Chapter Text
When Jean arrives at the scene of the crime, all hell has already broken loose.
Knights suddenly awoken by the alarm are registering the perimeter, screaming orders at each other, too frazzled to be organised. A group of nuns is bailing water out of the cathedral with brooms and buckets, while others despair under the arcs, endless prayers streaming from their lips. The teal beads of their rosaries moving from finger to finger with such speed they appear about to catch fire.
Standing to the side, Jean catches sight of her sister, Deaconess Barbara, breathing into a paper bag. Upon seeing her, Barbara breaks into disconsolate tears.
“Oh, Jean, it was- It was terrible- They were- And then he was-” Beaten by a strangled hiccup, Barbara returns to her paper bag, hyperventilating with panicked eyes.
It takes some gentle coaxing, circles rub on her back and the softest tone of voice Jean can manage—one she hasn’t used with her since Barbara was still learning to walk—, but the story slowly unfolds from her sister’s wailful voice, shocking her to the core.
“I’m sorry for flooding the cathedral, but I didn’t know what else to do! I- I had to stop it!”
Promptly, before Jean can recover from the impact of such revelation, a knight approaches the both of them, agitated in appearance, yet serious in his demeanour as he relays to his superior that Grand Master Varka is requesting her presence back in the Favonius Headquarters. “It’s urgent.” He insists at Jean’s apparent reticence.
After leaving her sister with some comforting words, they retrace the walked path together. Along the way, houses are illuminated and windows opened. People peek their heads out, whispering among each other, “What’s the commotion? Why is everyone awake?”. Some of the brazen ones even ask the knights still on patrol. “Has something happened at the cathedral? Was it dangerous? Was it fun? Was someone hurt? Was someone drunk?”
Jean does her best to ignore the people’s morbid concern.
At the Favonius Headquarters somnolent knights agglomerate in the entrance, making space for her as she walks in, their stares as confused as they are lethargic. Inside, Grand Master Varka wears a similar expression, eyelids heavy under arched eyebrows. In front of him, in the centre of the foyer, a cluster of petrified feathers is arranged to form a solid message.
<<IT WAS CONSENSUAL>>
“You know what this is about?”
“I… will explain in your office.”
Once in the privacy of the room, Jean transmits the happenings with as much detail as poor, anguished Barbara was able to muster: about the nature of the accident, the divinity of the individuals involved, their state of undress, the undecorous activity they were partaking it, the exact posture they were partaking it in.
And, at first, her careful wording and solemn tone are met with stunned silence, then thunderous, echoing laughter.
As it is typical of the nation of wind and poetry, the rest of Mondstadt doesn’t stay wondering for long. News are delivered by the breeze of whispering nuns and chattering guards. The tale distorted from mouth to mouth, exaggerated in the taverns when people reunited to discuss after being awakened before dawn in the land where it is never too early to indulge in wine. Told with excruciating speculated details during breakfast at the Good Hunter. And commented keenly on the marketplace, every passerby seeking to know more about what unravelled within holy walls, that bit of information unknown to them that would make the story all the more worth talking about.
Under the shadow of the buildings, groups of seasoned adults laugh while patting each other on the back, as if it were them who enjoyed divine flesh in the moonlit cathedral. Not too far away from them, the youth gather around fountains to exchange rumours as they fan themselves and wash their blushing faces with the tepid water.
“That’s our Archon!” They cheer throughout the city, clinking together their beer mugs.
“How scandalous.” Scorns the nobility as they observe the proletariat from their high balconies.
“How very interesting.” Comments the Cavalry Captain right before Master Diluc refuses to serve him another glass.
“Well, at least we know both parts consented.” Says the Cardinal of Daybreak in an attempt to console his grieving daughter. “That’s important.”
“It should have been me!” Screams one man in sorrow, falling to his knees in front of Barbato’s statue.
“If someone asks, we aren’t here!” Is what Diona hears coming from behind Venti’s cape as he holds it against his nose and drags an expensive-looking stranger into a private room.
And despite the ballads spreading through the city, singing of furtive lovers finding haven within stained glass and moonlit marble. Despite the dancing and the merriment and lighearted air of early summer, carrying leaves and dandelion flowers. One voice resounds louder than the others.
“You mean Morax is alive!?”
Shiliu is the first to exclaim it, hands to her head and straw hat pushed askew. Xi’er, at her side, looks like Morax’s ghost itself descended from the heavens to announce its return in front of her.
“Right, wasn’t the Geo Archon supposed to be dead?” Slowly, realisation seeps into the Mondstaters. After all, the mourning for the God of Riches hadn’t been contained to Liyue. Every merchant in every nation held a minute of silence that fateful day, honoring the currency that carries his name. The more cunning even tried to capitalise on it, selling altars or souvenirs. Whether that was commemorating Morax’s practices or disrespecting his legacy remains a hotly debated topic among Sumeru scholars.
“Maybe Lord Barbatos’ love brought Morax back to live.” Proposes brighteyed Noelle the day after every Liyuen in the nation wrote a letter explaining Rex Lapis’ resurrection to their friends and family.
“Maybe.” Jean agrees through her teeth, turning over and over in her hands an official missive from the Qixing. An express delivery, judging by the exhausted messenger and equally exhausted horse that brought it to her first thing in the morning.
“It does make for a pretty romantic tale.” Kaeya, who moved to the Cat’s Tail after Diluc kicked him out for talking too graphically about ‘the incident’, looks happy to continue unravelling all the mysteries.
Rosaria, seated to his right, downs her drink in one gulp before saying. “And here I thought Barbisatos was a prude.”
“Why would anyone think that?” Protested Venti, seated in front of her and with his eyebrows drawn together.
“The sisters are always modesty this, propriety that, cover yourself, don’t act so impudent, have some respect.” She waves the glass in dismissive gestures, swatting those remarks away like flies. “Advocating for Barsobas’ teachings and all that. They must have gotten it from him.”
“No! They came up with it themselves!”
“Such are the consequences of an absent god,” Zhongli, already known among the locals for his elegant appearance and refined manners (as well as for his extravagant taste in alcohol), speaks between sips of his herbal tea, “everyone can claim they act on their divine word.”
Venti directs a glare to his right, where Zhongli seats with his back straight and elbows politely close to his sides. The perfect posture of a perfect gentleman who would never do something as sacrilegious as desecrating a church.
“People need freedom to figure out their own principles.”
“Which means that they are also free to adopt principles that would be frowned upon by their god” Zhongli side-eyes the bard beside him, “and said god has no right to complain.”
Venti evades his amber gaze. Neither Kaeya nor Rosaria understand why he is also drinking tea instead of a cocktail, but his finger outlines the cup with a pout. “He still has the right to be disappointed.”
“Indeed he has.”
They both drink at the same time. Rosaria and Kaeya exchange a look over the rim of their own glasses.
“Anyway, Mister Zhongli, what do you think about Morax’s possible resurrection?” Asks Kaeya.
“And his sex tryst in the cathedral.” Adds Rosaria.
Zhongli chokes up on his tea.
“The gods are kinkier than I thought.” Continues Rosaria, like she is pleased about it.
“They’re also allowed to have some fun.” Venti answers while patting Zhongli on the back, who is now coughing into a napkin.
“I’m not against fun, but the cathedral is a risky place,” Kaeya leans fully onto the backrest, arms crossed over his chest, “Barbara is traumatised.”
Rosaria gives a solemn nod, a strange gesture in her that has Venti and Zhongli exchanging a look that no other present in the room understands. It’s a common practice in them, something everyone notices after spending a single afternoon in their presence. At the beginning, it made Kaeya wonder what truly was hidden behind the cover of friendship; now, he comprehends that their situation is as easy as it is complex. Pure entertainment.
Over in another nation, within a Jade Chamber hovering like a second sun over a ruby and emerald city, the Dandelion Knight is less amused at having to deal with the political aftermath of her Archon’s love affairs. That isn’t what she had in mind when she pledged loyalty to the thousand winds’ land.
There, a secretary dressed in fine red silk guides her down two sets of stairs into a room with a pool dotted with golden lotus flowers swimming alongside vibrant lily pads. It’s, like everything that surrounds it, exquisitely luxurious, like the whole building has been carved out of a gem. A jewel turned home, fitting for a goddess of mora.
Along the way to her office, Jean passes by a woman with lavender hair and purple clothes hunched over in a chair, elbows propped up on her knees and face buried in her hands. She seems to be lamenting her own existence and Jean does her best to not disturb her silent contemplation of life choices.
Once inside the office, Jean presents her respects to the Tianquan and sits when Lady Ningguang does so. Her golden aura is as marvellous as ever, even with the knowing smile that she smartly hides behind a round fan. “I apologise for requesting your presence with this marked urgency, but I fear these matters ought to be treated in person, not through letters.”
“I agree with your judgement, Lady Ningguang.” Jean wouldn’t like to leave behind written register of this either.
“Now, what has reached my ears sounds rather exaggerated and I know that your sister was the one who witnessed it, so I trust you have a faithful version of this story.” The corners of her eyes crinkle in proof of a smile Jean does not get to see. “As you may guess, I am deeply concerned about the status of our late Archon, so, please, spare no details, no matter how sordid.”
Jean gulps before proceeding to her request. It is her second time retelling the happenings and, like she did with Varka, her tone is professional and her wording technical and she forces herself to convey no particular emotion as she describes what she knows will appear in her next nightmares, because this situation has been a continuous headache that shows no improvement. She crossed paths with Liyuen devotees on her way here, worshippers of Morax that peregrinated to Mondstadt in hopes of catching a glimpse of their deceased divinity and she isn’t looking forward to what she will find upon returning.
During her monologue Lady Ningguang offers no commentary, only the light glint of glee in her red eyes and a cordial nod at the end. Perhaps sensing her awkwardness, the Tianquan bids her farewell and sends her on her way with a gift bag and an uncovered, genuine smile.
The woman in purple is still there when she walks up the stairs. Just as miserable. She hasn’t moved an inch.
With her feet finally on solid ground, Jean pays a visit to the Feiyun Commerce Guild before taking a carriage back home. What she finds upon arriving, though, makes her wish she didn’t leave.
“They wanted to take the petrified feathers as mementos, but they’re fused with the floor so… they’re taking the tiles.” Explains Varka after Jean questions the Liyuen construction crew dismantling their foyer. Jean isn’t going to question why he authorised it. “How was the reunion with Lady Ningguang?”
“Things are controlled on her end.” Which is more than what they can say about their nation. It is difficult for her to remember a time when Mondstadt was this full of tourists outside of festivities. “Here,” Jean passes him a receipt, “the trip expenses.”
Varka stops the hip flask he was about to bring to his mouth to examine it and his eyebrows expeditiously climb to his hairline. “Wha-? Why this much?”
“The costumes need to be high quality for it to work, we can’t cut corners with the materials.”
He gives his hip flask a tentative glance before ultimately closing it and putting it in his pocket. Jean congratulates him mentally on the decision; he is going to need to make it last, since she plans to take the mora from his alcohol budget.
Varka, also wisely, doesn’t comment when Lisa walks into the room with a tea tray while donning a shiny new silk dress that hugs her figure and a pair of shoes to match. Both glamorous, luxurious and blatantly expensive. As well as obviously not his business.
After that, days are filled with the coming and going of Liyuen acolytes. The largest gathering is found around the cathedral, burning incense and praying collectively at all hours. Entrepreneurs begging for guidance on their new company, established businessmen pleading for good sales and even poor out-of-luck beggars who only ask for a bag of mora. Guided by their devotion, some of them enter the sacred building in search of any vestige of Rex Lapis’ presence and they quarrel with the clergy when they forbid them from entering the inner chambers. Then, accusations are thrown in the house of the Lord, of hiding deific remains and of altering the peace, of insulting the Geo Archon and of disrespecting the God of Song. And despite the insistence of the nuns that no trace of the Qiling was found in the cathedral, stands are opened on the streets and around the lake, selling scales and tuff of hair to those willing to pay thousands for a shred of divine flesh.
Whether they are real or a ruse is up for debate, but people wanting to join the market spend their days knee-deep in the sewage system in hopes of finding any trinket that got dragged by the flood.
Sumeru scholars join them soon after, not in their scavenging hunt, but in their theological discussions. Students with the intention to write their dissertation on the mechanics of godly resurrection that turn the taverns into academic conferences and any conversation into a symposium. They are seen carrying heavy tomes up and down the city’s stairs, loudly complaining about the lack of shadow from trees and using the stone walls as impromptu whiteboards by writing on them with chalk. Although their preferred spot continues to be Barbatos’ statue, where Sayid usually leads their assemblies as the one with the most experience in Modstadt’s history.
“I don’t believe they were copulating,” says a researcher from Spantamad, “maybe to the untrained mortal eye it could resemble it, but I’m sure what they were doing was a resurrection ritual where Barbatos was giving part of his vital energy to Morax.”
A Liyuen merchant nods at the claim. “I don’t believe it either. For sure if our esteemed Rex Lapis desired to bed one of his fellow Archons, it would be one with more class.”
That, of course, ignited the fury of all present Mondstaters.
“What do you mean by that?!”
“I will let you know that Barbatos is the most fuckable from The Seven!”
“Yeah! The others can’t even dream of being half as sexy as him!”
“You don’t need ‘class’ when you have hips like that!”
“Morax should be grateful Barbatos even looked in his direction!”
“I bet Morax had to plead on his deathbed like a sad, pathetic loser!”
(Seated on the veranda, Dahlia eats popcorn while enjoying the public lynching. Meanwhile, cradled by the statue’s hands, two eavesdropping gods cuddle closer. The one with the grace of a feather on the wind wiggles his eyebrows at the other, deadpan expression sculpted on marble and offering no rebuttal except a tug to his left braid.)
Tension overcomes the fortified city by the end of the second week. After days without answer, Liyuen devotees have become anxious; they wander the streets like tormented spectres, supplicating to the heavens for a divine message. “Oh, our Archon, why have you forsaken us?” They ask with their hands raised to the sky. “If you have returned, if death no longer hinders you, why don’t you descend? Why don’t you show yourself to those who await your return?”
In the market the stands have been dismantled after Amurta scholars inspected the merchandise and confirmed that the ‘scales’ were painted pebbles and the hair came from hilichurl manes. Now, the scorned sellers that haven’t fled the nation hide in the dark corners or inside wine barrels, trying to escape the knights’ patrols.
Amidst the chaos, the academic debates have escalated to heated arguments. Sumerians yell about the differences in their theories. Mondstaters complain about the invasion of their taverns. Liyuen report false accusations of fraud by the researchers. And no one—no one—is content.
It is in these circumstances that Grand Master Varka convoques a general assembly on the main square, calling for everyone to attend. People do so confused, if not fearful, of the measures the Ordo might take to assuage the spread of uneasiness. So, it is to the surprise of all the presents that the Knight of Boreas announces that the culprits behind the ‘incident’ have been found and are about to offer a public apology.
“You see,” Venti begins after walking to stand next to Varka, Zhongli following awkwardly close behind, eyes to the ground, “after you have been in a relationship for a while~ it’s difficult to maintain the spark. So, to not let that passion die, Mister Zhongli here and I indulge in some roleplaying from time to time.”
After a stunned silence, people burst with questions. Hows and whys filling the air. Some scandalised, some curious, most simply befuddled by the revelation. That was all? Really? No, it can’t be possible. How could those two impersonate divine beings with such credibility that they tricked three whole nations? Scepticism is rampant among the multitude, until Noelle approaches the pair while carrying bundles of clothes in her arms that they take and unfold, presenting them to the multitude as they press them to their fronts. They are perfect imitations of the robes worn by the gods—as regals and magnificent as they are depicted in paintings and murals and legends spoken by the elders—, tailored to fit their figures.
“It was wrong of us to… uh- meet in the cathedral and for that we are deeply sorry. I apologise for the inconveniences we caused.” Venti ends by remorsefully bowing down, Zhongli imitating him right after, his posture stiff as if he was a machine with no oiled gears.
And the story could have been finalised there. A shameful chapter of Mondstadt’s history closed with laughs and grimaces born of secondhand embarrassment, outraged visitors and displeased scholars, but, ultimately, a jesting population already planning to drink it out in the caverns. But then Barbara parts the crowd like the splitting of the seas and all merriment wilts in the plaza, scorched by the fury of an aggrieved beast.
“This is actually not the first time something like this has happened.”
“The Geo Archon has been put on cleaning duty before?”
“No, not that.”
Jean is hearing Varka and Dahlia’s conversation, but not really listening to it. Mondstad has been blessed with good weather today: clear skies, pleasant warmth and a breeze that carries the voices of the bards as they intone their ballads. Around the statue of Barbatos kids play and parishioners pray, probably asking for forgiveness after believing their god capable of desecrating his own name. Klee’s cheerful laugh is starkly distinguishable from the other children as she runs away from Durin in a game of tac, and Jean is again grateful that Albedo took her to a ‘family trip’ to visit Nicole’s lair in Nod Krai during the whole disaster.
“It was during the time of Grand Master Vennessa. The documents are old and have been heavily censored as well as changed through the centuries, but the gist of it is that, one day, a pair of criminals used adeptal arts to disguise themselves as Lord Barbatos and Morax and the scene they put out almost made Mondstadt declare war on Liyue.”
In front of her, ‘Zhongli’ is scrubbing the cathedral’s outside walls while on top of his geo pillar, with Venti in charge of cleaning the roof tiles with a sponge and a scraper for pigeon poop.
“It’s apparently the reason why we don’t have a proper altar.”
“Ha! The more you know…”
The less you respect the gods.
(Lady Vennessa give me strength.)