Chapter Text
The first few steps of integrating with the modern world were easy.
Hu Tao gave Zhongli a grand tour of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor and assigned him his own office. It was no Golden House, but Zhongli was pleased to have his own professional space again. She explained the functions and procedures of the business in rapid-fire, quizzed him randomly about seemingly irrelevant subjects long after they’d moved on from them, and was delighted when Zhongli was able to answer everything perfectly.
“I have a good memory,” he chuckled.
Zhongli was also introduced to the parlor’s staff. Among the many undertakers, the two most talkative were the Ferrylady and Meng.
The Ferrylady was a calm woman who had quietly stolen part of the load from other positions, functioning almost as a wedge under an uneven table; Wangsheng would be able to operate without her, but nowhere near as smoothly. In her normal role she would prepare burials and cremations, but she could also be found manning the reception desk, answering and placing calls, filing paperwork, and balancing budget.
“You’ve stolen a lot more work than I thought!” Hu Tao laughed when she’d started recounting all her roles.
The Ferrylady had bowed her head, respectful and unrepentant, and replied, “There are some things that the director needs time to grow into.”
She was supportive, levelheaded, and Zhongli liked her.
Meng was her complete opposite.
Meng was relatively new, a jumpy man who rambled as if allowing even a moment of silence would be leaving himself vulnerable to some kind of verbal attack. Considering how much Hu Tao teased him, that seemed to be true. He was also terrified of the dead.
“Why in Teyvat is he an undertaker when he fears those who’ve passed?” Zhongli wondered, as Meng bumbled away to his own office.
“When serving in the funeral parlor he can confirm for himself that the dead are cared for properly, and that no demons or ghosts rise as a result,” the Ferrylady answered smoothly.
“Plus he thinks he’s haunted,” said Hu Tao, scratching at her chin.
“Pardon, he what?”
“He asked me to exorcise him,” said Hu Tao.
“…I did not observe any ghost lingering around him,” said Zhongli.
“That’s because he’s not haunted. He saw his dead childhood friend, but that old buddy of his is frolicking around Wuwang until the Lantern Rite, not chasing him around the harbor,” said Hu Tao. “I’ve already got it solved, no biggie.”
“I shall take your word for it,” said Zhongli.
When it came to Zhongli’s role, most of the undertakers were wary of him but relieved that Wangsheng’s continued existence meant they wouldn’t lose their livelihood. Meng seemed almost disappointed that he hadn’t been freed from Hu Tao’s clutches by some higher power. The Ferrylady’s eyes had lit up when she realized what he’d been brought in for—not only was she relieved that Hu Tao had a guardian, she was intrigued by the possibilities of having a knowledgeable consultant.
Overall, his introduction to Wangsheng Funeral Parlor had been positive.
The neighbors were likewise easy to interact with.
Hu Tao had indeed dragged Zhongli to the Wanmin Restaurant for a celebratory dinner, and had indeed gotten them both a free meal. The excitable Xiangling had carried their food to the table; she had a Pyro vision like Hu Tao and chattered away with the same carefree speed, but she seemed a much more straightforward and humble person.
While the girls held their own conversation, Xiangling’s father sat down beside Zhongli. It was clear that he was angling for intimidation, but that only made Zhongli approve of him more.
“You are Chef Mao, are you not?” he asked.
“That I am,” said Chef Mao.
“I wish to thank you for what you did earlier today, defending Hu Tao,” said Zhongli. “You may have been facing representatives of the Qixing, but their words were out of line. I understand that you’ve gone to great lengths to ensure Hu Tao’s comfort and safety even beyond today. She has been incredibly lucky to have your support, and when she speaks of you it is clear how grateful she is for it. Thank you for being there for her.”
Chef Mao had been thrown off but pleased.
“It’s really the least I could do. She’s a good kid, even if other people don’t recognize it.” He glanced at his daughter, presumably in a similar situation. “Seeing her alone, after Old Hu passed… You don’t leave someone to grief like that.”
“You are a good man,” said Zhongli.
“I hope you are, too,” said Chef Mao. He fixed Zhongli with a glare. “I’ll be keeping an eye on things. You take care of her, understood? And if I see anything strange…”
“It’s a good thing, to be held accountable,” said Zhongli. “I suspect Hu Tao will be the one in charge, here, but I will go to you if I have any concerns.”
This won Chef Mao’s approval.
Zhongli won Xiangling’s approval after he tasted the black-back perch stew, paused after the first spoonful, and commented on how well the powdered violetgrass complimented the dish. Chef Mao had been baffled that anyone could so quickly notice such an odd addition. Xiangling was over the moon; the violetgrass had been her idea.
Settling into the Hu family house was also easy, if a little more turbulent.
Hu Tao had her own room. Old Hu likewise had a room, but it had not been cleared, and when Hu Tao had showed it to him there had been a hesitance in her tone. Zhongli didn’t hesitate to ask for a different room entirely.
“I have no wish to usurp your true family,” he told her. “Even if you freely gave me this room, I would forever feel like a trespasser.”
There were no more bedrooms but there was a small office space. Hu Tao had looked around at the cramped room and said, “You’re really sure this will work for you?”
“It will be perfect,” said Zhongli.
He didn’t actually sleep in the room. He set up his serenitea pot on the desk and took his repose in the realm within, entering after Hu Tao had retired for the night and coming back out before she woke to ensure she was none the wiser.
Zhongli’s paperwork was approved by the Qixing. A thick package was delivered to him through the mail, which contained his new ID card, citizenship, and guardianship paperwork. The pages had been stamped with the seal of the Tianquan herself, and a short letter had been included:
The matter of your Geo vision has not been disclosed and your record is restricted. If you wish to make its existence public you are at liberty to do so, but we will not impede on your privacy without your express permission.
That was a relief. There weren’t many Geo visions granted yet, and Zhongli didn’t want too much attention at this point.
Hu Tao attended a prestigious school during the week. While she was gone Zhongli spent his time at Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, working with the Ferrylady to gain more familiarity with the position and beginning to promote his availability as consultant (they had no takers yet, but the Ferrylady was optimistic). When he and Hu Tao returned home they would dine together, and then Hu Tao would go to the living room to complete her schoolwork, watch what Zhongli now understood was the “TV,” or get up to her own strange antics.
Hu Tao spent much of her time focused on her little red and black device. While Zhongli had originally determined this to be a strange mirror, he was proven wrong. It didn’t always show her reflection. Sometimes it would show images and speak just as the TV did. Mentally he began to refer to it as her “seeing square.” She took it everywhere, and paid it the most attention when she was doing the oddest things. She spoke to it like it was another person.
Zhongli caught her on one occasion cooking eggs in the kitchen and speaking quickly to it: “Teyvat fried egg! Simple! Invigorating! Tasty enough to raise you from the dead!” At which point she brought the square close to her face and said brightly, “Not really! When you’re dead, you’re dead.”
The egg had burned.
Zhongli suspected that he would never truly understand her.
Speaking of cooking, though, that was a point of contention between them. Hu Tao had insisted that she was able to put her own food on the table, but Zhongli hesitated to call it food.
“You are a horrible cook,” he told her bluntly, after she tried to ply him with the most suspicious rice bun he had ever seen.
“Zhongli!” she’d gasped. “How rude of you! I’ll have you know that I’m an excellent chef!”
“It would be ruder still to allow you to live in such delusion,” he’d snapped.
On some level she knew her own ineptitude; the dishes she made were the simplest possible and always charred, and frequently she’d ignore the stove entirely and eat crackers from boxes not unlike what Zhongli had retrieved from that machine in the Liyue Chasm Institute. He knew from that experience that while the crackers were flavorful they weren’t filling in the least. Usually, though, she towed him over to Wanmin. Zhongli was always pleased to sample the food there—he was accustomed to luxurious dishes, and Xiangling added experimental flavors that were both delicious and refreshingly new—but his disquiet over the situation was confirmed when Chef Mao took him aside and asked worriedly if Zhongli and Hu Tao could really afford to eat out so often.
“We must make our own food,” Zhongli announced the next time Hu Tao returned from school, arms crossed and expression resolute. “For your health and to conserve your inheritance, it must be done.”
He tried to teach her how to make a decent batch of mora meat.
He remembered his own fumbling attempts to learn this simple dish; he’d made a mess and Cloud Retainer had laughed at him. But he’d been an uneducated brute, back then. Hu Tao was clever and should be able to pick this up easily.
She did not.
“It would be so much easier if we could just go to Wanmin,” she pointed out, with the kitchen counter blackened by a stray fire and flour everywhere.
Zhongli did not give up.
If Hu Tao would not put food on her own table as she’d bragged, then he would do it for her. He went to work cooking. The results went over well—Hu Tao’s eyes nearly sparkled when the dishes were served, and after she’d taken some food to school with her, Xiangling popped up the next day to beg for his recipes—but the process was not so popular.
“Zhongli,” Hu Tao groaned from the living room doorway. “How long is that soup going to take?”
Zhongli resolutely did not look back at her or the square she was surely pointing at him.
“Seven hours,” he said curtly.
“Seven hours?”
“It requires the utmost care and technique,” said Zhongli.
He could feel her judgement, but she wouldn’t be complaining once she was eating it.
The food war needed ingredients, though, and it was this that brought Zhongli to his next major stumbling block.
Hu Tao had brought him to the Second Life grocery store soon after his arrival to pick up snacks, and he went there now to gather supplies. After careful observation of the other customers, he retrieved a cart and navigated the store to find what he needed. He selected the finest quality of everything he found, paying no attention to the prices listed, and brought it all up to the front. The cashier’s eyes widened at the selection but she made no comment. Each item was “scanned” and bagged, and once all was accounted for, the cashier gave the total.
The total didn’t matter much to Zhongli. He reached into his pockets and formed the mora there, out of sight from anyone else. He deposited the gleaming coins on the little desk. To his surprise, though, the cashier looked ill at the sight of them.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t accept that.”
“I beg your pardon?” said Zhongli.
“That.” The cashier pointed at the coins. “I’m not able to take it. Do you have another payment method?”
Zhongli blinked down at them, perplexed. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. This is mora, in the exact amount you specified.”
“And I can’t take it.” She pushed the pile gingerly back toward him, as if worried the coins might bite.
“Is mora not Liyue’s currency?” asked Zhongli.
The machine in the Liyue Chasm Institute had accepted mora, and Chef Mao had never complained about payment. Had he missed something important?
The cashier began to look annoyed. “Sir, if you keep on pretending like that, we’re going to have to remove you from the store.”
Zhongli had no idea what he was supposedly pretending.
He returned to the house with pockets heavy with mora and no ingredients, and sat at the table to wonder just how he had gotten that interaction so wrong.
“I’m back!” Hu Tao sang, skipping through the door an hour later. “Hmm, not smelling any overly complicated historical food. Does this mean we’re going to Wanmin tonight?”
Zhongli heaved a heavy sigh and explained what had occurred. Hu Tao listened intently, then to his surprise, she began to laugh.
“Well, no wonder!” she cried.
“I don’t understand,” said Zhongli. “I had sufficient mora to pay them with…”
“They think it’s fake,” said Hu Tao.
Zhongli was taken back.
He’d never really gotten along well with mora. He was Morax, creator of mora, and to him it was just a little chip of magical power, its only saving grace being that it could be used as a catalyst, therefore everyone acknowledged that it had some kind of value. When it had first become used for trading purposes he’d been bemused but accepted it. Later, as his people became mora-hungry, he wondered if he should’ve put a stop to it at the beginning. There was just… so much importance tied to a tiny thing he could create on a whim. He’d built the Golden House with mora for the simple fact that he had a lot of it, and Liyue had acted as if he’d raised another mountain. How very disconcerting! To think now that they would suspect him—him, Morax, the only one who could create true mora—to be a charlatan seemed even more absurd.
He consoled himself only with the fact that his human disguise must be truly convincing.
“Look, I’m sure whatever hermits in Jueyun Karst didn’t care much about it, but there’s rampant mora fraud here in the real world,” said Hu Tao. “If you come up to anyone with a whole lot of mora physically with you, they’ll assume you’re trying to scam them.”
“I am not,” said Zhongli, affronted. To prove it he took the three pieces of aerosiderite from the cupboard, stacked some mora atop them, and held his hand over it. The mora glowed, the magic took effect, and poof, it became a brighter, more bulky bit of aerosiderite. He held it up in triumph. “You see, mora itself is a magical container that can assist in the reshaping of materials, so a fake—”
“Aiyah!” cried Hu Tao, gripping her hat like he’d done something obscene. “Why would you do that? There’s only so much real mora left in the world!”
“But that is what it is for,” said Zhongli, mystified. Ever since he’d created mora, it had been commonly used as an energy catalyst.
“Dude. Grandpa. Peepaw,” said Hu Tao. “How old are you, to think you can go zapping mora like another crop of it’s going to grow on trees?”
“…We did not have such concerns in Jueyun Karst,” said Zhongli.
Hu Tao shook her head in exasperation. “No kidding! But yeah. Doesn’t matter if your mora’s real or not, you bring all of that with you to the grocery store and it’s a big red flag for fraud. You know what we have to do?”
Zhongli did not like the smile growing on her face. “What do we have to do?”
“We have to bring you out of the stone age,” said Hu Tao. “We’re getting you a credit card!”
They went to the bank.
Zhongli was familiar with banks—the Northland Bank of Snezhnaya had formed a branch in Liyue even before his hibernation—but he’d never utilized one. The anti-mora-fraud issue was so rampant, apparently, that it took a lot of work to get an account opened for him. Thank goodness they’d gotten all Zhongli’s paperwork at the guardianship registration or they’d have been exiled from the bank entirely. As it were, it took over two hours and the clerk looked frazzled by the time it was done.
“Checks and debit card,” she said, sliding the items in question over to him. “You can always check your account information online or through our phone app, too.”
Hu Tao gave a delighted gasp. “A phone! Yes, yes, you need a phone, too!”
“That is… your square?” said Zhongli.
“My square,” Hu Tao mocked. “Yes, Zhongli, we’re getting you a square.”
For this purpose they went to the shops near the area of Feiyun Slope. She brought him into a business with a sleek, minimalist interior, with its only decoration being more squares. So many squares. Squares of all sizes.
“We need to get you a good one,” she said, perusing the selection. “A newer one! Lots of old people stick with the old models because it’s what they’re familiar with, but that doesn’t really apply to you. It’s better for you to get the cutting-edge technology so that when you learn it’s for the most relevant situation. That’ll help you navigate other technology and social spaces much easier.”
“I like to believe that I am a quick learner. I am in your hands,” said Zhongli.
One of the employees came to check on them, and Hu Tao chattered with him about batteries, memories, and processors. Zhongli listened intently but didn’t understand what any of these meant. They brought him over to one of the square displays and told him to try it out.
The square they’d picked out was not the largest of the stock, but it was big enough that the pictures on it showed very clearly. He poked at its surface and found that it responded to his touch.
“The colors are lovely,” he said, flicking his finger and watching as the information on the screen followed the motion, sending him down its record like a scroll unfurling one way and rolling itself back up on the other. “The lines are sharp, and the words easily legible.”
Although, just because the words were legible didn't mean he knew what a “Fruit Ninja” was supposed to be.
“Do you like the size?” said Hu Tao.
Zhongli weighed it in his hand. “It is surprisingly light, and easy to hold.”
“Then this is our model,” said Hu Tao, nodding proudly.
“This version comes in three colors: red, black, and silver. Did you have a preference?” asked the employee.
“Just get him the black one. We’re getting a case, so the color won’t matter anyway,” said Hu Tao.
“A case?” said Zhongli, following her away while the employee busied himself with little boxes. “I wasn’t aware that was required. Yours only seems to have the… odd button.”
Hu Tao laughed. “Mine’s already in a case, that’s what makes it so colorful! It protects your phone and it’s fashionable at the same time. And I know you like your fashion, even if you’re weird about it.”
There was a display of cases on the wall, and Zhongli realized quickly that these served as a kind of exoskeleton for the device rather than the all-encompassing carrying case he’d been imagining. The patterns were very nice.
“Just remember to get one in the right size,” said Hu Tao, picking up an open container full of buttons similar to the one on her device. “You can get one of these too, and we’ll stick it on the case. That makes it easier for you to hold.”
Zhongli selected a golden case patterned like the innermost structure of cor lapis, and a button with a glaze lily design. He still wasn’t sure just how the square would help him, but he was pleased that it would at least look appealing.
They met the employee at the checkout desk, who scanned the three items and listed their total.
“Go on, then,” said Hu Tao, with great gravitas. “Do it. Buy your phone.”
Zhongli wasn’t sure this was an occasion that needed such fanfare, but per the directions on the little payment device, he slipped his new debit card into the slot. Nothing happened.
“Um, it’s not coming through,” said the employee, squinting at his screen. “Try again?”
Zhongli took out the card and put it back in. Nothing.
“Um,” said the employee, getting more and more uncomfortable. “Try swiping instead?”
They swiped through a section on the device’s side, to no avail.
“No,” said Hu Tao, horrified. “We just got that! The bank said it would be active immediately! Why is it declining?”
“It’s not declining. It’s not reading at all,” said the employee.
“What do you mean, it’s— Ugh.”
“I take it this is an inauspicious result?” said Zhongli.
“It can’t read your account,” Hu Tao groaned. “You have the mora, but they can’t reach it through the card!”
“I fail to see how this is any better than carrying mora on my person, then,” said Zhongli, and turned to face the employee again. “I will provide the payment ‘in cash,’ as it’s termed. Please rest assured that I am able to provide this in authentic mora.”
Hu Tao groaned even louder. “When you say it’s authentic mora, that makes everybody more suspicious!”
“Why should they be suspicious about the reassurance? You’d said their suspicions would be in the amount of physical mora itself,” said Zhongli.
“Um, if it’s over a certain amount I have to call my manager to take over,” said the employee. “And she’s on a lunch break, so, um…”
“Forget it,” said Hu Tao. She used her own card on the device and the screen display changed. Hers apparently worked.
They walked out of the shop and she dragged him right back to the bank.
“Hey, so, something’s up with his card,” she said. “It doesn’t work.”
“It’s reading as active in our system,” the clerk fretted.
After some back and forth, they “cancelled” the original card and gave him a new one. Hu Tao eyed it with suspicion as they left again. She steered him into a restaurant next.
“Just for a snack and a test run,” she said as they waited in line.
Zhongli didn’t mind this at all. He’d immediately brightened at the idea of food. Just standing here he could smell the aroma of chili-mince cornbread buns. That was exactly what he ordered when they reached the front of the line. When indicated he put his card in the device here too, and… nothing.
“You have got to be kidding me,” said Hu Tao, and paid this time too.
They sat at a cramped little table to eat their food. Zhongli settled with as much dignity as he could muster, which was very difficult considering even his thin body seemed too big for the seat, and he pulled his ponytail forward over his shoulder to keep it from being snagged by the groping toddler at the neighboring table.
“It is a decent quality bun,” he said after savoring a bite. “Not one for renown, but satisfying nonetheless. Hu Tao, are you familiar with the process in making chili-mince cornbread buns? The fresh dough must be turned out into a round, rested, then placed inside a cage to steam—”
“I don’t get it,” said Hu Tao, ignoring him completely. She stuffed a bun in her mouth, forgoing the fried condiments entirely (Zhongli huffed in disapproval). “One time? Sure. Whatever. But twice? My card is with the same bank, and that’s working…”
She rambled on about things he didn’t understand, and Zhongli resolved to enjoy what he could of the food. Once it was gone, Hu Tao marched him back to the bank. This time the clerk called over another worker, and when they took Zhongli’s card, they ran it through another device.
“It’s not reading the information at all,” said the clerk, fascinated. “It’s not damaged as far as I can see… An issue with the chip, maybe?”
They got a new card. Activated it. Ran it through the device. Their screens confirmed that this one was communicating properly with their system, and the clerk handed it over with a smile. Zhongli had barely held it for two seconds when Hu Tao cut in, “Wait.” She glared at the card. “Zhongli. You’ve touched it now.”
“I have,” said Zhongli.
Hu Tao turned back to the clerk. “Run it again.”
Mystified, the clerk did. The card did not communicate with the system.
“What on earth?”
“Archons. Is it your vision?” said Hu Tao. “Is it your stupid Geo vision messing with the card?”
“I don’t believe so,” said Zhongli. “I haven’t activated my vision at any point. You have been in my proximity, and yet your card still functions.”
Hu Tao gave him her card. “Let’s put that to the test.”
Zhongli handed it over to the clerk, and they confirmed that Hu Tao’s card had also miraculously stopped working.
The clerks became frantic. More bank workers came over. Zhongli was given more cards. All the cards he touched ceased to function. The bank workers got louder and more confused each time.
“It must be your vision,” said the original clerk, who looked at a loss. “That, or residual Adeptal energy from staying in Jueyun Karst for so long. We’ve never had issues with any other elements, but we’ve never been able to test with Geo visions or Adepti since they’re so rare. We never even knew it might be an issue.”
Zhongli wondered, suddenly, if being an Archon had anything to do with it. Needless to say, he kept his mouth shut about that.
When they finally departed the bank for the last time, they went with new cards. Zhongli’s wouldn’t work if inserted in any device, but they’d assured him that if someone typed in the numbers instead of trying to read the chip it would work just fine. They’d asked for permission to give his contact information to the higher ups at the bank, so they could reach out for further troubleshooting; there was a concern that as Geo visions became more plentiful other customers might be affected, so they wanted to test and determine how to fix the issue. Zhongli had accepted easily.
He hoped he hadn’t caused any inconveniences to the people he’d gifted visions to already.