord— Master Childe. We’re still in public. Everyone’s staring at us.”
Pouting, the harbinger releases his grasp on her, “What’s wrong with a reunion hug?”
“Oh, I don’t know. The fact that you practically threw yourself overboard just to initiate said reunion hug? You couldn’t have waited until your ship was properly docked?” Katya grumbles, though with no bite in her words. “Really, though. You should’ve at least warned Nikolai before you jumped ship.”
She points behind him, and Childe turns around to see Nikolai frantically waving at him and yelling, “L-Lord Har— I mean— Master Childe, are you okay?!”
Childe smiles at Nikolai awkwardly before mumbling to Katya, “You were the one who called out to me first.”
The painful elbow he got in response was well worth getting the final word in.
***
“...And that concludes all the recent updates.” Childe hears the thump when Katya shuts her notebook close, probably more than happy to finish her mechanical retelling of months' worth of financial reports. After all, there are only so many times you can say ‘business as usual’ until you start to get sick of it, much less to the one listening, but it’s sadly necessary.
“How about my schedule for tomorrow?” Childe asks nonchalantly, though he notes the way Katya’s shoulders shoot up in tension before she seemingly forces herself to relax. Strange.
“You have a meeting with the director of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor to discuss the future direction of our business cooperation,” her voice gave nothing away, but Childe could tell from her slightly stiff posture that she was nervous. But why?
Childe looks down at the financial report between Northland Bank and Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. Nothing seems out of ordinary. The funeral parlour offers a quick and easy way for the Fatui to dispose of bodies in Liyue, and the bank answers with a handsome sum of money. The only thing that can be amiss is the random, higher payouts to the funeral parlour during his stay at Liyue simply remarked as ‘funds’, but that can be dismissed as preparations for his mission at the time.
As he skims through the report, Katya continues, “But since you just arrived today, you might want some rest after the long journey, so I can ask Andrei to attend the meeting in your stead. Please rest assured, for he can handle the discussion well. I will also be accompanying him to be safe...”
It makes no sense for Katya to be so fidgety over a business discussion, or is their collaboration with the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor more important than he thought? In that case, shouldn’t he be there in person as a sign of good faith? To make a good first impression and all that.
“It’s alright, Katya. Long journeys are nothing to me. I’ll attend the meeting tomorrow just fine.”
Katya, however, only seems to turn more anxious at his words. “B-But I’m sure you’d still like to explore the city. It’s been three years, after all. Don’t you want to see how much things have changed?”
“I can do that after finishing my duties, Katya.” He tosses the report back on his desk, “You’re acting strange, Katya. Are you worried I’ll offend our business partner? I may have been away for three years, but I still remember Liyuen etiquette quite well.”
“That’s—” Childe levels her with judging look, to which she quickly avoids his gaze and sighs. “I can’t stop you, can I?”
She shakes her head in resignation as she looks up to meet his gaze, this time with eyes filled with determination.
“In that case, I have conditions.”
“What?” The harbinger tilts his head in confusion, frowning. Conditions for a business meeting? Just how important is Wangsheng to us?
“You have to keep everything strictly business. No friendly chatter, no meeting up later for drinks, no further hangouts,” Katya says, her tone dead serious. “No matter what he says, don’t believe him. He is a liar and a cheat. Remember this above all else.”
He? Isn’t the director of Wangsheng Hu Tao? Well, he supposes he’ll find out tomorrow. Now, though, it’s better he appease Katya. There’s no changing her mind once she decides. “Alright, alright. I’ll keep everything strictly business. There will be no casual chatter or late-night drinking sessions.” Even though he’d love to have some osmanthus wine.
Someone once told him that it is one of Liyue’s finest wine.
He doesn’t remember who.
***
His second day in Liyue was spent unpacking his luggage and tidying up his apartment. Even though Katya regularly came by to maintain the place, it was still rather dusty and desolate, so he quickly pulled out his cleaning equipment and got to work. As he wiped the floorboards, he noticed that his apartment was eerily empty, devoid of any form of decor.
Odd. He doesn’t remember it being so empty. And that wall. It feels like there used to be a painting there...
Chile shakes his head when his thoughts began to wander. He would remember if there used to be a painting on his wall, right? So there was never a painting there. He probably mistook it for one of the many hotels and inns he once stayed in.
Still, it’s a fact that his apartment is filled with a whole lot of nothing. And so he pulls out the box of letters from his luggage and the seashells Lumine had given him to place on the empty shelf in his room, hangs his weapons on the walls and drapes the blanket he knitted over his couch.
And finally the place feels a little like home.
And finally he notices that the time is 8 p.m., which is 1 hour after than the time he was supposed to meet up with the director of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor.
He is so screwed.
As he rushes up the steps leading to Liuli Pavilion, he could almost hear Katya chastising him in that cold tone of hers. “Of course you’d forget the time,” she would say. “Why wouldn’t you?”
A shiver runs down his spine at the mental image of a Katya who is Very Done with His Shit, and he resolves to handling the matter behind the scenes and making sure that she never finds out just how badly he messed up. Will 10 million mora be enough to bribe the director into keeping their mouth shut about his tardiness? Last he remembers, the director revelled in chaos, so it may not be that simple.
Regardless, he quickly voices out an apology when he opens the door to their private room. “I’m sorry for being late, I was occupied with something earlier...” his voice trails off at the sight of the man seated at the table, a man with too-long brown hair dyed lighter at the tip, a man, that if Childe had to encapsulate in one word, was ethereal .
The man looks up from the dishes on the table that had all probably gone cold, and the frown on his stoic face fades into nothing the moment he laid eyes upon the supposed Snezhnayan diplomat.
And then the man smiles , a small, delicate one, his face practically glowing in delight.
“Childe,” his voice is deep, smooth like silk, yet seemingly weathered by time and very, very pleasant to Childe’s ears. His golden eyes look at Childe like he is a gift from Celestia, like he would get down on his knees and kiss the very ground the harbinger stands. It makes Childe shudder.
This man knows him.
A vision of dark hair under the night sky appears in Childe’s mind. Of golden eyes that stand out despite the thousands of lanterns floating in the backdrop. Of red eyeliners and tassels and black gloves and—
Oh. Childe knows this man too.
But no matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to remember his name. So Childe says as naturally as he can, “It’s pleasure to see you again, but it’s been a long time, so I believe a reintroduction is in order.”
The man raises a confused eyebrow at his words, but Childe continues before the man can get a word in.
“My name is Childe, but I also go by Tartaglia. Refer to me with whichever name you prefer. As you may already know, I am the representative sent here by the Cryo Archon to further our diplomatic ties with Liyue and the acting manager of Northland Bank.” He bows after his introduction, noting the seemingly amused look the man was watching him with.
“And I am Zhongli, a consultant of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. The director is busy today, so she sent me to represent her instead.” Childe’s eyes widen at the man’s— Zhongli’s— introduction.
So this is the ever-elusive Zhongli? The person the travelling duo have so fervently told him to write letters to? He didn’t expect it to be someone so...
Childe finds his eyes drawn to striking red eyeliner and long, slender fingers hidden beneath black cloth, and feels his face heating up. He very politely averts his eyes and lightly coughs into his fist. “I-It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” For some reasons, he feels compelled to play along, to act as if he doesn’t not remember a single thing about Zhongli.
“It has.” Zhongli agrees, a tinge of melancholy in his voice, of which is quickly replaced by concern when he continues, “If you were late to our meeting because you were busy, I assume you haven’t had dinner. Please, have a seat and we’ll talk after you’ve had some food in you.”
The harbinger blushes in guilt and shame, but runs with the excuse anyways. “T-That’s right. I was so busy I haven’t had the opportunity to eat.” He takes the seat opposite the consultant.
He looks at the table to see a variety of seafood, from fish to shrimp to crabs, and his mouth waters. But when he reaches for the utensils, he touches chopsticks instead. Though he would much rather use a pair of fork and spoon, someone once told him that chopsticks are apparently necessary to properly experience Liyuen cuisine. So he sucks it up and grabs the pair of wooden sticks, holding both in his fist like wielding a dagger.
He thinks he sees the slightest upturn in Zhongli’s lips, but he must’ve imagined it. As he stabs his chopsticks into what appears to be a fried shrimp ball, the consultant starts, “Haven’t been practicing?”
Warm hands in black gloves holding his. A soft, deep voice whispering into his ear as slender fingers gently adjust his hold on the wooden utensil.
Childe drops the pair of chopsticks, the shrimp ball falling with it. He grimaces, mourning for precious food wasted. “W-Well, I don’t often get the chance to use them in Snezhnaya.” He picks his chopsticks back up, this time holding them like how he was directed to in his returned memories, albeit loosely.
And then he tries to grab another shrimp ball, his hand trembling uncontrollably as he does. This time, however, the shrimp successfully enters his mouth. As he bites down on the food, a cocktail of flavours fills his mouth, all accentuated by the freshness of the shrimp. He regrets not trying more Liyuen cuisine the last time he was sent to Liyue. Their seafood is absolutely divine.
“I’m glad you seem to like it. I was worried about the taste since the food has gone cold,” Zhongli says apologetically, as if it was his fault that the dishes went cold.
“It still tastes amazing.” He voices out as he grabs a piece of fish, humming in delight as the meat practically melts in his mouth in a harmonious mixture of sweet and sour. “Besides, the dishes only went cold because I was late.”
Fifteen minutes into his meal, he suddenly realises that he has not seen the consultant touch a single dish on the table, only exercising his chopsticks to place a piece of fish or two on Childe’s dish when he sees Childe struggling.
Swallowing down the food in his mouth, he asks, “Aren’t you going to have some too?”
Zhongli’s face seems to turn pale at his suggestion. “I already had some before you arrived. So please, don’t mind me and enjoy your meal,” he answers sheepishly.
Childe quirks an eyebrow at him. He is certain the food was untouched when he arrived, but decides not to point it out and instead stuffs another shrimp ball into his mouth. Delicious .
It takes another fifteen minutes for him to clear all the food on the table. Having skipped lunch, he devours the delectable food with a single-minded focus, seeing the consultant level him with an inexplicable look in his eyes whenever he looks up. The consultant would even grab a piece of food for him whenever he spent too long attempting and failing to get anything on his plate, to which Childe would then thank him with a slight flush on his cheeks.
After the meal was a short business meeting regarding the business cooperation between Wangsheng and the Northland Bank, where the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor will continue carrying out discrete funeral services for Fatui soldiers lost in battle when they were stationed in Liyue, while the Northland Bank continues to pay them a heavy sum of mora plus more. Naturally, the discrete funeral services extend to people outside of Fatui soldiers as well, but Wangsheng will still treat them as Fatui soldiers for plausible deniability. Childe signs the contract after seeing that nothing was wrong, which marks the end of their meeting.
Upon exiting Liuli Pavilion, Childe thanks Zhongli for being such good company and apologises once again for his tardiness. But as he turns to head back to his apartment, the man suddenly speaks up, “Would you like to grab a drink with me?”
Turning back, Childe is surprised to see an almost bashful look on the stoic man’s face, red tinting the ends of his ears.
He continues, his tone urgent and almost desperate, “I’ve found a new place that serves excellent wine. It opened two years ago, and I always thought it’s a shame it didn’t open earlier. We can go there and catch up on everything that’s happened in the past three years. It’s been a long time, after all.”
He was almost babbling, pulling out every and all excuses he could find to convince Childe to join him. Golden eyes rivalled only by Teucer’s puppy-dog eyes look at him expectantly, their colour accentuated by bright red eyeliner.
A part of Childe that sounds suspiciously like Katya says no. That even though it was clear they used to be close friends, he does not remember Zhongli, which makes Zhongli a pretty stranger that he just met today. That he should keep their relationship strictly professional.
Another part of him, however, finds itself drawn to the slight sheen on the pretty stranger’s pink lips, and to long, slender fingers covered in black fabric. Besides, there was also the mystery of his missing memories. He might just find out more if he spends more time with Zhongli!
And so that is what he tells himself when he nods, and the small smile the man graces him with makes it all the more worth it.
Zhongli takes him to a bar two streets away, chatting about the numerous stores that opened after his departure three years ago, about the new inventions following Rex Lapis’ passing, about the aftermath of Osial’s attack. As the culprit, Childe sweats, wondering if Zhongli knows. Simultaneously, he wonders if he would be able to keep up his facade, and if the consultant will find out that his old friend isn’t really his old friend at all, seeing that he has forgotten everything between them.
He wonders if Zhongli will be upset.
He doesn’t want him to be upset.
His worrying doesn’t last very long, for after they reach the bar, they don’t do a lot of catching up after all. Zhongli simply updates him on his life after Osial’s attack, stating how he has a lot more free time and the freedom to do whatever he wants now, and thanks Childe for it. Though confused, Childe plays along, wondering if Hu Tao used to run him ragged.
The rest of their time was then spent on sampling the numerous and colourful wine Zhongli ordered, the man explaining the origin and brewing process of each and every jar of wine as Childe drinks them down cup after cup. One of them was osmanthus wine, with Zhongli particularly marking it as a timeless classic.
Even though they drank the same amount of wine, Zhongli was large unaffected, still able to recite the lengthy explanation for each different wine they were served. Childe, however, wasn’t as fortunate. Despite his high tolerance, his words start slurring by the third jar, his vision blurring by the fifth.
In his drunken haze, he hears the consultant apologise about something in a broken, wounded voice, begging for forgiveness, and something inside Childe’s heart cracks at the display. His hands clumsily reach out to soft cheeks, his thumb rubbing at the corners of the man’s eyes.
“It’s not your fault,” he remembers saying, “I forgive you.”
That night, he dreams of dancing under the stars in a field of flowers, a firm arm wrapped around his waist, and soft, cor lapis eyes tenderly gazing at him.
He wakes up in his bed with a pounding headache and an itch in his throat.
***
He spots Zhongli two days later while passing by an antique store. The man was staring intently at a porcelain plate, oblivious to the world around him. The store clerk doesn’t appear bothered, seemingly used to his presence.
Taking care not to surprise him, Childe keeps himself in the consultant’s field of vision as he slowly approaches him. As if sensing his presence, the consultant suddenly peels his eyes off the antique and looks around, eyes curving into little crescent when he sees Childe.
“Childe,” he purrs, voice sweet like honey.
Childe resists the urge to blush, but feels his face heat up anyways. He coughs into his fist, “It’s nice to see you again, Zhongli. Thank you for sending me home the other day.” He doesn’t remember how he got home after drinking with Zhongli that day, only knowing that he had somehow managed to return home since he woke up in his bed. He had enjoyed their time together so much that he had forgotten to pace himself.
“I was only doing what I should. In fact, I apologise for making you drink so much. I was nervous and forgot that humans have a much weaker alcohol tolerance.”
Childe would’ve been offended had Zhongli’s phrasing not weirded him out. Humans , he said, as if he isn’t one himself. It isn’t far-fetched. After all, Liyue has adepti, much like Inazuma has youkai. Perhaps Zhongli is an adeptus.
Is that why they became friends? Because he needed intel from an adeptus?
That would explain a number of things.
He decides to ignore Zhongli’s comment and asks, “What are you doing here, Zhongli?”
Zhongli fidgets as if embarrassed. “An item at this store has caught my fancy, but I do not have the necessary funds to purchase it,” he says, eyes glancing at the plate longingly.
Childe couldn’t help but chuckle at the man’s strangely endearing display. “If that’s the case, I don’t mind buying it and giving it to you. Just think of it as a token of our friendship, if you will.”
Upon hearing his suggestion, Zhongli falls into silence, seemingly pondering his offer very seriously. While waiting for his answer, Childe browses the store, eyes scanning the colourful nicknacks decorating the shelves. On the very right of the second highest shelf sits a brooch the shape of a tiny narwhal, silver twining around blue noctilucous jade, the blue shine capturing his gaze.
His fingers twitch with the urge of grabbing it off the shelf to examine it closer.
“I would like that.” It is then that Zhongli speaks up, “But please allow me to get you something in return. The antique porcelain plate may be slightly higher than my budget, but I should be able to afford most of the other items in this store.”
Curious, Childe turns to look at the porcelain plate with blue flowers painted on, but it just seems like any other plate to him. In fact, he could probably eat out of it just fine and not realise it was some priceless artifact.
As if sensing his confusion, Zhongli explains, “The story dates back to centuries ago, to when Liyue Harbour was still starting out as a small port town. Back then, a famous artisan was passing by a shrine of a local deity at Qingce Village when he saw a beautiful lady dressed in rags. Struck by pity— or perhaps infatuation— for the lady, he gave the plate he was supposed to deliver to a local tyrant to her, saying she could sell it for a fortune to live a better life, and left to report to the tyrant.
“Furious that he had given away the plate meant for him, the tyrant had him executed and paraded his body to serve as a warning for the locals. Seeing the artisan’s corpse disrespected in such a way, the lady, the local deity in disguise, punished the local tyrant for his misdeeds and conducted a proper burial for the artisan. It is said that she treasured the porcelain plate the artisan had given her up until the day she passed on.”
“Let me guess, is this that very porcelain plate the artisan had gifted her?” Childe asks, starting to see the porcelain plate in a different light.
“No, but it is a very close replica,” Zhongli says, deadpan. “And the craftmanship is immaculate. It was made with a technique I have not seen used in at least 500 years.”
Childe stares at him for a moment, blinks once, before he bursts into laughter. His body shudders with his laughter, and he clutches his stomach as it starts to hurt. It takes around three minutes for him to calm down enough to talk, “You really are something, Zhongli.” He wipes tears of laughter from the corner of his eye.
When he looks up, he sees the consultant looking back at him with an almost fond expression on his face. He reflexively turns away, feeling red tinge his cheeks. His heart flutters in his chest, and he starts to wonder if he had gotten sick. After all, he has been coughing lately.
While looking for anything but Zhongli to look at, his eyes wander back to the brooch on the shelf, and he latches onto it as if it were a lifeline. He points at it frantically, “That one! You can buy me that brooch in return.”
The consultant glances in the direction he pointed at and takes a step closer to the shelf, eyes trained on the brooch he chose. He grabs the brooch off the shelf to inspect it further, running gloved fingers over the shiny surface of the azure jade. “Not a single impurity in the jade...” he mumbles as he brings it to eye level, holding it next to the harbinger’s face. He smiles, an affectionate, gentle one. “Beautiful. Just like your eyes.”
Childe chokes on nothing at his words, his face flushing an attractive red, his heart racing a mile a minute. No one has ever said that before, especially not about his eyes.
Creepy. Lifeless. Cold. Those were the words people usually used to describe them.
Not once did they use the word “beautiful”.
Childe swallows the painful lump in his throat and forces himself to smile, but he has a feeling he fails to make it natural, “You flatter me, Zhongli.” He then waves the store clerk over, asking her to handle their purchases.
After they walk out the store, Zhongli hands the brooch— now placed in a square, cedar box— to him.
The sight reminds him of another box, one that is bigger and more rectangular.
“For you,” the consultant had said, “so you can practice even after you leave Liyue.”
Childe takes the box from Zhongli, hand instinctively sliding the top open, expecting to see a pair of chopsticks adorned with gold. He could almost see the engravings on the wood; on the left, a magnificent dragon and on the right, a majestic phoenix.
But what lies inside the box is instead the narwhal-shaped brooch, as shiny and blue as when he saw it lying on the shelf. He pulls it out, admiring the way the rays of the sun reflect off its surface.
“Would you like me to help you put it on?” The consultant’s soothing voice breaks him out of his trance, and Childe blinks, finally aware of his surroundings.
“I-I would like that,” the words stumble out of his mouth before he realised it, and he feels his cheeks heat up.
Zhongli chuckles, his laughter so pleasant Childe desperately wants to bottle it up and keep hidden away on the same shelf he keeps all the gifts from his loved ones.
Ah.
He reaches out to take the brooch from Childe’s hand, his fingers brushing against his palm for the slightest moment, and Childe finds himself missing his touch almost instantly.
This is bad.
He takes a step closer, and Childe’s body stiffens up when he feels his warm breath fanning his cheeks. They were so close to each other Childe can almost feel the heat radiating from his body.
This is really, really bad.
And then almost as quickly as he stepped closer, Zhongli steps back, and Childe mourns the loss of the lack of distance between them.
“Ah,” Zhongli’s smile is hauntingly beautiful. “I knew it’d look good on you.”
***
Childe frantically rummages through his house, pulling every drawer out, flipping his house upside down. He searches every nook and cranny of his apartment, from the bathroom to the kitchen to his bedroom and back to the bathroom again.
Where?
He digs out all his clothes, leaving them scattered as piles on his floor. He removes his mattress from its frame, flips the wooden structure upside down, and finds nothing but dust. He covers his mouth as he coughs.
Where is it?
He rummages through his unpacked luggage again and again, trying to find something he never packed in the first place. He could almost see the rectangular lacquer box, could almost feel the way the intricate engravings felt under his fingertips.
He finds nothing, nothing, nothing.
It is night when his exhaustion finally catches up to him, his aching body begging him to stop his fruitless search. He lets out a cough and sits defeated beside his upside-down bed, leaning against the wooden frame. His eyes catch the sight of his dishevelled appearance in the mirror, the brooch twinkling even under the dim lighting of his bedroom.
He unpins the brooch from his collar, holding it in his palm. The jade is cool against his skin, its surface so clear he could see his reflection in it. He runs his thumb through the smooth surface again and again, a strange warmth slowly filling his heart.
It felt like something was in his throat, so he coughs, once, twice, thrice, attempting to clear it, but to no avail. His coughing turns into a full-blown episode, and his body doubles over, one hand covering his mouth to muffle his coughs. When his throat finally clears, he leans back to see red splattered on the brooch in his palm and a single light blue petal.
For some reason, he isn’t surprised at all.
“Hanahaki,” a voice that sounds suspiciously like Zhongli’s echoes in his mind, “ A rare disease that plagues those who believe their love is unrequited. It has only ever been recorded in vision bearers, specifically those with a dendro or a hydro vision. Perhaps the flowers feed on their elemental energy.”
And then a more boyish, upbeat voice that he most certainly recognises, “ Huh, does that mean I can be infected with the disease, Xiansheng?”
A low chuckle, “ Even if you are part of the population who are susceptible to it, it is still an extremely rare disease. So far, there has only been thirteen recorded cases, perhaps more, if you include undiscovered ones. It is highly unlikely for you, in particular, to be infected.
“Besides,” Childe can almost see the pair of amused, golden eyes looking back at him, “ I can’t imagine a lady who would reject your advances.”
***
He keeps the brooch on his nightstand.
He does some research on the disease, combing through multiple bookstores in search of the one book that has all the answers, a book that he only remembers having a picture of a sole glaze lily on its cover, the title still lost in the vestiges of his unconscious mind. He doesn’t get another coughing episode, but something tells him that his next won’t be too far off.
He was skimming the shelves of the third bookstore when he hears familiar footsteps followed by an even more familiar voice, “It’s good to see you here, Childe.”
Caught off guard while reaching for a book on the highest shelf on his toes— he refuses to use the step stool they provide— Childe yelps and stumbles backwards, only to have his back knock into a hard, yet oddly warm surface. The wall? He doesn’t remember the wall being so close—
And then he turns around to find his face dangerously close to Zhongli’s, the man’s warm breath tickling the tip of his ear.
“X-Xiansheng!?” He reflexively tries to step away from the consultant, only to feel a strong arm wrap around his waist and pull him even closer to the source he was trying to get away from.
He thinks he might have made a noise.
“Careful, now. You might knock the shelves down,” Zhongli chides and removes his hold on Childe when he ascertains that the harbinger won’t make any sudden movements and knock the shelves down, but doesn’t move away. “May I ask what you’re doing?”
The close proximity and the shock send his heart into disarray, and Childe suppresses the urge to cough. “I’m searching for a book,” he squeaks out as he tries to calm himself with subtle deep breaths.
“Oh? What book are you searching for? Perhaps I could help?” Zhongli offers, intrigued.
Since he offered, Childe sees no wrong in accepting his help. “I only remember how the cover looks like. It has a glaze lily on the cover.”
“A glaze lily, you say?” The consultant holds his chin in thought. “Do you remember anything else about it?”
He contemplates outright saying it contains information on Hanahaki, but thinks better of it and makes things vague instead. “I think it’s about illnesses discovered during ancient Liyue?”
“Ancient illnesses, you say?” Zhongli closes his eyes, seemingly sieving through his memories in search of the right book. When he opens them again, he seems to have found the answer, “I believe you’re referring to ‘Records of Ancient Pathologies’.”
The name makes something in his mind click, and Childe can almost see the book in front of his eyes, the image of the softcover book with yellowed pages and faded fonts clear in his mind. “That’s it!”
“Ah, I’m afraid that book is no longer in print. You won’t find it in normal bookstores like these.”
“I see...” Dejected, Childe’s gaze falls to the ground as he considers his other options. He can order his subordinates to look into it, but the other harbingers may get suspicious if they catch wind of it. He can consult a doctor, but he isn’t very comfortable with interacting with them, preferring to patch his own wounds and ride out his illnesses by himself. He can try asking Zhongli, he’s sure to have an answer since he’s most likely an adeptus.
As he ponders, Zhongli’s voice rings out once again, “However, I have a copy of it at my abode. If you need it, I do not mind giving it to you.”
“Really?” Zhongli’s words give him renewed hope, and Childe looks up at the man with eyes sparkling with anticipation.
The sight makes the consultant chuckle. “Of course. Here, follow me,” he says before walking away. Though confused, Childe follows him, keeping his pace slow to match Zhongli’s gait.
They walk through the streets, passing by numerous stores and restaurants. Childe recognises a few of them, though noting that most of them had gone through some kind of renovations such as a redesign of their signs or an upsizing. He wonders if the change followed after he trashed the city with his summoning of Osial, or if the change happened because business was booming.
He hopes it’s the latter.
Walking beside Zhongli feels familiar, like it’s the most natural thing for him to do.
“ In the past, Rex Lapis was also known as the Warrior God. He defended the people of Liyue from countless threats and slayed many powerful gods during the archon war, cementing his seat as one of the most powerful gods in history.” Zhongli said during one of their many walks after lunch at Wanmin Restaurant.
“Oh? Sounds like a formidable opponent. I’d love to spar with him one day.” Childe shot back with palpable interest.
The consultant smiled, his words tinged with amusement, “I sure would love to witness it.”
As he walks with Zhongli, similar memories flood his mind. One of Zhongli telling him about the time Liyue Harbour was infested with sea monsters, one of Zhongli telling him about the formations in Guyun Stone Forest being a product of Rex Lapis’s battle with multiple evil gods, one of Zhongli telling him about the origin of Mora and so on.
And Childe remembers being happy in all of them, giddy, even, to hear the consultant drone on about this and that. He remembers feeling at rest, at peace, at home .
Ah, that’s right. Zhongli made Liyue feel like home, even more so than that little cottage in a corner of Morepesok.
When Childe comes to, he finds him and Zhongli standing in front of an apartment door and belatedly realises that they were at Zhongli’s home only when the consultant pulls out a key to open the door.
“Please make yourself at home,” the consultant says as he slides his coat off his shoulders and hangs it at the coatrack by the entrance. He takes off his shoes at the foyer before stepping inside. The entire procedure was done almost methodically, not a single move unnecessary or extra. Childe finds himself staring, only snapping out of it when Zhongli shoots him a quizzical look over his shoulders.
And so Childe nervously takes his shoes off and leaves them beside Zhongli’s before stumbling into the consultant’s private space. The first thing he sees is— for the lack of a better word— a mess.
Trinkets line the numerous shelves covering the walls of the living room, with statues of clashing motives scattered at different corners of the room. The space seems almost cluttered, yet Childe can also see the method in the madness, seeing as everything seems to be spread in an oddly visually pleasing pattern.
He couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight, “I didn’t take you for a hoarder, Xiansheng.” He turns to the consultant with upturned lips, and the latter coughs sheepishly.
“Please excuse the mess,” he gestures to the couch in the centre of the room, “Do have a seat while I search my study for the book.” And then he disappears behind one of the doors, leaving Childe unsupervised and free to explore his private space.
So naturally, Childe does not take a seat and instead wanders off into the hallway that had caught his attention earlier. At the end of the hallway is a single door, clearly important seeing as the very architecture of the apartment seemed to highlight it. He tests the doorknob, and to his surprise, it opens.
Behind the door hides a room much like the living room, trinkets, portraits, antiques— Zhongli must be a patron of the arts if not a hoarder— with a single exception of them all being enclosed in display cases. The cases look untouched, with not a single fingerprint or dust on the glass surface.
It’s obvious the room must be a collection room of sorts, perhaps even a treasury, seeing as every item in the room seems to cost at least half his salary, and his salary as a harbinger is no small amount. Scanning the numerous artifacts in the room, his eyes stumble upon a porcelain plate with flowery patterns, the very same plate he had bought for the consultant during their last meeting.
He can’t help the upturn of his lips and the warmth that invades his heart at the sight. But as his eyes scan the room again and again, he can’t help but feel an odd sense of familiarity, as if he recognises each and every item. In particular, he finds his eyes repeatedly drawn back to a small, blue narwhal plush.
It stands out in a room filled almost entirely of priceless artifacts, but what catches his attention the most is the needlework. It seemed almost amateurish, nothing like the masterful sewing technique used in the beautiful tapestry he can see hanging at the wall. In fact, he recognises the needlework.
It’s his.
Late nights, blue fabric, white thread, and a small needle. Hands he recognises very well tending to the fabric almost gently, moving the needle rhythmically under dim lantern light.
He coughs. Once, twice, and a tiny blue bud with red specks is on his palm when he moves his hand away from his mouth.
He hides it in his coat pocket and stands back to admire the rest of the room.
***
Childe sits in his study, flipping through the book Zhongli had given him— given, not borrowed, because apparently he had been the one who bought it for Zhongli. On one of the pages is a picture of a glaze lily accompanied by bolded text that reads “Hanahaki, the Curse of Love”. He reads through the next pages almost meticulously, making sure to take in every detail.
Caused by unrequited love, only infects people with a hydro or a dendro vision, causes flowers to slowly spread through the infected’s lungs— all details that he already knows. What he is trying to find is the cure, if there are any, but the 70% death rate is already telling enough, even with a sample size of thirteen.
But he does run into the cure, at the very end before the next ancient illness is shown.
Only by confessing their love and having it truly requited will the flowers wither. In rare cases, surgery may be liable. It must be warned, however, that if the infected’s feelings are not reciprocated, the flowers will form what is known as a death bloom, wherein every bud inside the infected’s lungs will bloom, causing death by asphyxiation.
Witnesses have claimed that it makes for a hauntingly beautiful sight, as if the infected is showing their loved one indisputable evidence of their love for them. That their feelings had borne a beautiful garden just for their love’s eyes.
Childe leans back in his chair, coughing into his hand and feeling warm blood staining his palm. He tosses the bud into the trash can by his desk as he ponders his options.
Confess, or undergo surgery, though the liability of surgery differs case-by-case. And if he confesses, he will either be cured immediately or die instantly.
He can’t help but let out a small laugh. What an extreme disease. He dies if he doesn’t confess but he dies anyways if he confesses and gets rejected. But speaking of getting rejected...
Zhongli... likes him too, doesn’t he?
They used to go on dates poorly veiled as walks, the consultant frequently invades his personal space to touch him— a lingering hand on his back or a touch on the back of his hand every now and then, and they used to give each other gifts all the time while calling them tokens of their friendship, though Childe pretty much paid for all of them.
He used to spend all his time off work with the man, happily hearing him go on and on about the legends and myths in Liyue.
In both the past and the present, Zhongli has always looked at him with kind, amber eyes, like he can see no wrong in Childe.
Whenever Zhongli looks at him like that, he feels raw and bare, like it was alright to let Ajax surface again, like it was okay for him to laugh and smile and cry and scream however he wants again.
If he confesses, Zhongli will surely return his feelings.
If he confesses, Zhongli will surely...
If he confesses...
Zhongli likes him, right?
But what if, on the off chance, on the very slightest off chance, that he doesn’t? That Childe was just imagining things, only seeing the side that benefits him? Because if Zhongli likes him as much as Childe remembers liking him three years ago, how did Childe forget about him so easily?
***
A week later, Childe finds himself ambushed by a certain long-haired man with amber eyes the moment he walks out of Northland Bank.
“Would you like to go for a walk with me, Childe?” he asks, almost naturally, had Childe not notice the faintest blush on his cheeks and the stiffness in his stance.
“A walk , you say?” he teases, pleased to see the red blush darken.
“Yes, a walk,” the consultant says with a perfectly straight face.
Childe finds it extremely endearing. “I don’t see why not?”
For the first time during his second time in Liyue, Zhongli leads him out of the city. The millelith at the northern gate greet the consultant with a stern nod when they pass by, and Zhongli nods back amicably. Childe tries to keep himself inconspicuous, not wanting a run-in with the authorities. The people may have recovered from the harbour attack, but the millelith remembers.
What follows after is a long journey to the fields of Qingce, Zhongli happily filling the lull in their conversations with anecdotes of the numerous landmarks they pass by. Childe remembers some of them from three years ago, though this time it seems Zhongli decided to sprinkle some of his personal experiences in them.
He listens anyways, savouring every lilt and cadence in the consultant’s deep, soothing voice.
The sun has long set by the time they arrive at Qingce Village, the moon high in the night sky adorned with countless stars. Zhongli leads him through the village path to the fields beyond, and then to a quiet corner obscured from the rest of the world. Dim moonlight shines down on the field, a patch of light blue flowers blooming where the moon shines brightest.
A full moon, an arm around his waist, two pairs of feet moving in tandem, stepping on patches of grass where the flowers don’t grow.
“Wild glaze lilies are a rare sight these days, but they still grow in quiet places with fertile soil and rich moonlight, this spot being one of them,” the consultant had said as he gently urged Childe into a low dip.
“They’re in season now,” Zhongli kneels by the patch of flowers, gloved hand reaching out to one, fingers caressing the petals almost lovingly, and something in Childe’s heart aches. “I thought you might want to see them again.”
Childe follows suit, crouching by the flower patch, admiring the blue and white petals that seem to glow under the moonlight. “They’re beautiful,” he says. They’re your favourite.
A comfortable silence settles between them as they simply sit back and admire the ancient flowers, once a common sight everywhere but now a rare commodity. It lasts anywhere from five minutes to an hour until Zhongli breaks it, “But that isn’t the only reason why I brought you here.”
Childe breaks out of his daze to turn to Zhongli, who smiles at him before standing up. He follows suit, keeping the consultant’s face at eye level.
And then Zhongli’s eyes curve in mirth and affection and all the good things in the world as he reaches a hand out in offer.
And Childe wordlessly takes it.
The two easily fall into a steady rhythm, bodies perfectly in sync despite the lack of any background music to guide their pace. Their steps are careful, feet moving meticulously to avoid any stray flowers and the most important of all, the other’s feet. They take turns leading, with Zhongli initiating a dip there and Childe initiating a twirl here.
“You’ve gotten better at this,” the consultant comments as they sway in each other’s arms.
“Well, that must mean practicing with you worked,” the harbinger quips, unable to stifle a chuckle. Back then, he had asked Zhongli to dance with him under the guise of practicing his dancing for a dinner party, but it was just an excuse to hold Zhongli’s hand.
Being a harbinger, he often needs to attend social events, especially when ordered by the tsaritsa. Though he has never liked attending them, he liked to put on a show, so his dancing was among the best within the fatui. He doesn’t know how Zhongli got so good at dancing, but he supposes it would be stranger for an adeptus who has probably lived for centuries to not know such an important networking skill.
But as Childe steps back to fall into a dip, his heel hits a rock, and the world tilts as he loses his balance. He sees the consultant’s eyes widen in surprise as he falls backwards, gloved hands reaching for him.
His fall is softer than he expects, cushioned by the flowers beneath his back. And when he looks up, his breath hitches at the sight of Zhongli’s face mere inches away from his, his arms on either side of his head. Long, brown strands drape over the man’s shoulders, amber tips glowing under the moonlight. Golden eyes search his face for any sign of discomfort, the slightest furrow in the consultant’s brows. The faint scent of glaze lilies wafts in the air, mixed with the pleasant smell of sandalwood, Zhongli’s natural scent.
For a moment, Childe feels like he cannot breathe. Like the buds in his lungs have blossomed all at once, taking his breath away.
And for a moment, all Childe can do is stare, his lips parting slightly.
“Zhongli, I—” The words leave his mouth before he realises, but something stops him before he can finish. He swallows, his throat dry. His next words come out more bitter than sweet, not what he truly meant to say, “I’m so glad I met you.”
Zhongli’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly before curving into small crescents. His voice is throaty but warm, “Me too.”
***
Childe leans over the sink, his body trembling with the force of his coughs, his chest heaving as he throws up a mix of petals and buds and blood. When his coughing fits subsides, he looks up at the mirror to see blood and saliva trailing down his chin, the red a stark contrast against his pale face. It’s oddly comforting to see that he looks as awful as he feels. When he looks down at the sink however, something catches his interest.
Among the pile of petals and buds stained red lies a single, whole flower, its blue and white petals a unique feature of glaze lilies.
The flowers that grow in the infected lungs vary, but they all share one common trait— they will always be their love’s favourite.
He turns the tap, letting the water run over the flower’s petals, rinsing off the blood to remove the red hues staining blue and white.
And as he places the flower into a vase on his desk, he wonders, not for the first time, if Zhongli would treat his flowers with as much care as he does to the wild ones they danced around.
***
Childe was on his way back after running a quick errand for the bank when he encounters the travelling duo in front of the adventurer’s guild.
“Lumine! Paimon!” he calls out to the both of them, waving excitedly to capture their attention.
The two turn to face him, surprise clear on their faces. But the surprise fades quickly from Lumine’s face as she crosses her arms and shoots Childe the usual stern look she has whenever she tries to call him out on his bullshit. “You weren’t lying when you said you were going to Liyue, huh?”
Childe shrugs the comment off and smiles as wide as he can, “Why, you wound me, Lumine. When have I ever lied to you?”
His obvious acting simply makes an amused smile blossom on Lumine’s face. She sighs, a helpless one, the sharpness in her eyes softening as she says, “Either way, it’s nice to see you back here again.”
The sheer affection in her tone makes him squirm a little, the harbinger still unused to being shown kindness without anything expected from him in return. He coughs awkwardly before changing the topic, “Why are you here? In our last letter, you said you had something to take care of at Natlan.”
Seeing her chance to join the conversation, Paimon chimes in, “We’re here to see Zhongli! We have some questions about the archon war that we thought he might have answers to.”
It was just a mindless, inconsequential question. Something he asked just to keep the words in their conversation flowing.
“Why would Zhongli have answers to your questions?” Granted, he is an adeptus and has probably fought in the archon war before, so it isn’t an impossibility for him to know more than the average scholar.
But both Paimon and Lumine look at him as though he asked the stupidest question in the world. “Well, because he’s the Geo Archon, duh!”
And then everything suddenly clicks into place in Childe’s mind.
Three years ago, Childe was sent to Liyue on a mission to steal the Geo Archon’s gnosis.
Three years ago, Childe met a kind gentleman who went by the name “Zhongli”.
“C-Could you repeat that, Paimon?”
Three years ago, Childe unleashed Osial upon Liyue Harbour to lure the Geo Archon out of hiding.
Three years ago, Childe fell in love with the man who called himself “Zhongli”.
“Zhongli’s the Geo Archon?”
Three years ago, Childe discovered that the Geo Archon had played him like a fiddle at the end of his mission.
Three years ago, Childe learned that the man named “Zhongli”—
“Do pass my regards to the Geo Archon when you see him.”
— had been the Geo Archon he was hunting down all along.
The world is a muddle of different colours, a mix of white and blue and red and grey and gold and black. Everything around him becomes a cacophony of noises, of screams and laughter and roars and cries. The past overlaps with the present, and it feels as though the ground is quaking like the day the Overlord of the Vortex awakened, yet he feels no vibration beneath his feet.
“Childe!” an alarmed, high-pitched voice rings in his ear.
“Childe,” a calm, deep voice intonates in his head.
“Childe! Are you okay?!” another concerned, feminine voice joins in.
“I-I...” he barely registers his own voice, much shakier and hoarser than he is used to, “I need to... go...”
His legs carry him in a certain direction, his body stumbling as he almost faceplants onto the brick floor. He thinks he hears people behind him calling his name, but all that registers in his head is a dull and constant ringing. Instead of slowing down, however, he breaks into a sprint, his feet carrying him down the street.
He sees the broken sign of one of the stalls he and Zhongli frequents, now brand new and freshly designed. He sees their favourite bookstore torn in half by the earthquake, now upsized and newly renovated. He sees the people of Liyue running from the sea, mothers carrying their children and soldiers evacuating the citizens, now calmly roaming the streets with their loved ones.
A blurry figure of black and gold suddenly appears before him, too sudden for him to avoid, and he crashes into it. The impact is softer than he expects, his face knocking into a soft yet firm chest instead of a hard wall. The voice of the man he loves reverberates all around him, as cold and as warm and as cruel and as kind as he remembers.
“Childe?”
“Childe.”
Hands that are both cold and warm cup his cheeks and tilt his head backwards, amber eyes that are both indifferent and affectionate look into pools of oblivion.
“You look pale. Are you sick?”
“Thank you for your excellent performance.”
Gold and black and brown and—
Childe shoves the figure away as hard as he can. The blur of black and gold staggers backwards, startled and unable to say another word. Childe looks at the figure’s face, a blur of amber and red, and sees a deep sadness that makes his heart ache. He coughs, the force making the petals in his lungs rattle.
“S-Sorry, I...” he forces the apology out between chattering teeth, his jaw clenched so tight it hurts. He feels hot and cold all at once, and he adjusts the collar of his coat in hopes it would regulate his temperature. His breath is uneven and erratic, and he feels his heart thrashing behind his ribcage as if trying to break out.
What’s happening right now? Has Osial been defeated? Did he bid Lumine and Paimon farewell properly when he left? Where is the Geo Archon? What did they say about Zhongli again? Are the people of Liyue going to be safe? Is Zhongli really the Geo Archon? Is Zhongli going to be safe?
“No matter what he says, don’t believe him. He is a liar and a cheat. Remember this above all else.”
Katya. Katya knows the truth. If anyone has any answers for him, it would be Katya.
His legs break into a sprint once again, his body barrelling pass the blur of gold and black and straight for Northland Bank. He doesn’t spare the figure another glance.
He pushes the doors to Northland Bank open like a madman. “Katya!” he manages to call out before doubling over at the entrance, his body racked with coughs. He hears the heavy doors close behind him with a soft thump . “Katya!” he calls out again before coughing into his palm, feeling warm blood seep out between his fingers and dripping onto the tiled floor.
He moves his hand away and lets the blue and white petals fall to the ground. “Kat—” he coughs again as he pushes himself up. Using the wall to support himself, he slowly inches his way to the reception counter, his fingers leaving a bloody trail along the wood. His mouth is filled with the taste of copper, and the pleasant scent of glaze lilies fills his nostrils.
“Katya!” he cries out again before falling to the ground in another severe coughing fit, petals and buds and flowers and stems alike clawing their way out of his throat, all coming up with specks of blood. Briefly, Childe remembers being thankful for glaze lilies not having any thorns.
Imagine if Zhongli likes roses. Wouldn’t that be a fun sight? He wheezes at his own terrible joke, lungs still busy hacking themselves out of his body. He registers footsteps behind the counter and finds himself relieved, if only for a few, measly seconds.
“Geez, the bank’s already closed for the day. So what do you want so—” Childe’s coughing fit stops the same time the footsteps do, and he looks up to see Katya paralyzed on the spot, her eyes staring at his pitiful state of being with nothing but abject horror.
“Kat... ya...” his voice is weak and hoarse from all the coughing.
“No... No, no, no, no,” Katya’s reaction is almost visceral, the woman immediately running to him and kneeling by his side. She cups his face, wiping away the blood and petals and saliva trailing down his chin with her thumbs. “Y-You told me you wouldn’t spend time outside of work with him! You promised! H-How did this...”
The blood dyes into her glove, her coat, and her dress, and tears begin to trail down her cheeks as her body trembles with her sobs. The sight feels painfully familiar, and that is when Childe finally remembers.
“You’re saying the reason you’re coughing up flowers right now is because you got infected with a disease called Hanahaki? A-And you’re saying the person you love is Mr. Zhongli, but Mr. Zhongli is...
“No... No! There must be another way! You can’t die, Master Childe! Think about your siblings! What about little Teucer? What about Tonia? T-There has to be another cure!”
Ah , he’s done all of this before.
Everything. From start to finish.
Katya’s tone is regretful and filled with despair. She’s clutching his shoulders so tight it hurts, her hands trembling with the force. “It’s... It’s all my fault! If I made sure the two of you never met again, this will not have happened again! If I had tried harder to stop you—”
“Katya,” Childe places a hand on hers, stopping the trembling, “It’s okay.”
Teary eyes look at him, filled with so much pain and concern and sorrow.
“It’s okay,” he says again. And then again, as if trying to convince himself too, “It’s okay.”
Katya’s face is contorted in pain, and she lets out a sad laugh. “Is that all you know how to say?” her body falls forward into his embrace, and she weeps into his chest, hands clutching his shirt tightly.
Childe lets her, hand gently patting her back the same way he does to Tonia when she has a particularly awful day or when she wakes up from a terrible nightmare. “It’s okay,” he says as he allows a tear to fall from his eye.
They stay like that for anywhere between ten minutes to ten hours before Katya straightens herself up and says with a cracked voice, “Let’s go to Dr. Baizhu.”
And Childe can say nothing but, “Okay.”
***
And the story goes like this: innocent, naïve, fresh-out-of-twenty Childe is sent to Liyue on his biggest mission yet— to claim the Geo Archon’s gnosis! The tsaritsa put a lot of expectations on him, and what is Childe if not a person who meets everyone’s expectations and more every time? And so he travels to the land of Geo, and it is there he meets the kindest man with the prettiest smile.
Like a fool, he mistakes kindness for affection and falls in love, but woe is him, for he ends up with a rare disease that ends with death if his love is not reciprocated. But being the fool that he is, he believes that his love is surely reciprocated, and plans on confessing after his mission, not aware that he had been dancing in the man’s palm the entire time.
And when all things are said and done, he discovers that the man does not love him, did not love him and will not love him, and that everything was just a product of his own delusions the entire time. Lucky for him however, the land of Geo has a skilled doctor, skilled enough to rid him of the disease, though at the cost of him losing all memories related to the man he loves. Seeing no downside, Childe agrees to the treatment and leaves Liyue, never to return, leaving his first love buried in foreign soil.
Or so that was how it was supposed to go.
Three years later, he finds himself back in Liyue. Three years later, he meets the kindest man capable of telling the funniest jokes with a deadpan face, the most beautiful man with amber eyes and red eyeliner and long, luscious hair, and the smartest man with a library of knowledge and experiences in his brain.
And history repeats itself.
***
Dr. Baizhu’s expression is grave, his brows furrowed and face pale as he feels his pulse. He coughs every once in a while, and Childe briefly entertains the idea of him dying from whatever illness he has before Childe dies from his Hanahaki. He wonders if Dr. Baizhu heard his thoughts, because the next second, he looks at him with a stern expression that Childe could never imagine him with. He then directs it to Katya, who is nervous twiddling her thumbs next to Childe.
“I said never to let him interact with the person the garden is for again, didn’t I?” he asks, his words firm yet kind.
“I told him not to, but he didn’t listen,” Katya seems to have run out of tears and fucks to give for the time being, answering the doctor with the most deadpan voice that rivals even her I-am-so-done-with-your-shit voice. But Childe would rather have Katya acting this way than breaking down into tears again.
Dr. Baizhu sighs, and his expression softens. “I suppose it’s already too late at this point. I already explain it to you three years ago. There’s nothing I can do if the disease relapses after surgery.”
Katya’s face contorts in pain. “But—”
“We know,” Childe cuts Katya off, aware that begging will not change anything. Three years ago, Dr. Baizhu had warned him not to see Zhongli again, even better if he never sets foot in Liyue again, all so he wouldn’t encounter anything that will rouse his memories and awaken the dormant buds in his lungs. “How long do I have left to live?”
“It’s hard to say. Each person experiences Hanahaki differently. But since you’re in relapse, the disease will likely progress faster,” yellow eyes filled with sadness look at him for a second before continuing, “It can be anywhere from one week to three months.”
So he can drop dead at any moment. Hilarious.
The doctor writes up a prescription as Childe and Katya simmer in the realisation in silence. He hands it to a little girl with lilac hair and asks her to fetch the required herbs. Then, he turns to Childe and asks just like the day Childe went to him three years ago, “Are you sure they won't return your feelings?”
And much like three years ago, Childe answers without a single sign of hesitation, “Yes.”
As he leaves Bubu Pharmacy with Katya in tow, the herbs meant for pain relief in his hand, he looks up to the sky and asks in a playful tone, “Should I throw myself on the ice?” The stars twinkle in the sky, and Childe marvels at the sight of the full moon.
“What?” Katya asks, seemingly taken aback.
Childe looks over his shoulder at Katya and shoots her a cheeky grin, “I broke our promise, after all.”
Katya’s jaw falls open at that, a complicated mixture of anger and pain and sadness and disbelief on her face. Finally, she barks out a laugh, “I can’t believe you—” a sigh, a long, exhausted one, “No, I don’t need you to throw yourself on ice for that. I just want you to...”
I just want you to live.
A moment of silence. And then, “I am going to die, Katya.”
Katya groans in frustration. “I know that! I just—” she stops when she finally looks Childe in the eye, her frustration turning to shock.
“My 23rd birthday is coming in a month, and I might not even live until then. I won’t be able to see Tonia become a bride, and I won’t be able to tell Teucer the truth about my job when he is finally old enough to understand,” his voice cracks, and his vision blurs. “Unless I somehow manage to track her down in three months, and I highly doubt I can when I’ve been searching for her for years, I won’t be able to see Master Skirk and spar with her again. I’ll never get the chance to show her how much I’ve grown.”
He feels something warm trickle down his cheeks, and he wipes at it with the heels of his palm. He laughs, a dry, sad one, and forces a smile onto his face, as broken as it is.
“But even with all that, what I hate the most is that I can never tell Zhongli Xiansheng my feelings! What do I do, Katya? What can I do? Even after everything he’s done to me, I still...” he buries his face in his hands, muffling his sobs. His voice comes out weak and quiet, a stark contrast to his usual boisterous façade, “I still love him so, so much...”
Arms smaller than his pull him in to lean against a body much less muscular than his. A hand with dainty fingers rubs circles on his back. “It’s okay,” the voice mirrors his, sad and meek, “It’s okay.”
He can’t help but chuckle drily as he cheekily shoots back, “Is that all you know how to say?”
It earns him a soft smack to the back and a tiny semblance of normalcy.
***
It is midnight by the time he gets back to his apartment, his body utterly exhausted after what felt like the longest night in his life. He flicks on the lights, and his apartment is illuminated in warm lighting, looking empty as ever. But when he closes his eyes, in the corner he sees the strange serpentine-shaped statue Zhongli had given him, and on that wall he sees the painting of Mt. Aocang Zhongli had bought for him, even if with the Fatui’s finances.
Every corner of this room used to be filled with gifts from the consultant, all cherished and loved and without a single speck of dust.
Familiar hands knocked over the grandfather clock he had bought with Zhongli two weeks prior, the glass shattering and the bell echoing in the room. The painting was torn in half, the couch flipped upside down. He dragged the stupid statue to the window and hauled it over the frame. The glass shattered and cut his skin, and the statue crashed hard against the pavement outside. He reached for the nearest object and tossed it out too.
The harbour was half destroyed anyway, so he could just say his apartment got caught up in the wreckage. But just as he was about to throw a certain lacquer box out the window too, his hand stopped mid-arc, and his fingers clutched the box tighter instead.
He opens his eyes, and the empty and desolate view of the room enters his eyes yet again. He traces the steps of his past self, and finds himself at the top right corner of his living room carpet.
Water blades, carving a hole in his living room floor just big enough to fit the box. Trembling hands lowering the box into the hole much like a casket down into a burial plot. A single tear dripping onto the varnished wood’s surface. His first gift and his first love buried beneath the carpet in the living room of his home in a foreign land.
Childe lifts the carpet and sees a barely visible rectangular outline. He manifests a small blade to pry the panel out of the floor, and it gives. It pops open like the lid of the biscuit tin can he once enjoyed with the Geo Archon in human disguise, revealing a lacquer box, its varnished, wooden surface slightly faded with time. He pulls it out from the hidden compartment and runs his fingers across its surface, marvelling at how smooth it still is.
The latch gives with a soft click , and he flips the lid open to see the pair of chopsticks, wooden at the tip but adorned with gold at the grip. An image of a Liyuen dragon is engraved on the left one, while an image of a phoenix is engraved on the right one, both looking as magnificent as they were in his memories. He runs the pads of his fingers across the engravings, committing every rise and fall on the gold surface into memory. He takes them out of the box and holds them in his hand like Zhongli taught him.
“Hold one of them between your thumb and index finger and another between your middle finger and your thumb. Yes, just like that. Then use your index finger to move the one on top to grab anything you want.”
He chuckles at the memory, only for his chuckles to turn into coughing. He hears the chopsticks as they clatter to the floor when his body shakes with the force of his coughs and when he feels petals and blood travel up his throat. He closes his eyes and lets the disease take over.
When he comes to, there is red and white and blue all around him. The pair of chopsticks lies a few feet away, specks of dried blood on the phoenix-engraved grip.
***
The days pass by in a blur.
Childe wakes up, climbs the stairs to Northland Bank, and handles all the documents on his desk. He runs a few errands, a simple debt collection and an assassination or two. He has lunch with Zhongli.
Oh, no, Xiansheng, I simply realised that I made a huge mix-up in one of the important documents I handled that day. You caught me when I was panicking about it, you see.
After lunch, he throws himself back into work until the sun sets, and he heads back home. He thinks about Zhongli, coughs out a mix of blood and flowers and then cleans them up. He rinses the most beautiful and undamaged glaze lily and adds it to his vase before going to bed.
Rinse and repeat.
Childe wakes up, climbs the stairs to Northland Bank, pausing at the halfway point to catch his breath. He handles all the documents on his desk and attempts to run a few errands, emphasis on “attempts”. He stops in an alley to cough up petals. His target runs away. He runs into Zhongli and takes a walk with him.
I look pale? You must be imagining it, Xiansheng. Must be a trick of the light. Now, tell me more about Guyun Stone Forest.
After the walk, he returns to the bank and informs Katya of his failure. Katya’s face is terribly sad when Childe tells her that he should just stick with paperwork. He finishes up the rest of his work and returns home. He sees the jade brooch on his nightstand and coughs out red and blue and white. He rinses the one whole glaze lily and adds it to his vase before going to bed.
Rinse and repeat.
Childe wakes up and ends up late to work, having to stop by an alley to cough up his daily dose of flowers. He works overtime to finish up the day’s paperwork. It is night when he leaves the bank, and Zhongli invites him to dinner. He accepts, and they have a lovely dinner at Wanmin Restaurant.
Why was I working so late at night? I overslept this morning, Xiansheng, I needed to work overtime to finish up my work. I should just leave it for tomorrow? I can’t do that! It’ll be a bad example for my subordinates.
They have a walk after dinner, and Zhongli holds his waist to steady him when his body wobbles, saving him from a fateful encounter between his face and the pavement. The consultant walks him home after that, telling him to get some much-needed rest. Childe coughs out flowers and buds into the bathroom sink. He rinses the prettiest glaze lily of the pile and adds it to his vase. He vaguely wonders why the flowers have not wilted as he drifts off to sleep.
Rinse and repeat.
Childe wakes up and finds himself unable to breathe. He uses his hydro powers to send a message to Katya and waits. Katya barges into his room with Dr. Baizhu in tow. The doctor examines his pulse and shakes his head solemnly. He writes up another prescription for him and tells him to take it daily. Childe’s lungs clear up enough for him to walk after drinking the bitter medicine.
Katya tells him he shouldn’t go to work anymore. He stays home and writes letters addressed to his loved ones, Teucer, Tonia, his parents, Lumine, doesn’t matter who it is. He takes a walk outside when the sun sets. Zhongli joins him when they run into each other.
You don’t see me much lately? Sorry, Xiansheng. I’ve been rather busy lately, you see. I promise I’ll still make time for you!
He collapses at the entrance when he gets home and wakes up surrounded by dried blood and blooming glaze lilies. He takes the least flawed flower and adds it to his vase. He wonders, morbidly, if Zhongli will like it if he gives the flowers to him as a gift.
Rinse and repeat.
One day, as Katya serves him his medicine in bed, his body too weak in the mornings to cook his medicine himself, he tells her, “I want to say my goodbyes.”
“Okay,” Katya says, voice resigned and defeated, “okay.”
***
Childe sits in a private room in Liuli Pavilion with a bouquet of glaze lilies on his lap. On the table are the finest Liyuen cuisine, not a single seafood in their midst. He keeps his eyes on the door, waiting for a man with amber eyes and dark hair to enter at any moment. Sure enough, the door creaks open, and in steps the kindest, prettiest, smartest man Childe has ever known.
The man’s eyes widen when they land on him, and he coughs sheepishly, “Apologies, did I keep you waiting?”
In truth, it is still 15 minutes before the agreed time for their meeting. Chile simply arrived early so Zhongli wouldn’t see how Katya has to practically support half of his weight just so that he can walk. He smiles, bright and genuine. “Not at all, Xiansheng. I was just too excited to see you, so I came extra early.”
Zhongli takes a seat opposite of him. As Childe pours him a cup of tea, he starts, “Has it been a week since we last met? I asked the receptionist at the bank about your whereabouts— Ms. Ekaterina, I believe— and she told me you have been rather busy with the bank’s errands as of late.”
The kettle makes a soft thump against the table when he sets it down, and Zhongli takes the teacup into his hand after giving him an appreciative nod. He sips on the burning liquid slowly, golden eyes never leaving the harbinger’s face, his gaze skeptical. Childe can’t help but squirm slightly at that, averting his gaze and clutching the bouquet on his lap tighter.
He hears the teacup knock against the table before Zhongli speaks again, “And looking at you, the tsaritsa really has run you haggard, hasn’t she? You’ve gotten skinnier too...”
Childe flinches when he feels warm fingers on his cheek, the hand they belong to gently nudging him back to look at their owner. Zhongli has leaned over the table to hold his cheek gently, his eyes concerned yet sharp. When Childe doesn’t push him away, his lips curve into a helpless smile and his eyes soften even further.
“Childe, I know I’ve asked you before, but are you really alright? Your complexion has been growing paler, and you look like you’ve lost so much weight. And this started ever since—” He frowns sadly as his thumb brushes the corner of Childe’s eye, “— ever since I saw you panicking on the streets that day. Was the mistake really that severe? Enough to cost you your health?”
It started way before that, but Zhongli doesn’t have to know. So Childe simply smiles and diverts their conversation to something else. “I’m leaving Liyue.”
The hand on his face stiffens, and something flickers in golden eyes, too fast for Childe to catch it.
“I’ve been assigned to somewhere else, so I’m leaving tomorrow and won’t be coming back.” he tries to make his tone as even as possible, making sure not to let anything slip. “Since this is the last chance we’ll be able to see each other, I thought I’d treat you to dinner tonight.”
Zhongli slowly retracts his hand, a stunned look on his face. “I... see...” he slumps back into his chair, looking like the world is falling apart around him.
Childe hadn’t expected such a reaction from the man, so he isn’t sure what to say for a while. He picks up his chopsticks and makes a poor attempt to lighten the mood, “Hey now, no need to be so sad! I even ordered all your favourite dishes, so eat up!” he grabs a piece of ham from the bamboo shoot soup and stifles the urge to sigh in relief when Zhongli finally moves his chopsticks too.
They eat in relative silence, with only the occasionally chewing and swallowing.
As Childe swallows his third piece of ham, he finally gains the courage to speak, though not enough to look at his dinner companion’s face when he does, “You know, Zhongli, I don’t blame you.”
The quiet chewing in the background stops, the consultant presumably pausing his action to listen.
“I don’t blame you. Not for deceiving me or using me as a pawn or entrusting your gnosis to Signora. I said I forgive you, and I meant it, regardless of how drunk I was then,” and e ven when I didn’t know what it was for then, “so you don’t have to worry about making amends or anything.”
“Why are you bringing this up now?” Childe can’t help but flinch at the consultant’s slightly accusatory tone. He sounds hurt, even, but Childe knows better. He still can’t bring himself to look at the man, his eyes firmly planted on the empty plate on the table before him.
“W-Well, to you, Xiansheng, I must be someone you think you wronged,” because you’re that kind, “and you must’ve felt a lot of guilt for it,” enough to cry when you apologised to me, “so I thought that before I leave, I should at least clear up the misunderstanding,” and this charade, “Not to say I didn’t appreciate your efforts at all! I did enjoy all those outings with you, but you really didn’t have to do that.”
Silence permeates the air after he finishes, and Childe can sense the tension in the air, can taste it, even. The paper wrapping the bouquet crumples in his hand as he grips it tighter.
“Is that all you think of me?” Zhongli asks, his voice that is usually kind and warm now cold and frigid. It makes a chill runs down the harbinger’s spine. “A pitiful man trying to make amends for his past mistakes?”
No , Childe wants to say, You are so much more than that. But what comes out is instead, “What else can it be?”
“I see,” is all Zhongli says. Nothing more, nothing less. Childe hears him reach for his chopsticks again, and Childe does the same with his.
The two fall into a rhythm of grabbing, chewing and swallowing again, though this time the atmosphere is so sour that the lavishly decorated dishes don’t even look appealing anymore. Childe forces himself to eat anyway, even when the ham tastes more like rubber than actual juicy meat now.
“Is this why you pushed me away that day?” The consultant’s words make Childe pause in the middle of chewing his meat. “Because you didn’t trust that my worry was sincere? No, because I made you incapable of trusting me for anything ever again. Is that why you brush me off whenever I ask about your wellbeing?”
“No! That’s not—” The words die in his throat when he finally sees the expression on Zhongli’s face.
The retired Geo Archon’s jaw is clench tightly, eyes teary and brows furrowed in sadness. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Zhongli express his pain so outwardly. It’s such a huge shock that Childe finds himself unable to speak for a few minutes, the lump in his throat stopping any word from coming out of his mouth.
Zhongli averts his gaze, mirroring his previous behaviour of staring down at his plate. His shoulders sag low in dejection. He takes a deep breath, perhaps to compose himself, before asking, “Is there anything else you need from me before I leave this room?”
Childe swallows, vaguely thinking that their final dinner could not have gone any worse. He clutches the bouquet in his hands and hands it to the consultant over the table, “I want to give this to you. A parting gift, if you will, to prove that I’ve long since put what happened between us behind, so you should, too.”
The man takes a single cursory glance at the blooming glaze lilies wrapped in gold paper and black ribbons and says, “I cannot accept this gift.”
The chair scrapes against the wooden flooring as he stands up, the door creaking when he opens it. His movements are as elegant as ever when he steps out, his footsteps ringing in Childe’s head—
Thump, thump, thump...
—until the door fully closes behind him, plunging the room into nothing but silence.
Childe’s arms slump down lifelessly, the bouquet falling with his arms to land back on his lap, the flowers rustling with the impact. He stares disbelievingly at the closed door, eyes wide in shock.
“Haha...” he lets out a breathy laugh and sucks in a sharp breath, the air cold in his lungs. He raises his hands and sees them trembling uncontrollably before promptly burying his face in them.
His sobs come out choked and quiet.
His face feels wet against his palm.
***
Countless times Childe imagines crushing the bouquet in his palms, his hands squeezing the petals, the flowers bleeding through the gaps of his fingers. He imagines plucking all the petals out, alternating between white and blue until nothing but the pistil remains. He imagines stomping it beneath his feet, crushed petal between his toes.
He never acts on it.
Because the bouquet reminds him of himself, both unloved and unwanted by the same man.
So he holds the bouquet in his arms like a mother cradling her child and lets his tears fall onto the soft petals. And when he coughs, his blood dyes them red.
His blood dries, but the flowers remain as fresh as the day he coughs them out.
***
Childe wakes up feeling relatively well. His breathing is decent, his body not so weak he can’t stand for once. He looks at the bouquet of rejected flowers, now placed back into the vase, and gets the sudden urge to see a patch of wild glaze lilies. He pulls his coat off his coatrack and drapes it over his back. And then without bothering to change out of his pyjamas, he leaves his apartment, not forgetting to grab the rejected flowers with him.
The sky is dark outside, the world around him illuminated only by the moon and streetlights. The streets are empty and devoid of human presence. Childe walks pass the northern gates and continue down the long, winding path to Qingce Village. The cold night wind blows at him, and he stifles a shudder.
He hugs the flowers close to his chest as if seeking warmth.
His feet are bare, and rocks cut at his soles. He barely feels the pain, moving undeterred, unbothered. He flinches a little when he steps on something sharp, and he lifts his foot to see a piece of porcelain shard stabbing into his heel. He yanks it out and tosses it aside before continuing down his path.
He walks, leaving scarlet prints in his wake, the full moon the only witness of his long journey.
His hair is tousled and wild by the time he reaches Qingce Village, his soles coated in dirt and covered in cuts. The flowers in his arms remain as vibrant as ever, their beauty further accentuate by the glow of the moonlight. He walks the village path to the plains, and then to the quiet corner where the patch of wild glaze lilies lies following the ghost of his and Zhongli’s footprints. He walks to the centre of the flowers where the moon shines brightest, grass crinkling beneath his feet.
And then he falls backwards, letting the flowers catch him and cushion his fall. The ground is soft beneath his back, and his eyes stare blankly at the sea of stars above. The pleasant scent of glaze lilies surrounds him, and he yearns for a hint of sandalwood amongst the flowers. He closes his eyes and counts his heartbeat, quiet and barely audible.
He pictures golden eyes and brown hair, slender fingers and strong arms, a soothing voice and flowery words. He imagines running his fingers through dark hair, hooking his arms around a neck, and pressing his lips against another. He imagines gloved fingers entwined with his, amber eyes on him and the world around them reduced to nothing but inconsequential noise. He imagines Teucer riding on broad shoulders, kind hands clumsily braiding Tonia’s long, ginger hair, and draconic teeth casually chewing on Anthon’s rocks.
Each impossible future had borne a flower in his garden, and Childe had spent years tending to each and every one meticulously, watering them with his blood and soul, his body growing weaker while the flowers bloom ethereal. And now, it’s finally time to reap the fruits of his labours.
He uproots each and every flower, tearing petals and petals from their stems, and lets the wind carry them away. Thousands of petals surround him, vibrant white and blue dancing in the air.
And as they fly far, far away, to a place Childe can never reach, he finally realises something.
He would gladly nurture another garden if it means that he could see such a sight again.
“Childe?”
He opens his eyes to see a figure of gold and black towering over him, cor lapis eyes looking down at him. He smiles despite himself, pure joy welling up in his heart simply with the man’s presence.
The man kneels down and leans into his space, and Childe can see the concern on his face. “You look much paler than the last time we met, are you sure you’re alright? And weren’t you supposed to depart from Liyue?” he throws a barrage of questions as he reaches out to hold one of Childe’s cheeks.
Childe instinctively nuzzles into it, savouring what little warmth he can feel radiating from Zhongli’s palm.
“Cold... Did you walk here dressed like that? And your feet...” Childe reaches out to smooth out the creases between the consultant’s brows, and his breath hitches, seemingly taken aback. He coughs sheepishly, “You shouldn’t stay out for long at a night this cold. Here, I’ll help you up and walk you home.”
When Zhongli pulls away, Childe weakly grabs onto his sleeve, “Zhongli, I—”
White, blue, and red.
His sentence is cut off by a single cough.
Roots sunk into alveoli.
The first cough is followed by a second, a third, and then more.
Vines extend from the bronchioles to the trachea, buds all over the surface.
And then Childe realises that he has run out of time.
It starts simple: the roots sink them deeper into flesh, and the vines grows exponentially in all direction, crowding his trachea before every single bud starts to bloom, filling up his airways. He claws at his neck, as if his fingers can reach inside to pull the vines and flowers out. His coughing jostles the flowers enough for petals to escape his mouth, but the fast growth of the vines means that they will soon surface by themselves anyway, and Childe starts pulling at whatever is in his mouth, ignoring the painful tug he feels in his lungs.
“Hanahaki...” he barely hears Zhongli’s shocked mumble in his pathetic yet instinctual attempt at saving his own life, “For who...?”
The vines keep growing no matter his attempt at stopping them, and Childe gives up, reaching a trembling hand to tug weakly at Zhongli’s coat instead as he wheezes, trying to breathe through his obstructed airway. His vision blurs from the excruciating pain, the vines slowly tearing out his insides, and he laments being unable to see the consultant’s face in his final moments.
He hears Zhongli’s breath hitch. “Impossible...”
And then strong arms lift him up and press him against a broad chest, and he is finally able to take in his favourite scent of sandalwood and glaze lilies.
“Childe, I—”
He hears a sickening crack, and his vision goes white with pain, a persistent ringing in his ears.
Gold and black. White and blue.
When the white fades from his vision, he vaguely registers warmth gushing out of his chest cavity, and he has a feeling that his insides have become his outsides. There is a constant noise over the ringing in his ears, and as the ringing subsides, he finally registers it as screaming.
“I love you! I said I love you, Childe! So why won’t it stop?! Stop! Stop now!” Zhongli’s voice is hoarse and desperate, growling and yelling and screaming and crying. He grabs the vines growing out from Childe’s mouth, tearing them out of his throat only to for the vines to regrow themselves in seconds.
The earth is shaking beneath them, the air charged with elemental energy. Something golden sprouts out of his head, a serpentine tail trailing from his back. The tail twines itself around his legs, squeezing them so tightly it hurts. Claws pull him in closer, burying him in a warm embrace.
“I said stop!” There is an echo in the man’s voice now, thick with despair and anguish.
It makes Childe’s heart ache, even when he isn’t sure if he still has one. His consciousness is fading fast, but he can’t pass out, not now, when his love clearly needs him. So he holds on to the conscious world, refusing to fade away. He tries to move, but finds that nothing responds to his wants, his mind a stranger in his own body.
“Stop... please...” the screaming turns into choked sobs, and warm drops fall onto his forehead, trickling down to join the mirroring trail of tears on his own face. A head nuzzles into his neck, horns rubbing against his pulse. “Anything... I’ll do anything...”
He hears something crack, and the ground beneath them trembles harder. Something in the air changes, and Childe starts to get a really, really bad feeling.
“This is my fault,” Zhongli suddenly says, his voice devoid of all the previous pleading and desperation and sorrow. Somehow, the change feels worse. “I did this.”
No! Childe tries to say, It’s not your fault! But what comes out is just a soft, barely audible wheeze. And Childe suddenly realises, despite his insides that are now his outsides and despite him able to feel cold in places he never thought was possible, that he can, and is still, for some miraculous reason, breathing.
The roots in his lungs are slowly withering away.
“I did this,” Zhongli repeats as the ground cracks beneath them, “I did this.”
The elemental energy in the air spikes, the ozone charged with tension.
“I did this. I did this. I did this,” he chants like a madman, “This is my fault.”
Just as the tension was about to coalesce, Childe hears a feminine voice call out, and he has never felt so relieved. “Zhongli! Calm down! You’re tearing the land in half!”
A voice he has never heard before follows, deep and urgent, “My lord, you need to stop the earthquakes! The harbour is falling apart!”
“Wait... Is that... Childe?!” A familiar, squeaky voice cuts in, shocked and horrified, “Is he...?”
“I killed him,” Zhongli says matter-of-factly, voice broken and resigned. “I killed my Childe... my Ajax.”
The ground rumbles.
“Zhongli,” Lumine’s voice turns stern, “if you don’t stop, we’re going to have to make you.”
“Lumine, what are you—”
“We don’t have a choice! Look at him! He's gone! The only way we’re stopping this is by killing him!”
The traveller's words make him shudder. He thrashes inside his body, tries to move any part of his body, tries to say anything, but to no avail. The vines in his throat are slowly wilting, the blooms no longer as vibrant.
“I killed the love of my life,” Zhongli's words are lifeless and cold.
“You can’t just do that, he’s—”
Childe finger twitches. The ground is slowly tearing itself in half. The white and blue flowers in his mouth begin to turn brown starting from their tips, petals falling one by one.
“We don’t have much time left! If we let him run rampant like this, Liyue will be gone!”
“I killed my—”
Zhongli’s words are cut off when Childe wheezes out, “Zhong... li...”
The world around them silences. The ground stops shaking. The arguing pauses.
It feels like the entire world is waiting for his next words.
“I... love you...”
He hears a wounded, keening noise from the man holding him, and the relief that fills his heart finally allows him to black out and slip into the world of dreams.
***
Childe wakes up feeling like shit. His insides have recently been acquainted with the outside world, and his ribs are probably busy regrowing themselves. But when he takes a breath, air actually fills his lungs, this time not stolen by some greedy middlemen that moved in without permission.
He opens his eyes and sees a man with long, dark hair slumped over the side of the bed and promptly realises that Zhongli must have been the comforting weight he could feel by his side the entire time he was asleep. He smiles despite himself, oddly endeared by the idea of the man refusing to leave his side.
And then other details start to make themselves clear. The pair of glowing golden horns nestled between strands of dark hair. The red rims of his eyes. The drying trail of tears down his cheeks. The long, serpentine tail curled up around him. The crack that reveals gold underneath running down the side of his face. The messy and unkempt hair. The dried blood on his clothes. The hand resting on top of Childe’s.
Childe weakly laces his fingers with Zhongli’s and squeezes as hard as he can, which is about the strength of a kitten batting at its own tail.
It is enough, however, for the consultant begins to stir, eyelids parting to reveal cor lapis, draconic eyes. He takes one look at Childe, and fat, golden tears start to roll down his cheeks.
Childe huffs out a breathless laugh. His voice come out hoarse and strained, his throat recently torn out by vines. But he feels like he has to speak, or Zhongli might just shatter into a million pieces before him. “I didn’t take you for a cry-baby, Xiansheng.”
The Geo Archon, now reduced to a sad, pathetic imitation of a mortal, sobs, tightens his hold on Childe’s hand and nuzzles into it. The golden liquid feels warm against the back of his hand.
“Your human disguise is falling apart, you know?” he teases as he tries to lift his other arm, but finds that he does not even have the strength to. A pity. His fingers twitch with the desire to pet this god in human disguise.
“Ajax, my love, my mate, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” Zhongli mumbles into his hand, voice throaty with immeasurable guilt, “I made you believe I didn’t love you, made you doubt the credibility of my actions, made you nurture a garden with your blood.”
His words stutter as he chokes on a sob, still rubbing his cheek against one of the few parts of Childe’s body that isn’t covered in bandages.
“I don’t deserve your forgiveness, your garden, your heart. Don’t deserve anything you give me. But you’re different. You deserve everything, all that is good in this world. You are strong and brave, yet kind and loving, and your eyes are the most wonderful shade of blue, the colour of the waves that crash against Liyue’s shores,” he pauses to exhale a shaky breath, “I don’t deserve anything from you after how much I hurt you, but I am a greedy, despicable man, and so I dare to ask for your hand.”
He plants a kiss on each of Childe’s knuckle slowly and reverently, as if worshipping the very tips of his fingers. His actions make the harbinger’s face burn.
“And if you do accept, I swear that not one moment of your life will be plagued with sadness ever again, for I will be by your side at every moment of weakness, to love and cherish and protect the heart you have graciously given me. It will be my duty, my only purpose for as long as I live.” As he plants his lips on the Childe’s ring finger, a ring of gold and black forms at its base, “Let my words be etched in stone, forever and everlasting.”
Zhongli’s hair is more unkempt than Childe has ever seen them be, his face is cracked in multiple places, his lips are bruised from his own nervous biting, and his red eyeliner is ruined by the golden tears still streaking down his cheeks. And yet he still looks as beautiful as the day they danced in a patch of wild glaze lilies, as magnificent as the Statues of the Seven spread out throughout the land.
He is an archon, a god, an adeptus, but to Childe he is simply Zhongli, the kindest and prettiest and smartest man he nurtured a garden for in the past three years. He is Childe’s tragic first love, a privilege that Childe never thought he deserved, and an impossible dream. So Childe never entertained the idea of his love being reciprocated, resigning to his fate and quietly tending to the garden growing within his ribcage.
And he would’ve continued to believe that he is not loved, had the flowers continue to grow vibrant and consume his entire being. But they did not, and instead they have wilted following Zhongli’s passionate confession, releasing their grip on the mortal plane and fading away, satisfied upon receiving the answer they have painstakingly waited for.
There were also the discrepancies he had ignored. The table of seafood during their first meeting in three years, the excessive skinship, the room full of gifts from Childe, all clean and well-cherished, and the uncharacteristic anger during what was to be their final dinner.
Everything had practically screamed that he meant something to the consultant, just that he didn’t know what.
But now he knows, and it’s time for Childe provide his answer.
“Xiansheng, Zhongli, you have been the most miraculous presence in my life, the brightest constellation in the sea of stars, the warmest hearth in the coldest of winters. You are the kindest person I’ve ever met, the only person who can look into my eyes and call them beautiful unabashed.” He sees the stunned look on Zhongli’s face, wide amber eyes filled with so much wonder, and his lips curve into a gentle, warm smile, “Despite knowing that staying by your side will only make my condition worse, I could not bear to be without your presence, and so I spent what limited time I had being with you and thinking of you. I tended to the flowers so diligently because they were your favourites, and I could not bear harming something that you dearly loved.”
He takes a short moment to inhale, savouring the fresh air he had not managed to enjoy in a while as he prepares his answer to Zhongli’s proposal.
“I will be more than glad to spend the rest of my life with you, for you to love and cherish and protect, for me to reciprocate in the same manner. Until death do us part .”
Zhongli smiles, mirroring the one on Childe’s face. Golden tears shine, reflecting the rays of the sun. “ Until death do us part. ”
***
It takes three months for Childe’s wounds to recover, and another month for Childe to regain his original physique and vigour. He recklessly charges into battles, terribly excited at the prospect of finally getting some exercise again. Fortunately, however, Zhongli is always around to rein him in, to shield him whenever an enemy strikes too close for comfort. Childe calls it coddling, but he doesn’t complain too much.
Katya cries like a baby the first time she visits, overcome with joy at just the sight that he was alive. She then marches up to the poorly disguised god and slaps him across the face as hard as she can, yelling Snezhnayan profanities before ending her visit with a, “Take good care of him.” Zhongli simply nods in response.
Liyue Harbour was in a worse state than it was after the awakening of Osial, but there were no casualties, the millelith having heeded the initial quakes as a warning and evacuated the citizens before the bigger earthquakes struck. The earthquakes are said to be caused by an evil god residing in the plains of Qingce, whom Lumine and the young man Childe saw that day— who he learns is named Xiao— managed to take down before Liyue was torn in half. Lumine is praised once again for saving Liyue, and the citizens parade her through town.
“You owe me one,” she says to them after the whole affair, and Zhongli smiles at her sheepishly. Childe still sometimes thinks about Xiao’s yellows eyes that look at him with so much scrutiny and shudders.
And then last of all, there is Zhongli.
In his grief, Zhongli had broken his human disguise. For the months Childe was bedridden, he remained by his side at all times, tending to his wounds and needs. For weeks, Zhongli is the last thing he sees before he falls asleep and the first thing he sees when he wakes up. He stays in his half draconic form, his tail always wrapped around a part of Childe, be it an arm, a torso, or a leg. Childe indulges him, knowing it probably gives the retired archon peace of mind.
On the rare times Childe wakes up to a sleeping Zhongli, he sees how fitful his slumber is, and how tears stream down his face even when he is in the land of dreams. He knows how to protect Zhongli from bodily harm, but he doesn’t know how to protect Zhongli from his mind and his nightmares. So all he does is quietly watch over the consultant and whisper comforting words into the crying man’s ears. Sometimes, the crease between his brow eases. Sometimes, it doesn’t.
There is a wound on his chest. A large, ugly gash trailing from the start of his sternum to the end of his ribcage where blue and white flowers had burst out of.
Zhongli stares at it with great sadness until it scabs over and is covered up by scar tissues, to which he then stares at the leftover scar with the same sorrowful expression on his face.
Childe lets him.
When Dr. Baizhu finally allows him to leave the house, Zhongli finally fixes his human shell, letting his horns and tail recede and the cracks to mend themselves. He dons his human façade once again and holds Childe’s hand as they stroll the destroyed streets of Liyue Harbour, still in the process of rebuilding itself all over again.
He sees the newly designed sign of the stall they frequent, now broken in half on the ground, woodchips scattered around it. But the stall owner is hopeful, asking them for ideas for a new logo. The upsized bookstore is wrecked once again, books and torn pages spread everywhere. But still the owner smiles, saying he had been thinking of renovating again with how well business had been doing. The people of Liyue laugh and joke around as they pass construction materials and tools around, everyone pitching in their own efforts to return the city to its former glory.
It makes Childe feel warm in a way he has never felt before, and he utters to his lover, “Your people are very resilient.”
His lover’s eyes curve in fondness. “They are.”
Perhaps the people of Liyue love their land as much as their god does. And perhaps that is why they are always happy to rebuild it with their own hands, no matter how many times it is destroyed.
When Childe makes a full recovery, they return to the quiet corner where a certain patch of wild glaze lilies resides. He feels slightly disappointed when he sees no blossoming blue and whites, the flowers no longer in season. But then an idea pops up in his head, and with a snap of his fingers, his elemental energy surrounds the patch, temporarily making it the ideal conditions for glaze lilies to bloom.
Sure enough, tiny shoots start to grow from the patch of grass, buds forming before blooming into white and blue flowers. Childe turns to Zhongli and offers a hand, and he gives it a single glance before taking it.
They fall into a comfortable rhythm, a simple back and forth that both of them are used to, their feet moving in perfect sync, their eyes never leaving the other’s. The world around them fades to nothing, and all they know is the other’s gaze, warmth, and smile. And then after a dip, Childe cheekily hooks a leg behind Zhongli’s foot when the man isn’t paying attention and trips him.
They tumble onto the flowers together, Zhongli’s fall broken by the flowers and Childe’s broken by Zhongli’s broad chest. He makes himself at home on top of Zhongli, grinning mischievously at the man’s exasperated face beneath him.
And then, with nothing but the stars and moon above as their witness, they share their very first kiss with the promise of more in their future together.