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Zhongli was a god of many identities.
To his fellow archons, he was Morax, the oldest of the Seven, the Lord of Geo. To the citizens of Liyue, he was Rex Lapis, he who chartered their future and ensured the survival of the city. His energy flowed through the streets, his presence their lifeblood.
But here in the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour, he was simply a man, and nothing more.
There was something strangely refreshing about masquerading as a mortal. Perhaps it was in the way his heavy mantle of responsibility slipped right off his shoulders, leaving him free to dream. It reminded him of simpler days long past, when people didn’t always turn to him with awe in their eyes, his name on their lips.
Sometimes, he found himself missing those days, where he was rash and impulsive and humans both feared and revered him, the Prime of the Adepti. He cut down gods and monsters alike, sharp steel drawing no distinction between mortal and immortal. Blood was blood. Those days were filled with violence, but they were satisfying all the same; there was no taste sweeter than victory, after all.
But death and pain did not make a country. From Guizhong, he learnt of gentleness and wisdom; he learnt that it was easier to wage war than to let go, that people responded better to kindness than to strength, that sometimes it was impossible to create order, but they should strive for discipline all the same.
Then came the Archon War. And Guizhong died, leaving him alone to raise a nation. To build it back up from the ashes, to traverse the unknown without her by his side.
For the first time in his long memory, he felt afraid. He had grown so used to her. She was always there, singing among the flowers, her eyes warm and gentle. Guizhong was as much a part of him as she was a part of the Guili Assembly.
On the day she died, for the first time Zhongli, the eternal Lord of Geo, as unmovable and unshakeable as the earth itself, felt something within him crack.
Nighttime brought with it the fragrance of glaze lilies.
As always, Guizhong continued to visit his dreams. She’d look at him with that familiar, patient smile on her face, but all he ever felt was guilt.
Guilt that he couldn’t save her during the war. Guilt that he had to watch her die in his arms, her final words branded into his memory, a reminder of his weakness – guilt that even after all this time, he still couldn’t let her rest in peace.
He was a selfish man, at the end of the day. He’d stare at her and will himself to speak, to say the words that overflowed in his mouth, suffocating him. But their jagged edges scratched his throat raw and in the end, he simply gave up, for the living had no right to make demands of the dead.
Immortality was as much a curse as it was a blessing. Humans yearned to live forever, but few of them truly understood what eternity meant.
There was some irony in him taking on a job at a funeral parlour. But the place served as a distraction, and when he observed the silent deceased, a strange sense of envy pierced through him – what did it feel like to stop thinking? To stop breathing and just sleep, empty minds sinking into the peace of oblivion?
He would never know. He was not one to shirk his duties, and Liyue needed him. It had been this way for the past three millennia, and it would be the same for years to come.
Was it time for him to retire? Had he finished his duties?
Six thousand years was too long for anyone to be alive. He lived, and he remembered – he had been through uncountable lifetimes, watching his people thrive, toiling to build their city. He wondered if they were ready to move on without him.
Zhongli lived not only for himself, but also for those he had failed to save. The smile in his dreams never changed, nor did he expect it to. But perhaps this would let him take one step closer to a different sort of eternity.
Where did gods go after they died? Guizhong would not give him the answer, and he had long grown tired of questioning.
He could sense how different she was, how she was unlike the citizens of Liyue. Unlike the people of Teyvat.
She was an outlander, a traveller on a quest to find her missing brother. Her eyes were molten gold, filled with quiet yearning, and within them, he found an immediate sense of kinship. There was loneliness in her heart, a mournful song he knew all too well.
Lumine was her name. Childe, the youngest Fatui Harbinger – not unlike his namesake, Zhongli noted – introduced them, and he explained the necessity of the Rite of Parting to her, this final farewell that would mark the death of his burdens.
She was quick and efficient, gathering the resources he needed – how strange it felt, to be preparing for his own funeral – and as the days passed, he dared to dream. To think about what he would do once he had given up his gnosis, and he was no longer Morax but rather just Zhongli, a man who knew too much and forgot far too little.
Guizhong continued to smile at him. He stared at her, his heart in his throat, as always struggling to find his voice. Wait for me, he wanted to say. I’ll come to you soon.
He never turned his back on an agreement once it was made. That was the basis of his entire being; he was the God of Contracts, and through the promise of equitable exchange he had shaped Liyue into what it was now, a thriving city through which the world’s mora flowed.
He handed his gnosis over to the Tsaritsa’s envoy, and the moment it left his hands an undeniable lightness swept through him – was this what freedom felt like? It was giddy, exhilarating, breathtaking.
No wonder Barbatos was always trying to preserve the freedom of his city. The invisible shackles that weighed him down, heavy with rust, fell apart for the first time, and when he looked out of the window it felt like he was seeing Liyue in a whole new light.
Lumine was quiet, despite all the revelations newly heaped upon her shoulders. He was not able to give her the answers she sought – he knew not where her brother was, nor did he have any inkling of who might have taken him.
But she thanked him, nevertheless. There was no trace of disappointment in her eyes – perhaps she had expected this outcome, even if she did not know his true identity. She asked him what could possibly be worth a gnosis, and at that, he paused, turning her question over in his mind.
Nothing was worth a gnosis. He knew that. But even the most inequitable contracts had their benefits. He looked at Lumine, brimming with curiosity, and for a second another pair of eyes, warm and gentle and familiar, seemed to stare out from within her into the very depths of his soul – he blinked, and just like that the moment passed.
To her, he spoke of the “contract to end all contracts”, though he did not elaborate on the details – it would be in poor taste to discuss such delicate terms with an outsider. But Lumine seemed interested in the Tsaritsa’s bargaining chip, so he suggested that she try to seek the answer during her travels. If there was anyone who could get to the truth of the matter, it would be her, this outlander with eyes like gold and a heart more determined than perhaps even his own.
He thought of a gaze that saw both everything and nothing at once. A familiar smile that seemed to grow more distant with every year that passed. Wild glaze lilies slowly receding from the marsh, their fragile petals wilting from rot, from neglect –
The life he led was long and fruitful, but all things eventually came to an end. Time took its toll on everything, even the earth itself – he too would return to the dust that had birthed him, and perhaps someday, another Lord of Geo would rise to take his place.
When that happened, he would wait and watch, this time with Guizhong by his side. But until then, he would live out his life, however long it might be. Giving up his gnosis had not rendered him mortal, but at least he was no longer chained to his legacy.
Zhongli glanced out of the window, his gaze turned towards the sky. It was a beautiful day. His vigil had finally come to a close, and now, he was able to rest.