Chapter Text
The Yuheng sighed, leaning back in her chair, and ran her fingers through her bangs, assessing the work before her. She’d been at the drafting table for hours dodging the elephant in the room, but now, it was the only thing left on her plate. Plans for the statue had been in the works since Rex Lapis’s death, and even though Keqing was deeply conflicted on the matter, it was still her obligation as Yuheng to approve the plans. She could decline them of course, but she’d already sent them back twice, and the Tianquan was breathing down her neck to stamp it and move on, and yet Keqing couldn’t make herself do it.
Pushing back her chair and standing, Keqing paced. She was ahead of schedule by 23 minutes this evening, and she could spare a moment for personal reflection. Keqing slipped around the stacks of paperwork, extra desks, and general paperwork that had cluttered Yuehai Pavilion since the destruction of the Jade Chamber. Most everyone had left already, and boosting herself onto Baishi’s desk, she pushed open a second floor window with her heel, before dexterously kipping up onto the ledge and positioning herself to look out over Liyue Harbor.
Twilight had started to settle in, and the harbor was ablaze with lights dancing far below the terrace. Keqing searched the cityscape, for… something, anything, before letting her gaze settle on the dark shape of the mountainside where the new construction would begin—as soon as she finished the requisite paperwork, that is. The problem was the sheer amount of mora, the countless hours, and the resources for a monument. Liyou Harbor had weathered hard times after the Geo Archon had finally parted, but Keqing put in the hours, and Liyou harbor had finally blossomed, but it was a fragile ecosystem; an ecosystem which any wrong move could upend. Letting herself slump against the window frame, Keqing closed her eyes, letting herself bask in the chilly wind as Autumn slipped into Winter.
Somewhere behind her, Keqing was keenly aware of someone entering the room. It was rare for most people to work this late, and the process of elimination meant that Keqing suspected she knew who was watching. Still, she did nothing, tensing slightly while she forced herself to observe the city rather than acknowledge the woman watching her.
There was a long silence, and Keqing was almost hopeful that she would just be able to get back to work, but when she heard Ganyu’s voice, the young Yuheng felt her heart beat faster. “Lady Keqing, is something bothering you?” She could feel the Qixing secretary step closer, and Keqing bit her lip, chewing on the ragged skin that had begun to peel from the bad habit.
Closing her eyes, Keqing leaned her head back against the frame, letting herself sink into the quagmire of doubts bubbling up inside her. She hated looking weak in front of Ganyu. After criticizing Rex Lapis for so long, it was difficult enough to admit any error to Ganyu, let alone admit the doubt and fear that had found root in her gut. Wetting her torn lips, the Yuheng spoke calmly, without opening her eyes. “What would Rex Lapis think of the Tianheng project?”
“Well, I can’t know for certain…” She could hear Ganyu draw a step or two closer, haltingly, but surely closing the distance between the women. “However,” Keqing could hear the secretary take a deep breath before continuing, “Rex Lapis in all his years constructed few effigies of himself. Across Liyue; yes, there are a scattered few, but most are places of worship, not testaments to his ego.” Another pause and Keqing braced herself for the counterpoint—Ganyu always made one. “That said, he is no longer among us, and a monument could be instead a historical piece, commemorating his custodianship for all of history.”
There was a long silence, and tilting her head, Keqing peaked at the secretary, who seemed lost in contemplation. Ganyu had a number of papers clutched to her chest, and was dressed in a light robe that seemed to drift ethereally around her, like the ghost of a jellyfish; the modest fabric somehow made divine by the quiet majesty of its owner. Keqing envied that whatever Ganyu wore—no matter how humble—was breathtaking. Ganyu’s lips were curled into a little frown, and looking up from her feet, the two made eye contact.
Keqing smiled, slightly. She couldn’t help it. “And what do you think, Ganyu?”
Taken aback, Ganyu blinked, seemingly taken off guard by the question. “I—” She cut herself off, looking away. Keqing could see one hand slip up from the documents to clutch her shoulder with a vice-grip. Finally, the secretary spoke, her voice very quiet in the gathering night. “I… think the project is very egotistical.”
Swinging her legs into the room, Keqing barely touched the ground, before gently boosting herself over Baishi’s desk and coming face to face with a distressed Ganyu. The latter refused to make eye contact. The two stood there for a moment, before Keqing yielded ground, taking a step back and leaning against the desk. “Why is it egotistical?”
Slowly bringing her gaze up to meet the Yuheng’s, a soft smile spread across Ganyu's lips, before vanishing again into the mess of anxiety that had ensconced the secretary’s features. “Lady Keqing, I believe that the Tianheng monument would not commemorate Rex Lapis’s memory, but instead our dominance over the land he shaped. Liyue itself is a monument to Rex Lapis.”
Grinning in earnest now, Keqing folded her arms, and let her weight settle. “I think I’m starting to see the appeal in this monument.”
Ganyu grimaced. She was fidgeting with one of the documents for a long moment, before responding to Keqing deliberately. “I would be out of line attempting to sway you.”
It was Keqing’s turn to frown. “I asked.” Settling, the Yuheng leaned back, supporting her weight on her palms which splayed against Baishi’s desk.
Squeezing the documents she held tighter, Ganyu’s anxiety seemed like it was about to bubble over as she broke eye contact with the Yuheng. “The project doesn’t make sense. Liyue was the domain of the Geo Archon, so why would Ningguang outsource the labor? The personnel budget is unreasonable, and…” Ganyu hesitated, as if unsure whether to continue or not, but finally resolved to speak, “... and paired with her recent amnesty for Snezhnayan criminals of war, this project is primed to offer employment to defectors, especially with its massive budget for architecture and engineering.”
Dumbstruck, Keqing simply stared at the immortal, who was extending to her the documents she had clutched so preciously only moments before. Reaching out with an uncertain hand, the Yuheng took the documents silently, before thumbing through the finances. The implications of Ganyu's words were still processing, but the young bureaucrat was already starting to piece together the puzzle that the Qixing secretary had evidently been brooding on. Glancing up from the papers, Keqing met eyes with Ganyu, who had been staring at her intensely. “So you did intend to influence me?” She hefted the papers for emphasis.
Blushing deeply, Ganyu actually jumped. “My apologies Yuheng, I—”
Keqing interrupted her, laughing—though the sound was tinged with apprehension—while she stood. “I will read these thoroughly once I’m home.”
“Of course.”
Striding to the door, Keqing cast a quick glance over her shoulder, eyes glued to Ganyu’s form, seemingly very small against the waxing moon visible through the window. Keqing chewed on her lip again, before speaking abruptly, “Thank you.”
Ganyu spun, eyes wide with surprise.
Holding up the documents in her hand as if the motion gave all the explanation she needed, Keqing half turned to leave before pausing. “Get some rest if you can. Tomorrow will be very long.”
“I—” Ganyu massaged her shoulders, pulling in on herself, “I’ll do my best.”
Keqing stared at her for a long moment, before slipping out the front door of Yuehai Pavilion into the chilly night. Letting the door close behind her, she slumped against the door, allowing herself to melt into the pool of worries that had wrapped her in their cruel talons. Keqing should have fetched Ganyu a blanket. She knew it was irrational—Ganyu possessed a cryo Vision—but she’d looked… cold.
Slamming a fistful of papers onto the Tianquan’s desk, Keqing found herself yelling, “As Yuheng, I am ending this!”
A playful smile slipped across Ningguang’s lips as the woman shifted her weight deliberately in her chair, lounging forward before casually splaying the documents across the desk with a flick of her clawed ring and pinky fingers. Letting herself investigate the documents for an infuriatingly long moment, she finally raised a cold stare to Keqing. She was smiling, but the expression didn’t blemish the determination in her eyes. “Keqing,” she paused, letting the Yuheng’s name linger, “let me ask, why would you obstruct such a simple project? It can’t be out of pettiness towards Rex Lapis. You’ve already outlived him. Is that not enough?”
Gulping down air, Keqing didn’t break their stare off. “This is a ridiculous proposal. The budget for a vanity project is far greater than proprietary should allow. New irrigation near Wangshu Inn to make that land fertile has been planned for years, as have new settlements given our more open treaties I organized with the Adepti. Neither of these has seen adequate funds, and instead, we are building a statue of Rex Lapis? Liyue may be prosperous, but that prosperity will not last if it is squandered.”
Ningguang laughed, relaxing into her seat and gently cupping her face in her right hand, while her left extended to Keqing in an open gesture. “So you would rather spend the funds on your pet projects rather than mine? Fair enough, however…” Ningguange closed her extended hand into a fist. “I would be careful blocking a project with such popular appeal for such selfish reasons. The people of Liyue remember.”
Lacing her fingers behind her back, Keqing squeezed them, letting her fingernails bite into her hands. She closed her eyes, swallowing her anger, before speaking with forced calm. “Selfish? I simply wish to enhance the prosperity of Liyue.”
“I also wish to celebrate and perpetuate our prosperity.” Ningguang let her hand drop, resting it on the desk. Her smile hadn’t tarnished. “Is it not also our responsibility to enshrine and record the history and wealth of Liyue—and with it Morax—for all to remember? It’s our way to record history in stone, is it not?”
Keqing was grinding her teeth. How could the Tianquan lie to her so boldly? “This is not a monument to Rex Lapis. The mountains of Liyue are his bones. This is a monument to Liyue’s subjection by the Qixing. It is a monument to your hubris!” Keqing had balled her hands into fists as she glared at the older woman who lounged comfortably across from her.
Seemingly amused, Ningguang lazily gestured as she retorted, “I would think you’d be all for subjecting Morax’s legacy, no?” The reclining woman’s dead eye contact betrayed her fury, even as her tones were sugary sweet.
“I have no desire to venerate Rex Lapis, but I refuse to venerate you as a god either, Tianquan. You have my respect, but not my worship.”
A slight but cruel smile warped Ningguangs lips. “That’s not the impression I had the last time I helped you decompress.” Deliberately, she examined an outstretched hand, folding all but her untaloned middle and index finger, which she flexed gently.
Keqing couldn’t help but look away, flushing bright red. “This is irrelevant to matters at hand.”
Shrugging, Ningguang sighed, before laying her hands gently on her desk. “You’re right of course. The matter stands that I have balanced the budget, and secured the requisite materials and crew. All that remains are the land rights to Tianheng. You are holding up the flow of business and ergo profits. If you continue to obstruct this process, as of tomorrow, I will be forced to go around you and speak with the other Qixing about your station. Are we clear?” Her faux smile had resolved into a smirk.
A long moment dragged out into two, and then three, before Keqing nodded, spinning on her heels and exiting the office. She could feel Ningguang’s gaze boring into her back until she closed the door. Exhaling, Keqing startled as she realized that she wasn’t alone. “Were you eavesdropping?”
Ganyu looked away, “My apologies. It’s a bad habit.”
The past moment's embarrassment was replaced with the inherent humor of this new situation, and Keqing couldn’t help but laugh. Sagging against the door, she was consumed by the giggles, and Keqing pressed her hands to her mouth to stifle the sound.
“I-I’m so sorry Yuheng, I-I will ruminate on my—”
Keqing shook her head, holding up a finger, claiming the moment to recover, before straightening. “I am sorry for the gap in my composure… It won’t happen again.”
Nodding, Ganyu fidgeted with her fingernails absentmindedly. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. I’ll be going, and—”
“What is your agenda for the afternoon? Keqing interrupted. In a movement she hoped was elegant, she brushed a hand through her hair, flicking one of her twintails lightly into the air.
Resolving into a mask of obviously faux composure, Ganyu began to recount her schedule. Keqing wasn’t really paying attention to the specifics, instead, simply listening for anything exceptionally important. Hearing nothing, she struck a confident pose, reasserting her noble poise. “Please inform the Tanquin’s secretaries that I will be requiring your assistance and that they can perform your normal duties.”
The emotions that flashed across Ganyu’s face were myriad, as the secretary seemed to struggle with the request. Confusion, apprehension… Ganyu’s face was an open book. Finally, accepting, she nodded. “What assignment are we undertaking?”
Keqing couldn’t help but smile. She hated butting heads with Ningguang, and she was terrified of the implications of the Tianquan’s words, however, there was nothing like the thrill of an impulsive field mission. The young Yuheng knew that most people in her role would delegate, but when she did, results were delayed, and intermediaries made excuses. More and more she’d been forced to admit the inevitability of management, but there was something thrilling about getting the job done with her own hands. “I’ll explain on the way.” She winked at Ganyu, who blushed at the bon vivant gesture.
“So this is where lady Ningguang is making preparations?” Ganyu eyed the warehouse some miles outside Liyue harbor. No signs explained the structure’s presence, but Keqing didn’t need maps, or other markers to find things in Liyue. The countless weeks of memorization and exploration that she’d undergone were more than enough.
Nodding, Keqing slipped off the road, crouching behind a large outcropping of rocks. She waited a moment for Ganyu to join her, before speaking in a hushed tone. “That is correct. I signed off on it for her personal use some time ago, and checking the shipping receipts, there are signatures matching some of the staff the Tanquan has assembled for the Tianheng project.”
The secretary hesitated, seemingly weighing the possibilities, before asking, “What is our approach?” Her eyes fell to the sword at Keqing’s hip, hilt just protruding from under her traveling coat.
Keqing flashed a quick grin, before delving into her jacket, not for her blade, but to recover a compact notebook. “We ask to speak with the manager.” Ganyu was evidently taken off guard, and Keqing couldn’t help but chuckle.
Eyebrows knit together, Ganyu made steady eye contact. “Lady Keqing, if I may, why are we hiding behind a boulder then?”
“I’m giving you a chance to catch your breath.” She shrugged off the question easily.
Suddenly understanding, an earnest smile transformed Ganyu’s face. “That’s very kind of you Yuheng, however, I’m used to far rougher treks than this.” A soft giggle escaped from Ganyu, and she quickly covered her lips with her fingers, as if the childish gesture would somehow conceal the incriminating sound.
A sudden heat had flushed through Keqing’s face, and she felt a squirming anger in her gut. “Good, I didn’t want to wait.” Keqing snapped shut her notebook, and pushing past Ganyu, she began to march towards the warehouse at a measured pace; eyes trained on the doorway. She could still hear Ganyu snickering behind her as she came to heel.
Without hesitation, Keqing took the steps up to the warehouse two at a time, before banging on the door. She could hear yelling from inside, but didn’t wait for someone to come to the door, she tried the doorknob. Locked. Feeling her Vision, Keqing pulsed her magic ever so slightly, before turning the iron knob hard. Lightning sizzled across its surface, and the mechanism burst from the wood that splintered around it. In a fluid motion, Keqing kicked open the door.
Within, the inhabitants of the warehouse had all turned to face the intruder, and many had scrambled for weapons. The place looked to be some sort of improvised workshop, Fatui contraptions cluttering every surface in various states of assembly. The devices illuminated the room with an eerie cold glow that highlighted the chamber in deep purple shades. Blithely, Keqing stepped over the door, casting a glance across the warehouse, taking in the sight.
Behind the Yuheng, Ganyu slipped into the chamber. When she spoke, her voice didn’t tremble, instead, Keqing thought she sounded amused. “Yuheng Keqing, didn’t you say we were here to talk?”
“We are.” Keqing couldn’t help but smirk. Turning to the assorted workers, she addressed them in an authoritative tone. “I am Keqing, Yuheng of the Liyue Qixing. What is the purpose of this operation?”
Silence.
Sighing in exasperation, Keqing continued to walk forwards, until she stood in the middle of the room. “I hope to return to Liyue before dark. Please, do not make me drag answers out of you.”
Again silence, but one broken a moment later by a large man—obviously a mechanic by his apron full of tools—raised a hand uncertainly, before immediately dropping it. “Uhh, we’re making stuff.”
A moment later, Ganyu had pushed past Keqing, and was running her fingertips along the machinery, examining the assorted mechanical instruments. “Yuheng, these are weapons.” She looked up, uncertain, but determined.
Keqing nodded, resting her palm gently on the hilt of her blade, pivoting it to bring attention to her armament, before speaking calmly to the assembled engineers. “I would like a full copy of your inventory and your personnel files.”
Dusk had already begun to gather as Keqing crested the hill and saw the blazing lights of Liyue Harbor come into view. Checking over her shoulder, Ganyu was only a step behind her, apparently lost in thought. Keqing watched her for a long moment, and the Qixing secretary seemingly hadn’t realized that Keqing had stopped, making the Yuheng sidestep to avoid a collision.
“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean—”
“—What’s on your mind?” Keqing interrupted the other woman’s apology, folding her arms and narrowing her gaze.
Ganyu was silent for a long moment before speaking. “I’ve read all of the files on you Lady Keqing, and I’m puzzled by your behavior today.”
Blinking in surprise, Keqing shifted her weight, and as much as she tried to level her voice, she knew she sounded defensive. “How so?” She bit her lip to keep from saying anything she might regret.
Silent for a long moment, before Ganyu suddenly reached out, delicately taking Keqing’s hand in her own. “Well,” she paused, before committing, “My formed image of you was of someone methodical, and I assumed your first avenue of attack could be more covert.”
Keqing could feel herself blushing. Ganyu’s hand was soft and warm, and she was fairly certain she had just been called brash. She found herself staring at Liyue Harbor, rather than the woman right before her. After losing the moment, Keqing snapped back to reality, shrugging, and pulling her hand free. “It was a logical decision. If we had been found out infiltrating or had announced ourselves formally, they would have had a chance to destroy evidence. By breaking and entering, I could ensure that they wouldn’t have a chance to torch anything.”
“Oh.” Ganyu took a few steps forward, gently holding her hands behind her back and admiring the harbor below them. “I suppose that’s logical, however…” She turned, looking back at Keqin, silhouetting her against the twinkling lights of the city. “You should place more value in your own safety. Your life is like the glaze lilies. The petals blossom under the most serene music, but they have no home. While all flowers bloom and wither, the glaze lily has no place to sow its seeds, no matter which wind takes them. Their beauty can be preserved and remembered, but no one will see the lily shrouded fields that once blanketed Liyue again.” Ganyu extended her arms in a gentle, yet expansive gesture, though, her eyes betrayed the deep melancholy that had settled across her.
Keqing felt panic stir deep in her gut but obscured the feeling with a grin. “But you remember the glaze lily’s beauty, don’t you? They live on in your heart.” Immediately, she regretted her words, as Ganyu looked as if she’d pierced her with a blade.
Slowly, Ganyu slid her hands around her own waist, pulling in on herself. “I… wish dearly that I could see the glaze lilies bloom once again. But even if I could never see them blossom, I would give my life to have prevented the hubris that denied Liyue that beauty.”
Speechless, Keqing simply watched as the Secretary turned toward Liyue Harbor, leaving her to watch her go. A moment later, her composure had reasserted itself, and Keqing jogged to keep catch up. She was about to speak, but a withering look from Ganyu silenced all rebuttal. Night settled as the two women crossed the bridge into the harbor. Keqing had so many things she wanted to ask, but said… nothing, instead muttering a brief farewell before making the walk to her apartment uncomfortably aware of the sound of her own heels clicking against the cobbles.
Keqing closed the door to her apartment, letting tension roll from her shoulders. Her apartment was clean, and while her family owned a sizable estate, Keqing hadn’t been there since she became Yuheng. Instead, she lived day end and day out in Liyue Harbor. The modest space had been draped in elegance. Keqing was a great collector, and even though the space was small, she had decorated it like a palace.
Slipping into her bedroom, Keqing rummaged through her cabinet, before procuring a bottle of baijiu. She hesitated, drinking alone was pathetic, but she found herself doing so all too often. She’d get no end of hell if anyone else found out about her guilty habit, but Keqing didn’t have anyone to tell. Yes, she had friends—friends were conducive for one’s health—but she liked to keep them at arm's length. Downing her drink, Keqing poured another, before raising it to the small shelf above her bed, which was dedicated to effigies of the late geo archon. Keqing found herself smiling viciously. “To the glaze lilies.”
Downing her second drink, Keqing made her way into her small office, taking a seat and beginning to parse the assorted paperwork she had confiscated from the work crew. Nowhere on paper did it state they were manufacturing weaponry, though she was positive Ganyu had been correct in her assumption. Why would the Tianquan hire Fatui turncoats to make weapons? Where did they acquire the supplies? Keqing flipped through the notes, logging that their exports were labeled by number, but not product. Setting aside the exports, Keqing instead started sifting through the import documents. The makeshift workshop had been receiving large supplies of phosphorescent materials. Compounds derived from noctilucous jade byproducts primarily. This caused the Yuheng to frown. She’d looked over countless trade manifests, and such a large amount of jade byproducts would have normally caught her attention.
Leaning back in her chair, the Yuheng contemplated the matter, before pouring herself a third drink. Where did the materials come from?
It was four in the mourning, and normally, Keqing would be mortified banging on a coworker’s door at this time of night, but the giddy feeling that had driven her past hours of digging was still pervasive. She wrapped on the door again, hard. Taking a step back, Keqing rocked up and down on the balls of her feet, nervous energy threatening to overflow.
Finally—after waiting for longer than Keqing would normally endure—the door opened. Ganyu was dressed in a simple nightgown, and Keqing suspected from the exhaustion that seemed to drip off of her that the secretary had only just recently tucked in. There was a certain thrill to knowing she’d worked later, harder than Ganyu. The Qixing secretary always stayed later than Keqing, and when the Yuheng would arrive early, Ganyu would always be there to share her morning routine. Now though, the tables had flipped.
Looking both ways, Keqing spoke in a hushed but excited tone. “Ganyu, I believe tomorrow I will also require your services. Reviewing the documents, I’ve broken the code. Ningguang was clever, but two can keep a secret only if one is dead.”
Ganyu yawned, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “Oh… Ehm, Yuheng… How did you know where I live?” The secretary looked confused, and Keqing could tell she was struggling with something.
Grinning, Keqing rocked up on the balls of her feet, before coming down onto her stiletto heels. “I have memorized all the Qixing’s employees' addresses in case of emergency.” This was half true. She’d memorized the ones she cared about.
“Oh.” Ganyu’s expression had morphed from one of confusion to concern as she took in her visitor.
Hesitating, Keqing felt herself flushing slightly before she spoke, her words sticky in her mouth and unwilling to take flight. “M-May I come in to discuss matters, Ganyu?”
There was a moment’s pause, and Ganyu blinked in shock, before looking away. It was her turn to blush, ever so slightly. “Yuheng,” she hesitated, and Keqing sobered as she registered Ganyu’s expression. Finally, making eye contact again, she took in a deep breath before finishing her statement. “You smell like liquor. I think it’d be best if I walked you home.”
Stumbling a step back, Keqing shook her head. “I-I’ll be fine. Ehm, for tomorrow, review the documents relating to Mingyun village and the abandonment of the mining site, yes?”
Obviously concerned, Ganyu nodded, before taking another step forward. She was fidgeting intensely, as she looked at her toes. “Of course. I-I’ll do that. Also, are you sure you’re safe to walk home?”
Trying to recover some pride, Keqing flashed a grin to which Ganyu grimaced, worry obviously overflowing her normal restraint. Nevertheless, Keqing spoke in what she thought was a confident manner. “I’m fine. I’m the youngest Yuheng in recent history, and moreover, I made it here safely. I know Liyue Harbor like the back of my hand.” With that, Keqing stumbled a step further away before beating a hasty retreat.
Out of sight, she didn’t know why she was crying, but Keqing wiped fresh tears away before they could become a torrent.
Keqing was never late to the office, but today, she entered at 10 am, slamming open the doors with gusto. It was evident she’d already been working elsewhere by the assorted memos, documents, and orders she was carrying like a baby. Not stopping, she wound her way through the office, dropping dispatches and reports on assorted desks while yelling orders. As she rounded the corner and saw the Tianquan’s secretaries, a vicious smile broke across the Yuheng’s lips. “Tell the Tianquan that I’ll sign off on the Tianheng project this morning. My only rider is a ten million mora earmark for remote hospital services in rural Liyue.” All three secretaries seemed shocked, before scattering. Keqing couldn’t help but smile. Ningguang would never think that her acquiescence was natural without a request from the Yuheng. It was a small enough sum that Ningguang shouldn’t hesitate… Keqing found herself chuckling softly.
Making her way toward her desk, Keqing saw the exact person she wanted leaving. Dead panic contracted Keqing’s stomach, and she faltered a moment seeing Ganyu before regaining her composure. “G-Ganyu, did you have a chance to look over the records relating to Mingyun village?” Keqing found herself biting her lip again, chewing at the skin.
The Qixing secretary nodded, and Keqing could tell she was nervous as well. “It’s true, the mines in Mingyun ran dry years ago, however, that doesn’t mean that the rare gasses that accompany the ore wouldn’t be plentiful. Normally, miners seal such veins off because of the inherent risk. An operation there should easily be able to procure the imports we found, and it wouldn’t need additional funds allocated as all the infrastructure already exists.”
Nodding, the Yuheng handed Ganyu her final missive. “Ganyu, please dispatch the Mililith to investigate a possible illicit mining operation at Mingyun village.”
“Illicit?”
“I’m the Yuheng.” Keqing’s eyes twinkled as she found herself hitting her stride regardless of the turmoil she felt within. “Any use of mineral rights without my signoff is illicit. Please dispatch the Mililith.”
She found herself desperately hoping Ganyu would answer in her normal eager fashion, but the woman just nodded, taking the order and slipping past the Yuheng. Keqing hesitated for a long moment, letting her feelings level out, before pushing into her office. When she did, her heart froze. A vase with a single glaze lily had been placed on her desk. The morning light that cut through the window had already begun to wilt its petals as the flower’s blossom shut to close out the eager light. Once picked, if not properly protected from sunlight, the lilies would die swiftly.
Keqing simply stared at the flower, watching it wither away on her desk, only inches from the shade that would have saved its petals' lustrous beauty.