Chapter Text
When Liyue Harbor called it a day, memories began to roam the streets. There was a crucible of tenderness in these memories, whether it’s the cutting sound of fishermen hauling the nets over their backs or the drunken trudge of doors permitting the exit of tonight’s opera audience. There were also celebrations of victories – from the buoyant clink of glasses to the accented footsteps of a bureau worker on the way home.
Such occasions added vitality to the harbor. However, for the Listener, no other than the mysterious consultant of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, there were memories that ran deeper than the waters below the city docks. His amber eyes pierced through them like a dent in the bedrock. There were memories of ancient stones and countless slaughters. Memories of war and irredeemable loss, of death and mercy, order and chaos. And dust, alas.
Zhongli’s profession held memory in high esteem. Most of his hours were devoted to lecturing others about funeral rites. More than the aroma of incense or the amount of food offering, what they needed was an ethics in their memory.
But he was finished for tonight. Another departure then. Zhongli left the funeral parlor, bidding a brief farewell to the Ferrylady at the door. He still owed her a meal, but he will worry about that tomorrow. For tonight, the harbor invited a tranquil moment of remembrance.
In the vibrant street called Feiyun Slope, Zhongli couldn’t help but notice the boy in front of Changshun’s lantern-ornated stall. The consultant remembered him as Yi Zhu. He usually stayed around the funeral parlor during the week, comforting his sister named Yi Xian. They couldn’t recover from their mother’s death. Not yet.
Zhongli was the one who assisted in executing the rites. He remembered how they wept tremendously.
Yi Zhu was on the verge of tears. “You will give the toy for free?”
“Of course, if that’s what will help you and your sister during these difficult times,” Changshun said amiably. Yi Zhu wiped his eyes with his hands.
“Thank you,” he replied. The lanterns of the stalls animated his grief-ransacked eyes. “Everybody’s been so kind to me and my sister. I want to make her happy so I’ll give her this. But she can’t see me now. Not like this.”
Zhongli let out a sigh as the boy’s weeping punctuated the buzzling air. He turned the other direction and crossed the bridge, stopping exactly below the two trees with red leaves. They fell slower this time, waltzing on their own like dust against a window in the morning.
He stood there, holding a hand out. Liyue was more sentimental tonight.
Zhongli wasn’t one to reach out to people, especially those who found themselves entangled in the depths of grief. However, despite her childish nature, Director Hu had a unique (albeit amusing) way of comforting the bereaved. Zhongli could only watch and listen.
Yi Zhu’s memories weren’t crisp but laden with sorrow. It was one of those instances that perplexed Zhongli about humanity – that grief stripped them at their most vulnerable. They were completely unguarded, walls laid bare, tears undulated. For those who lived a thousand years, grief was uncalled for; they didn’t need their wounds to be mended. They only needed to grit their teeth and stand firm should another god cast a sword in the dark.
Despite living as a human, Zhongli never learned how to weep. It wasn’t because he had a heart of stone, but rather he was immune from letting himself be. He was accustomed to having a land to watch over and contracts to fulfill. Where would the place of grief be in all of this?
Yi Zhu, however, moved this man’s heart by showing his fragility.
Zhongli remembered the young woman with billowing sleeves. If she were here with him at this very moment, she would know what to do. He remembered their first meeting upon the field of Glaze Lilies. Her eyes mesmerized him the first time he saw her. Such kind and warm eyes, blazing like a sacred candle nestled within two orbs. A rare sight in the land of misery.
Nearly four thousand years ago, the two of them walked the same path. They had no formal contract. But without words, they understood what they meant to each other.
What was only a fraction of the god’s life felt like an eternity to him now. After all, the memory of dust need not become dust.
Earlier in the days before the war, there were those who shared the memory. Despite her inclination towards long periods of solitude, Cloud Retainer did not mind having Rex Lapis and Guizhong as her guests. The days of untroubled reunions enlivened the sky-drenched limestones of the mountains. The three friends would often laugh and tell stories, circled over the stone table by the lake of Mount Aocang.
Guizhong had just finished arranging the dishes. She called out to her friends. Cloud Retainer was still inside her abode, admiring her own craftmanship. Rex Lapis, on the other hand, was across the lake, standing on the edge of the cliff. The onslaught of the evening breeze rattled his long white robes and the tail of his dark hair poking through the hood.
Though Mount Aocang was already stirring with life, the presence of the Lord of Rock seemed to harmonize with everything there. His antlers blended well with the wildvests and the dried pearlroots of the mountain. Even in his silence – or more specifically, his moments of deep contemplation -- his authority followed him wherever he went, as if the ground knelt solely to him.
“It is time,” Guizhong said, approaching him.
Rex Lapis turned around. “I suppose it is. Shall we?”
They walked over to the table where Cloud Retainer was already waiting. This time, she was a woman with long white hair cascading over her shoulders. Blue markings entwined her dress of silk. This was a look only reserved to the closest friends.
She apologized to her two friends for keeping them waiting. “One was searching for an old jar of wine. One has kept this aging in hopes that the first taste will be savored by one’s trusted few.”
“How kind of you,” Rex Lapis responded, taking a seat. “You have my utmost gratitude.”
He took a glance at the food offering on the table. A bowl of Jewelry soup, a plate of Matsutake Meat Rolls, and a serving of minced meat wrapped in pastry.
They began to eat.
Guizhong smiled earnestly. “We have been dining for awhile now, but don’t you find it absurd that Zhongli doesn’t have a plate to eat in?”
Cloud Retainer laughed. “One has offered him numerous. In fact, Zhongli could easily construct a bowl out of stone, yet one refuses to eat with anything but one’s bare hands.”
“The two of you mock me at every unguarded opportunity,” Rex Lapis responded as he took a bite from the meat.
“One need not be overly stoic. It would not hurt to laugh every so often,” Cloud Retainer jested delightfully.
Guizhong’s shoulders loosened up with laughter – they almost looked as if they were floating. “Laughter is a blessing, after all.”
Rex Lapis sighed. “It is not entirely my nature to do so.”
“One must gift a fine porcelain bowl to the Lord of Rock then,” Cloud Retainer said.
“There’s no need to offer him a bowl,” Guizhong replied lightly, beaming at the god. “He sculpts houses out of stone and mountains with his weapons. This extends to the manner he eats. Perhaps, he prefers to experience life only with his hands.”
From the corner of her eye, Guizhong watched Rex Lapis, nearly exhibiting a fond expression before his cold gaze triumphed over it. The approaching moonlight traversed his black arms, emphasizing the veins of amber over them.
“Very well. However, before one forgets,” Retainer said, her turquoise irises dancing with excitement. “Let us drink from this wine jar offered many a moon ago by a hunter one saved from the foot of this mountain.”
Cloud Retainer poured the wine on Guizhong’s cup. ““A drink for the Lord of Dust and her astonishing display of intellect. One is content that the Lord herself spared no praise over the mechanisms of one’s solitary abode. As fruits of this, one is eager to design more artillery with Guizhong herself.”
Guizhong smiled and bowed her head in gratitude. The moonlight over the mountains looked as if they brought a piece of itself to rest in her long hair. “It has been an honor working with you. I trust the Ballista will function well.”
“As such, one is most eager to learn about your research into mechanics.
The stars dawned upon Guizhong with wonder. Rex Lapis noticed the slightest shift in her features whenever something struck her curiosity.
“The Realm of Clouds is currently housing the artifacts,” she told them. “However, it’s imperative that whoever enters must take great heed because the artifacts bear great secrets and possibly corruption as well. Therefore, I added more complex mechanisms to the domain such that whoever wanders or searches inside might not be tarnished by these relics.”
Rex Lapis nodded. “You must exhibit caution over these artifacts. We never know what secrets you might encounter or what form of defilement awaits you or anybody in that regard.” Though a bit firm, his tone had an aura of gentleness.
“I will,” Guizhong said reassuringly.
Retainer poured Rex Lapis a cup. The silhouettes of the three friends were reflected upon the waters. Mount Aocang had always been this vibrant even at night.
“One must speculate that Zhongli would prefer to drink without a cup too,” she said humorously.
“To get on my nerves surely amuses you to new heights,” Rex Lapis replied, taking the drink.
“As for Zhongli, one is delighted to have witnessed the Lord of Rock’s accomplishments,” Cloud Retainer began. “Zhongli is the most resolute among the gods. Unyielding in nature, yet it is presumably because he understands and respects the concept of fairness and righteous duty. One has great trust that he possesses the moral faculties to lead the people well.”
“I appreciate your kind words,” he responded. Guizhong looked downtrodden.
“Is everything alright?” he asked.
“In terms of leading the people well,” Guizhong began, “do you think the day will come where the gods will have to compete for a seat in order to determine a victor and a ruler? I heard a rumor from other gods like Osial but…,” she trailed off, aware that the atmosphere darkened.
“Do not believe everything you hear.” Cloud Retainer’s lighthearted nature dissipated like fog.
Rex Lapis spoke. “Do not be carried away by these stories. Unless they are proven by reason and fact, they might as well be instruments of manipulation. They will only shake the path you tread on, making you prey to another’s deceit.”
Guizhong nodded. “I was simply worried. I do not wish to see that day or even entertain the possibility of it.”
The leaves of the trees enshrouded her with sorrow. Rex Lapis moved closer to her. She felt safe in his presence. Despite their contrasting personalities, they complemented each other like a shadow in need of a wall. She was the Brains and he was the Brawn. They braved each monster at the crossroad and every jagged road across the mountain. They were best friends and staunch allies. And perhaps even more.
But Rex Lapis himself didn’t understand that time.
“Forbid that the day to come,” he told her. “If there exists even the slightest possibility that it will, I will do everything in my power to ensure that the two of us do not stray from our path.”
She nodded before gradually smiling. The Lord of Rock could see tears brimming from her eyes. He stood up and placed a hand on her shoulder.
“We will endure.”
Cloud Retainer raised her cup. “For tonight, let us enjoy the luxury of time. One suspects that the both of you will be preoccupied in the days to come. A rare celebration with good friends should not be wasted like matches hoisted away from the candle wick.”
Rex Lapis and Guizhong smiled and agreed. They carried on. While they may not be aware of the days to come, their hearts silently understood that cherished moments such as this have yet to erode into another memory.
Zhongli was not the only one wrestling with the curse of immortality. In Liyue Harbor, there were others among him too: the diligent secretary of the Qixing who once fought in the Archon War, the half-illuminated beast well-versed in the laws of Liyue, an old woman gracing the flowers of Yujing Terrace, and there was also little Qiqi of Bubu Pharmacy. She carried no divine blood in her but was risen to life out of the Adepti’s mercy.
There were also immortals in the mountains of Minlin. They rarely received visitors and preferred to roam the earth as beasts, thereby enunciating the rift between them and humanity. But there was also the last Yaksha residing in Wangshu Inn, hoping to hear a distant flute in the wind to ease him from his private war with monsters and nightmares.
None of them have lived as long as Zhongli. He couldn’t approach them the same way he did before – commanding them to restore order and to fight in his name. Now was the time to leave them be.
The man turned away from the bridge and walked towards Chihu Rock. The Third-Round Knockout still welcomed customers at this time of the night. Zhongli took a seat at the table in front of the storyteller.
A young server met his eyes. Zhongli nodded politely. The usual.
On the table beside him, two fishmongers were chatting about today’s profit. Zhongli was not alien to their slight maneuverings. Uncle Sun and Uncle Gao would appear as competitors. The former would convince the customers that his prices are fairer than Uncle Gao’s, causing them to buy from him without knowing that the two would split the profit.
“Did they fall for it again?” Uncle Gao asked in the middle of hysterics.
“Why, yelling Fresh Fish several times a day was enough to convince them! Though, I’d say ten percent of the trick goes to bad-mouthing your stall.”
“You have a future in the theater, Uncle Sun!”
Zhongli sighed. His order was served at the table. Despite the other customers disgraceful conversation about scamming unsuspecting buyers, Zhongli couldn’t help but wish he had a companion he could share a glass with. He had company throughout the day, but the night bore a bitter aftertaste of solitude clashing with a greater wave of loneliness.
The wine tasted the same as ever -- just as immortals never aged. Wine, however, was fortunate in the sense that it cannot be defiled by nightmares nor haunted by an agonizing memory. It had no life of its own, yet it understood the Adepti like no other.
Zhongli dined and drank on his own. The storyteller’s words passed through him like ghosts permeating a wall. He left the fishmongers in their own amusement. He thought about the time when people like them wouldn’t have made it out of Rex Lapis’ own judgment. They would be subjected to punishment. Now, the more he lived with them, the more he understood.
Much has changed then.