Chapter Text
What will welcome you to the Land of Justice, of Promises as old as this world, of the Hydro Archon who protects and preserves all dreams especially those of a child, is the great mountains.
If you were to travel by sail, you would be able to see over the horizon the snowy peaks glittering under the sun even by a day away still. As you approach, they would loom that even if you were to crane your head, you’d soon break it before you could see their tops.
If you were lucky—or perhaps, wealthy and privileged enough—to travel by airship, from up above, you would see the river that has beaten down and cut through these mountains for millennia. Life-giving water falls from the White Palace that sits on the highest mountain, eternally running through the land despite the everwinter the country is in.
The Tsar is benevolent and generous. A web of his blood courses throughout Snezhnaya and as a result, forests grow and cities are founded. All thrive and are connected by His Majesty’s mercy.
One such place is built by the sea where the river ends.
A bell rings as a Fontainean airship lands at the airport of Morepesok.
Zhongli has never left his country. He is the Fifth of the Qixing, the Yuheng. He serves Liyue only as a keeper of the land—a silent protector from the shadows, never really getting involved in mortal affairs. He is the Prime Adeptus and the last dragon. He should be at home, leading what is left of his kin.
He is sent here to take the Hydro Archon’s gnosis. Such a daunting feat as the Tsar is the closest to Celestia, and his fortress is strong and true.
He would pose as an ambassador for the while he enacts a plan he’s still yet to formulate. Surely the Kaiyang, who is a renowned performer and actor, would be more suitable for such a task. Or perhaps the Tianquan, who is crafty and an expert in politicking even with her childish tendencies. By the gods, they even have the Yaoguang who specializes in secret operations.
And yet he’s the one on this ship. If worse comes to worst, they’ve said, only the oldest and strongest of them could face the oldest of the gods.
Zhongli has accepted then and there that they’re sending him to his death. What the Empress asks of him must be done at all costs—even at the expense of his life—that is the oldest contract.
What would his dear friend think of him, five hundred years—three thousand, depending on who you ask—and he’s an ocean away from his home, alone?
The metal hull of the ship whines and groans as it settles on the ground. It lets out one final stuttering puff of smoke. Soot falls onto Zhongli’s shoulder, smearing the otherwise pristine white suit. He clicks his tongue, takes out a silk handkerchief, and tries to rub off the offensive dirt. It only smudges more and the stain becomes bigger.
Someone clears their throat. “Mister Zhongli, I presume?” Still rubbing at the stubborn stain, at his periphery, he sees a short and stout man. He wears a mask that covers half of his face and wears the colors of the Fatui.
“Professor Zhongli,” he corrects with a bit of a growl as he gives up on cleaning the splotch. He is under the guise of a learned young man who’s spent seven years in the Akademiya. The Tianquan worked hard to forge his credentials, she would pester him. The least he could do is play the part and have other people acknowledge it.
He fully turns to the man and says without really meaning it, “Pardon my rudeness.”
“No worries, Professor. I am Nikolai. The House Pulcinella welcomes you to Black Castle.”
He only grunts as a reply. The Fourth would really be insufferable if she were with him. Nagging him about being rude to the locals when he’s supposed to be here to establish friendly ties. But what could they do to him, anyway? It’s not as if they would turn away the first act of diplomacy Liyue has offered in the last five hundred years.
Nikolai shakes his head and steels himself. He gives the Harbinger a smile so strained that he thinks that if he clenched his jaw any tighter, it would stay that way. “If it pleases you, follow me, Professor Zhongli. I will have you registered.”
He purses his lips and opts not to say anything. He supposes, he deserved that.
The Black Castle is up above the harbor and market towns of Morepesok. It stands tall. Its walls are stark against the white expanse that is the mountains of Snezhnaya. Guards line the parapet and every entrance Zhongli can see.
He is led to a hall, more humble than he would have expected. The only decorations that adorn the room are the low-hanging banners with the symbol of the Fatui—a four-petal bloom of some kind with circles near each of its petals’ tips—and the symbol of the Hydro Archon—curving stems of a plant, resembling the symbol in a Hydro Vision, with bell-like flowers along its stems.
There are only a few people here and there. There is a heavy solemnity in the almost-lulled soft murmurs of newcomers such as him, answering questions of or telling their tales to the Fatui dignitaries.
It is, after all, the only way anyone from outside of Snezhnaya can move freely between cities and use the country’s nationwide public facilities.
Nikolai sits at a table in an almost secluded corner and motions for him to sit across him. He takes out a folder as thick as an eight of Zhongli’s thumb.
“So, Professor…” the Fatuus starts, leafing through yellowing documents, “You have come bearing Alhaitham’s stellar recommendations. A graduate from Vahumana with a thesis paper on the international relations of Ancient Liyue.” He chuckles and whistles at what probably is the abstract of a nonexistent paper. “I take it that this is what made your archon finally see sense and opened up your borders once more?”
“I do not delude myself into thinking that a simple man such as I could move gods.”
“Ay-ay-ay, I only jest. But surely you must have thought so, even the slightest bit?”
Zhongli stays silent.
As seconds tick by, Nikolai’s joking smile turned into a grimace. He smacks his lips and gives up on trying to make conversation. “You sure are a man of few words, Professor.” The Fatuus closes the folder and taps it idly as he says, “I won’t take much of your time then. We have already examined your papers. Everything seems to be in order. Now,” he takes out a golden pin and set it upon the table.
It is in the shape of the Tsar’s symbol, a perfect copy of what is on the banner right above Nikolai’s head. “Here is your pass. You will never lose it, don’t you worry. However, you have to take an oath to never do Snezhnaya any harm to bind it to you.”
“That’s it?” Perhaps… Snezhnaya isn’t the most secure place after all. Zhongli has been fully prepared to be interrogated for at least a whole day. The Tianquan has made him memorize countless unimportant nonsense just so he could pass as a scholar.
And the Fatui is just going to take his word for it?
“You are in the Land of Promises, Professor,” Nikolai reminds him. “Your word is as good as a contract. Break your oath and you will suffer the Tempest’s Rage.” He slides the pin towards Zhongli. “You must swear by what you hold most dear, by whom you give your highest praise, or by what cause you believe in the most. Only then will your oath be binding and Snezhnaya will welcome you with open arms.”
What should Zhongli swear by? His archon who he only serves out of his contract as Adeptus? His country and his people who have moved on thousands and years way ahead of him? His kin who barely remembers what once was?
“Take it. Dwell on it. You do not have to take the oath right now. You can do it in the privacy of your temporary housing. Even when you think there are no witnesses, the water in the air will hear you. The land will acknowledge your promise.
“May the waters lead you to where you are going and may it lead you back to where you have been. Good day to you, Professor Zhongli.”
Zhongli doesn’t get to dwell on it for long, however. For while his trek down to the main city of Morepesok, the River’s End, he meets a rascal on the road. A weasel thief that tripped him into the voluminous snow. He falls and the pin he’s been absentmindedly tracing as he’s walking leaves his hands. The thief snatches the shiny little thing and dashes into a dense forest off the path.
He growls and nearly pounces after the weasel. He chases the rascal without noticing that the trees contort and whisper among themselves.
In another time, Snezhnaya was once called Prekrasnaya—beautiful. Such a shame that it was changed when it fits the country so well.
Tall luscious trees stretch into the sun, twisted into several patterns such as rings, hearts and convoluted spirals. The color of filtered sunlight does not stay the same, ephemeral with every sway of the branches and multicolored leaves.
Sunny spots melt the snow and fresh green grass pops against the white. He hears a bubbling brook somewhere deep in the forest and the tittering of birds up their perches. The fragrant smell of mahonia permeates the air, sweet and earthy which reminds him of his home.
It’s way warmer here. Zhongli could almost forget that he is so far away from Liyue. He becomes lost within the feelings of nostalgia and longing.
That is to say… well, he’s actually lost.
Zhongli easily catches up to the weasel thief and gets back his pin. The poor thing only mews as he carelessly drops it on the soft ground. When he turns to go back to where he came from, he realizes that he’s been walking for longer than he should be. He passes the same tree five times before he admits to himself that he’s going in circles.
His Adeptus hearing—and possibly paranoia—picks up faint laughter among the trees.
He growls and bares his teeth. Claws come out, ripping away his gloves into tatters. It does not matter when there are invisible enemies that are toying with him.
But before he could hack and slash, he hears a soft singing. A sweet melody and a refreshingly cool complement to the sunny backdrop of the forest. He doesn’t understand the lyrics—is that Old Snezhnayan?—but there too is a sense of longing and for the second time, Zhongli gets lost.
As if in a trance, he follows the voice and it leads him to running water. On the other side of the stream, there sings the most beautiful man he’s ever seen—more beautiful than any man deserves to be. He’s bent over, a basket in hand, picking bunched-up stems that grow on the bank. Its white blooms clink as would small bells upon the man’s flick of the wrist—an accompaniment to his song.
Hair with the color of sunset, even more vibrant under the ever-changing light. Skin as fair as snow. Pink lips that have stopped moving as the beautiful man takes notice of his audience.
“E-excuse me…” Zhongli stammers. Very unbecoming of a Harbinger, he almost hears the Tianquan mock him in his head. “It seems I have lost my way.”
The man stands straight and gives him a once-over with a slight tilt of his head before giving him a brilliant smile—even brighter than the sun, Zhongli is sure. Liyue has the most magnificent of daybreaks but nothing can compare to this.
“Well of course you have!” His voice is equally sweet in speech as in song. He would do well in Liyue Opera. Zhongli should just whisk him away and take him back to his country. The Kaiyang would be happy to add such a rare jewel to her collection. It would be a mission well accomplished too, for surely this man is the most precious treasure Snezhnaya could offer—that is what he is here for, is it not? “You’re wearing your clothes the wrong way.”
That nearly breaks the spell he’s in. His eyes flutter, he shakes his head, and he regains some clarity. “I’m sorry?”
“You’ve entered the forest without anything to ground you or to keep the lochfolk amused. You would be lost and never to be found again. Didn’t the people at River’s End warn you? Or perhaps you are coming from the Black Castle?”
Perhaps, if Zhongli have been kinder to Nikolai, he would’ve warned him. In the hindsight, he should have just hiked back to the Black Castle and asked for another pin.
“Ah… Well, if you insist on going for a stroll in a zapovednik, you mustn’t tell anyone your name. When asked where you are headed, answer ‘forward.’ When asked where you are from, answer ‘behind me.’ And wear your clothes inside out—that would keep the leshy entertained. Good day to you, sir.”
The man turns to leave and, as if compelled, Zhongli runs after him. Never mind getting his clothes wet as he hurriedly crosses the stream.
“Wait! I don’t— Leshy?” Zhongli stumbles but the man steadies him with his free hand, oddly warm despite being ungloved and wet. Thankfully, the man’s sweet song has calmed Zhongli’s defensive instincts and his claws have been retracted.
But that only means he can feel the beautiful man’s hand on his own, skin on skin. His fingers are soft and smooth as if he’s never done any hard labor—a disconnect to the man’s humble, faded, threadbare clothes.
Zhongli would have taken notice if not for the haze in his mind and the overwhelming scent of flowers and the bright hair, white skin, pink lips—
“Careful now,” the man giggles and tries to take his hand back but Zhongli feigns another misstep that takes him closer to the beautiful stranger. His hold is tighter and steadier. “Ah, well the leshy are the spirits of the water within the trees. They’re rather playful and love to lead travelers astray.”
“Lochfolk, you say?”
“They are what has become of fae of the Old World, sir. And shouldn’t be what you’re pursuing during your stay here at Snezhnaya. They do not take kindly with outsiders, I’m afraid.”
A small voice whispers in the recesses and darkest part of his mind. Do not listen to their singing. Do not watch their dancing.
“Is there any way I could find my way without stripping in the cold?”
“Ah, and here I thought people from Liyue are made of stone, unfeeling and ever-enduring.”
“And here I thought the people of Snezhnaya are as courteous and graceful as water. One would think someone who sings as beautifully as you would have manners befitting a noble.”
The beautiful man laughs. The voice in his head is louder now and it sounds more like his Master from Below. Do not listen to their singing. Do not watch their dancing.
“Is that meant to be a compliment, good sir?”
Zhongli takes the hand still in his near to his lips and kisses the back of it. The scent of flowers and wet earth is intoxicating. “Will you call me Zhongli?” Do not listen to their singing. Do not watch their dancing. Do not ever give them your name.
“What did I say about giving out your name?”
“If it’s you, I will freely give it.”
“Oh dear. You should get out of the forest before you do something you will regret, sir.”
“Will you come with me, then? Will you let me take you home?”
“How bold!” The beautiful stranger doubles over and the flowers in his basket chime as he laughs, echoing and music to Zhongli’s ears. Drowning the warnings as fleeting as the wind.
“Oh goodness, you should really leave. Please tell me that you can sing.”
Zhongli doesn’t understand. Why must he leave when he can stay forever with this beautiful man and listen to his singing?
“I would suggest you dance but it would have to be a ridiculous dance and a handsome man such as yourself shouldn’t be doing something undignified.”
The soft hand leaves him and it takes all his resolve not to chase it. The beautiful stranger fishes out a blue handkerchief from the inside pocket of his coat. It’s as faded and frayed as his clothes. Simple and without textile patterns or embroideries.
“I dried a young boy’s eyes with this, earlier today. His tears may serve as an anchor to the world outside the forest. I will gift it to you in exchange for a boon.”
Up until that moment, Zhongli hasn’t been able to look at the man’s eyes for whatever reason. His eyes always strayed to his hair, his hand, his lips. His voice is so sweet that Zhongli can happily accept being deaf if it meant that it’s the final thing he’ll ever hear.
Now, he’s met with blue as deep as the pools in the Abyss—as still and lifeless. He’s reminded of the Old Seelie he’s met Below. With mangled bodies and corrupted minds but still oh so beautiful in their majesty.
Do not listen to their singing, Master Skirk once told him. Do not watch their dancing. Do not give them your name.
An absurd thought comes to mind. Is this man a descendant of the ancient race? He knows the Councilor Pulcinella is one such person but there are no records of another. Did Zhongli really let himself be in debt to a fae?
“Don’t worry, we’re still in Snezhnaya. I promise I will not ask what isn’t fair of me.”
Compelled, in a trance, his lips move unbidden, “Alright.”
“You have given me a name. It is only fair I will grant you one.” The stranger leans into him, and the sickly sweet smell of flowers invades his senses. Soft lips almost touch the shell of his ear, merely a whisper of a name in between. “You may call me Ajax. For my word is my bond, we are now connected until our agreement has met its end. Until such a time, may the waters lead me back to you and you to me.”
He moves away and flourishes into a deep bow, the cloth presented as if a gift to a king. “How do your people say it, again? Let this contract be set in stone.”
Zhongli takes the handkerchief.
“What is it that you wish?”
The man straightens and takes a step back but he follows and steps forward. The other lets out an amused chuckle.
“Hmm… I don’t know yet.”
“Then how will I hold up to my end of the bargain?”
“Perhaps in another time. You may come and find me in the Black Castle if fate hasn’t had us meet again before then. Good day to you, sir.”
He blinks and the man is gone. He finds himself near the edge of the forest as if he’s just entered. But time has passed. The stars are out and the moon is at its highest. In his hand are a blue handkerchief and a single white glass flower. It chimes as he rolls it between his fingers.
Later in the night, as Zhongli lays on his bed, the glass flower and the pin on his bedside drawer, he remembers.
Guizhong’s laughter, tinkling across the plains like tiny bells. The way sunlight filters through her hair as she sways in time of a song only she could hear. The frustrated, erratic tapping of wrench on metal when she’s faced a particularly vexing hurdle. The songs she sings to the flowers, though he couldn’t remember the words anymore—he never was one for poetry, how could he remember something useless to him?
He wishes he could remember them. Perhaps her wisdom is hidden between the lines. Perhaps there is a code within it that would show him how to continue.
“What am I doing, Guizhong?”
Perhaps if he could remember her fully, without blemish, without cracks, then she’ll forever live in his mind and heart. However, stones erode as do memories.
“I swear by my memories of my friend—” he thinks better of it and amends, “of Guizhong, by what little of what I have of her still, that I will not harm Snezhnaya.”
There is no grand lightshow, not even a sliver of a glow. Only silence. And the air seemed to shift and he could breathe a little easier.
His thoughts go for the briefest moment to a different peal of laughter, to fiery hair and shrill ringing of bell flowers. To a scent sweeter and harsher than a glaze lily.
He sleeps, dreamless and void of nightmares for the first time in five hundred years.
At the highest tower of the Black Castle, overlooking the entirety of the harbor and the forests of lochfolk, soft thumps of felt against wood echo within the privacy of Pulcinella’s office. The Rooster and his lord are on their third game of chess tonight. But it’s clear that His Majesty is distracted.
There have been whispers of the Geo Archon scheming against the Sky City. Neither Celestia nor Snezhanaya have done something about it since they think that they are just that—whispers freely given to the wind to be forgotten.
Pulcinella isn’t so sure now.
“A Snezhnayan Defense? How dull.”
“It is one of the best responses to a Queen’s Gambit, after all.” He moves a pawn to C4.
“Hmm…” His Majesty plays a pawn to E4.
“Very aggressive.” Pawn to B5.
“Hah… that’s two gambits declined. You wound me, old man. I ought to stop you from developing your bishop and then castling.”
“Perhaps with another gambit?”
“Ha-ha…” Bishop to E2.
“A shame,” Pulcinella goads. He expected another aggressive move but something about their opening line has caught His Majesty’s attention it seems. He’s made his first priority to secure his king rather than another attack.
They continue without having to take for the next couple of moves until Pulcinella concedes and takes a pawn which His Majesty easily takes back. His lord grins as if he’s already won.
“Did you know that according to Liyue Folklore, the Northern Dipper loves to play chess with the Southern Dipper? The stars are their pieces and pawns. The night sky, their board.” His Majesty giggles, almost manic. “Perhaps there is some truth in it, seeing that Ningguang has sent her rook to our side of the board. How bold.”
“At least, she didn’t send the First Harbinger,” Pulcinella says as he stares down his queenside knight, still in its starting position even after ten moves.
“Nandou wouldn’t risk Beidou just yet. We’re still in the early game.” His Majesty clicks his tongue. “Hah… but the most fundamental principle of early game chess is to develop your pieces. What could she be planning?” Pulcinella expects an annoyed grimace but his lord only dons a wide grin that makes the face of his mortal form even more boyish, and Celestia forbid, cute.
It has been a while since something interesting has washed ashore in the fortress that is Snezhnaya.
“Could the arrival of a Harbinger be connected to the unrest in Nizhegory?”
“That would mean that the Millelith has been living in the cracks of our fort like the roaches they are for who knows how long. I highly doubt that. For Snezhnaya is strong and flawless.”
“A thousand stones may stop the flow of water when carefully placed.”
“But water will always find a way to seep through.”
“Is it really so ridiculous to think that we may have erred? Especially with how close the Rite of Ascension is. There must be some connection.”
His Majesty can be stubborn at times. Prideful even, pardon Pulcinella’s blasphemy. But to be so steadfast and unmoved, for the Hydro Archon, is odd. Could it be— “Is it that you still doubt the Lady Arlecchino’s loyalty?”
His Majesty doesn’t reply. Instead, he takes the trade Pulcinella offered. His lord surrenders his bishop, which Pulcinella takes with his rook. He clears his throat. “So what are we to do with the Harbinger?”
That gets the grin back on His Majesty’s face. “He’s very interesting. He owes me a boon.”
“Oh? Wait. Have you made contact with him? On your own? Suck recklessness, Your Majesty!”
“What did I say about calling me that outside the Palace?”
“We still yet to know what his purpose here and you reveal yourself to him without so much of a thought?”
“May I remind you that I am still the God of Logic? Have some faith in me, old man! Besides, I met him by chance. The poor man was lost in the Dancing Forest. He even gave me his name. Well, a name.”
“He did not recognize you?”
“I have told you that you’re too paranoid, thinking everyone would immediately think ‘Oh look at that! The Tsar without his veil, how scandalous!’”
“And he owes you a boon?”
“And you are ignoring me…” His Majesty pouts—pouts! But no matter. This could be advantageous for them. A contract with fae is as unbreakable as His Majesty’s faith in Celestia. The Harbinger will have no choice but to do their bidding.
“He was very cute.” His Majesty’s eyes crinkle as he laughs unabashedly. “I want to keep him, Pulcinella!”
The Rooster sighs and rubs his temple, trying to alleviate a forming headache. “We already have our means to subdue the Harbinger. Have you asked him what the Empress wants while you were in the zapovednik?”
“Now, now, Pulcinella. You know I don’t like taking advantage of other people. It isn’t fair.”
And the Tsar is always just.
“What then?”
His Majesty shrugs and leans back to his chair, arms supporting the back of his head. “Close observation is the best way to gain knowledge.”
“And you would do this yourself?”
“I’m the only one I trust enough with this. Apart from you, of course. But I need your focus here. If Ningguang truly is starting to move her pieces, Morepesok would need to be ready.”
The Black Castle stands opposite the White Palace. It is the first line of defense of the Snezhnayan Fortress. If—when the Empress makes her move towards the Sky City, she would have to move through Morepesok first and foremost.
“Of course, Your Majesty. Your will be done.”