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The 11th of the Fatui Harbingers is getting drunk on her watch, and it’s barely past sundown. He’s far from the first person to seek solace in alcohol when he probably shouldn’t, but still. Xiangling wonders if she should have cut him off a while ago. Having to explain to the Millelith that no, you can’t arrest him, he’s an adult and could probably still hand your asses to you six drinks in if he ends up causing a scene might be a little awkward.
“Are you sure you don’t want some Mushroom Slime Stew with that?” she asks, tentatively pushing a bowl closer to him.
Childe eyes it warily. “Is that—supposed to be edible?”
Xiangling huffs. “Of course it is. It’s good, I promise. And you should really eat something.”
“No, thank you. I’m good.”
He doesn’t look good, but Xiangling has enough sense not to say that to a paying customer. He’d come alone, and has been ordering nothing but drinks for the past half hour. “Well alright,” she says. “But I’m here if you get hungry.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Childe says. Then, just as she’s turning around to leave, “Wait—you’re a girl, right?”
That’s a little ominous. “Uh, yes?” Xiangling says.
“Can I ask you something?”
“I mean—I’m only really qualified to answer if it’s about food, but sure, go ahead.”
Childe’s mouth purses. “Okay, so,” he says. “Let’s say, hypothetically, that you were regularly sparring with someone. Regularly enough that you feel justified in assuming it’s a serious thing. I mean, why wouldn’t it be? And—still hypothetically, of course—that those fights were satisfactory. Interesting and equally matched and—maybe more than satisfactory, actually. Really good. Really, really good fights.”
Xiangling nods. Truthfully, she’s already a little lost, but based on how starry-eyed he looks, she can guess where this is going. “Okay,” she says. “And—what’s the problem?”
Childe stares dejectedly at his drink. “She never accepts my dinner invitations after. Am I—am I bad at fighting her? I mean, I don’t think I am, but what if she does and hasn’t been saying anything? Oh my gods, what if she’s been pity fighting me all along?” he says, with enough horror for Xiangling to grasp the gravity of the situation.
“I’m, uh, sure she’s very satisfied with—with your fighting prowess,” she says. “It’s just that—”
Childe’s eyes snap up. “What?” he asks. “What am I doing wrong?”
“Well, most girls don’t really equate courting with sparring matches.”
Childe blinks. “They don’t?”
Xiangling shakes her head. “No,” she says. “They don’t. But have you considered getting her flowers?”
“Flowers?” Childe repeats. The shock in his voice probably explains why he’s here in the first place, if Xiangling stops to think about it. His main approach to romance seems to be fight me.
“Yes, flowers,” Xiangling says, slowly. She gets a feeling she’s going to need to be detailed about this in order for it not to completely fly over his head. “Glaze Lilies are a pretty good choice, but you could also just ask her what her favorite flower is. Gestures like that are always nicer when they’re personal.”
“Perhaps Glaze Lilies wouldn’t be advisable in that scenario, then. Not if he’s trying to court who I think he is.”
Childe goes still. “Mr. Zhongli.”
“Childe,” says Zhongli with a nod, taking a seat at his side.
Xiangling’s eyes widen. Mr. Zhongli always has the best cooking tips. Maybe this won’t be hopeless after all. “Can I get you anything?” she asks.
Zhongli smiles. Xiangling can’t help but think that if things ever fell through at the funeral parlor he could find a way to make a career out of that. Or—that’s what Ying’er says whenever she stops by, anyway. Xiangling’s usually too busy trying to figure out how to bring the best flavor out of slime condensate to spend that much time thinking about how potentially monetizable Mr. Zhongli’s facial expressions are.
“No, thank you, Xiangling. That won’t be necessary.”
“What do you want this time?” Childe asks. He sounds—sullen?
“I was hoping to assist, actually,” Zhongli says, unmoved by Childe’s intensifying death glare.
“Will the assistance include more fascinating last-minute discoveries?” Childe asks. “Because if the answer to that is yes, then I’m not—how would you put it? Particularly inclined to accept.”
“Lumine has been stopping by for tea regularly recently,” Zhongli says. “She’s grown quite fond of my Qingxin flower blend.”
“I’m very happy you’ve found someone to indulge your old person hobbies,” Childe says, not sounding all that happy. “But—”
“She keeps complaining about you.”
“What?” Very slowly, Childe sets the drink halfway to his mouth back down. “She talks about me?”
Zhongli nods. “Extensively. Her exact words were clueless idiot. But I believe they were said with fondness.”
Ooh, this is getting good. Xiangling is almost happy the restaurant isn’t busy for once. It would be a shame to miss Mr. Fearsome Harbinger’s big realization. Once, after a particularly rough fight, Lumine had stopped by for food, and spent her whole meal whining about stupid, battle-obsessed pretty boys. Xiangling sees her point.
“Clueless?” Childe repeats. “How am I clueless?”
Oh boy. They’ll be here a little while.
“Well, suggesting you’ll be gentle and then throwing a whale on her is perhaps a bit—counterintuitive?”
“Wait,” Xiangling says. “Hold up. That’s your definition of gentle?”
“I don’t use lethal force,” Childe says, like that’s somehow the culmination of romance. To him, it probably is.
“Most people require a larger gesture to feel certain that their romantic interest is returned,” Zhongli says, which, in Xiangling’s opinion, is putting it very mildly. “Such as a verbal declaration?”
“You mean—I have to talk about my feelings?”
“Yes, preferably with your weapons sheathed.”
“And maybe don’t ask to fight her right after,” Xiangling says. “Or before. Or during. No immediate fighting.”
He looks disappointed at this. “But that’s boring.”
“Wow,” Xiangling says. “Lumine was right when she called you an adrenaline junkie. Look, you can still fight her after you talk it out. And if she doesn’t like you back, it’s all the more incentive to want to kick your ass.” She shrugs. “I really don’t see a scenario where you lose much here.”
“Hm, you do have a point. I should tell her.”
“You really should. Like, really really really should.”
“Alright then, I will,” he says, standing up, (and, impressively, not wobbling at all). “She’s staying at the Wangshu Inn, I think?”
“She was still at the parlor by the time I left, but she should have made it back by now,” Zhongli says. “Although, you might want to rest before seeing her?”
“Nope. No time to waste.”
With that, he’s off.
Zhongli sighs. “Well, I tired,” he says.
Xiangling blinks. “He forgot to pay,”
“Well, I suppose it’s only fair I pay in his stead, for once,” Zhongli says.
Xiangling bites her lip. It feels a little like she’s missing the best part. “Actually, Mr. Zhongli,” she says. “Would you mind looking after the restaurant for a little while?”
Zhongli smiles. “Not at all. But you might have to hurry in order to get there in time.”
“Don’t worry,” Xiangling says. “I’ll be quick.” By the time she gets back, Mr. Zhongli will probably have found a way to add at least five new customer favorites to the menu, anyway.
…
Whoever designed Wangshu Inn didn’t have the guests’ comfort in mind, that’s for sure. So many steps. Even with a Pyro Vision, they’re bothersome to climb, with vines growing all over them, and chunks of wood missing in the strangest spots. Xiangling is almost out of breath by the time she makes it to the balcony, just barely manages to duck behind a tall plant in time for Lumine not to spot her.
She hasn’t anemo-blasted Childe to the ground yet, but her arms are crossed over her chest, and her mouth is pursed like he’s not doing that great of a job getting his point across.
Xiangling resists the urge to facepalm.
“I mean,” Childe says. “I was hoping—I realized I haven’t been the most, um, the most direct in my intentions and, uh—I should tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“That I like you.”
Oh—he actually did it. Non-disastrously too. Mr. Zhongli will be glad to hear that.
Lumine’s eyes widen. She blinks. “You—what?”
“I like you?” Childe repeats. He looks remarkably not at all like a fearsome harbinger, right now.
Lumine takes a slow, even breath. Then—, “You idiot!” she says, loud enough that more than a few heads turn. “You absolute idiot.”
“Is that a yes or…?”
“Idiot,” Lumine repeats. She reaches for her travel backpack, loosens the strap, and tips it over. Xiangling has to lean a bit closer to make out the contents, but—starconches fall out. Heaps and heaps of starconches tumble to the floor.
“You—,” Childe says, sounds stunned.
Lumine’s hands are clenched into fists. She looks like she wants to hit him. “Every time,” she says. “Every time I see one of these stupid things, I think of you. Even though all you do is pester me for a fight. Paimon makes so much fun of me. And, I mean—I might’ve earned it, with how often I call her emergency food, but still. It’s not fair.”
“Can I—,” Childe pauses. Swallows. “Can I do something to make up for that?”
Lumine gives him a small, tentative smile. “Well, you can at least pay for dinner,” she says.
“I can do that,” Childe says. It reminds Xiangling of an excited puppy, a little bit. “I can absolutely do that. By the way, what kind of flowers do you like?”
“Windwheel Asters,” Lumine says. “But they only grow in Mondstadt.”
“I guess I’ll have to make a quick trip to Mondstadt then,” Childe says. When he moves closer and tips her chin up, Xiangling thinks it’s a good time to report back to Mr. Zhongli. She does catch Lumine telling him, “You realize I’m still going to kick your ass, right?” before she leaves, though.
(She gets a feeling Childe’s fine with that. Fine might be an understatement, actually.)