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Liyue Harbour is a city that lives and dies on the power of contracts. From the time that Morax finally took his place as the Geo Archon, as he shaped and bent the earth to his will and established his new sit of power, as he made his first contract with the adepti of Liyue to protect and guide the city, it has always been so. Wars are fought and lost across paper and ink; peace is transcribed into stone by a steady hand.
The Liyue Qixing, the Eight Trades and the Millieth are all bound to each other in contracts; and the people of Liyue are bound to them in return. Husbands and wives must sign the dotted line, care for children is bartered and traded for. Show Qi Yan a relationship in Liyue that is not bound and contracted, and she will show you the unspoken rules of engagement. There is nothing but covenants and pacts in the city Morax has built, warmth to be found only under the lights of the lanterns once a year.
It is nothing like the Khaenri'ah that used to be everything she had ever known, with its strange twisting paths carved in stone. One would think that a land without sun or stars would be as cold as the Cryo Archon’s heart, but Qiyan Agula loved and was loved in return. The people of the underground knew nothing of debts or consequences.
Qiyan Agula was a child of the dark, but Liyue suits Qi Yan just as well. After all, revenge too is nothing but a contract signed in blood.
“Qi Yan, the young lady is here to see you again.”
Qi Yan allows herself a moment of stillness. If she was any less than who she is, she would have sighed, but even here in the privacy of her own office she does not dare. Instead, her fingers clench minutely around her pen, and she looks almost longingly at the stack of papers on her desk. But of course, she does not have a choice here.
“Please let her in.”
Nangong Jingnu is a blur of red and pink as she slams into her office. In the years since Qi Yan has first seen her she has grown taller and leaner, childhood features growing into the grace and elegance shared with her older sisters. There are traces of rouge and kohl across her features today, and Qi Yan knows that meant she must have been attending a high class gathering—the only time Shunu manages to convince her to make the effort.
“Qi Yan! You didn’t come today.” Despite the maturity of her look, her tone is whiny, and the petulance of the pout on her faces clashes horribly with the tasteful robes she is wearing. Despite herself, Qi Yan smiles indulgently.
“My lady, where should I have gone?”
Nangong Jingnu pulls a face at the address, but she decides to forgo their usual back and forth about it. “Yinyuan Hall had its annual gathering today. It was strange not to see you there.”
Not so strange, Qi Yan thought to herself. Despite Nangong Jingnu’s strange affection towards her, Qi Yan was still but a lowly official working for the Liyue Qixing. There would be no need for one of the Eight Trades to extend her an invitation.
(They had, of course. Nangong Jingnu would not suspect her of knowing, but Qi Yan had heard how she badgered her older brother to use his connection to secure Qi Yan an invitation. An invitation that Qi Yan had, of course, burnt as soon as she got it. Let the lady think her concerns were dismissed by her brother. Let her feel slight towards one of the Eight Trades.)
Qi Yan shakes her head. “Surely such a lowly official as myself would be out of place in such a gathering,” she says. She allows just the slightest hint of wistfulness to enter her voice. “I can’t even imagine such an event.”
A mix of guilt and anger washes over Nangong Jingnu’s face. It should bring Qi Yan joy that she had learnt how to play the prized daughter of the Liyue Qixing’s Tianquan so well, so effortlessly. Instead, there is an echo of a howl in the void inside of her, behind where her Vision is stitched to her flesh.
“It’s not that exciting,” Nangong Jingnu says, backpedaling. “The food is pretty bland—They really should start getting catering from Wanmin Restaurant—and all everybody talks about is senseless gossiping. I guess the Vision exhibition shows are pretty cool. Oh, and the dancing,” she adds, almost as an afterthought.
Qi Yan, who had every intention of asking more about the gossip (or even the Visions display—it was always good to keep track of her enemies weapons) finds herself getting sidetracked. “Dancing?”
Nangong Jingnu sighs as she sprawls herself over the couch in Qi Yan’s office. It was the smallest Qi Yan found and the only one that could fit in the tiny space, and thus extremely uncomfortable. Somehow, Nangong Jingnu makes it look fit for an archon. Qi Yan has to force herself to look away from the flash of skin showing where her robes part across her thigh. “Soooo much dancing. Father and er-jie both said it’s only polite that I dance with Yinyuan Hall’s top officials. Do you even know how many of those there are?!”
Fifteen, as far as Qi Yan was aware, although there were rumors that Yun Hui was holding onto a precarious position. Rumors that were spread directly by the Fatui on Qi Yan’s suggestion, of course. Yinyuan Hall must be the first of the Trades to fall, otherwise Qi Yan’s identity will forever be at risk.
She tells herself it’s thoughts of her revenge that make her fist clench underneath the table. The image of Nangong Jingnu dancing with faceless men and women is… uncomfortable. “I thought the lady liked dancing?”
“Call me Jingnu already, will you?” Nangong Jingnu grumbles, but continues on. “Sure, dancing is fun. But it’s the best when you dance with someone you like, you know?”
“I don’t.” It slips from Qi Yan’s lips. Another lie, but a necessary one. She can hardly tell Nangong Jingnu about nights spent with xiao-Die, dancing under the artificial stars of Khaenri'ah, the gaze of their parents warm as they watched them whirl around. Such a long time ago—does Qi Yan even remember the alchemy used to create those beautiful constructs of light and fire? Would she even remember the warmth of the biofluorescent fauna on her skin?
Nangong Jingnu’s eyes go wide in shock. “Don’t tell me you’ve never danced before!”
Qiyan Agula of the Eclipse Dynasty was a prodigy. Sword and dance both came as easily to her as breathing. Qi Yan of the Liyue Qixing had two left feet, and a weak constitution besides. Of course no one had ever taught her how to dance.
Perhaps Nangong Jingnu realizes that as well, because a look of determination comes across her features. It makes her look fierce, and something in Qi Yan flinches back at it, even if she knows it does not reproach her. “Well, that won’t do!” she declares, standing up. “Come along, I will teach you.”
“Ah, that isn’t necessary—”
“What if you get invited to next year’s gathering?” Nangong Jingnu interrupts. “I know you have been working hard. Even father mentioned to me that he was pleased with your work. I’m sure it won’t be long until you start getting invited to all the parties. A-And you might have to dance there with—someone else, you know. Not everyone is me, they might be mad if you step on their feet.”
Qi Yan sighs in resignation. She knows better than most that there is no escape from Nangong Jingnu when she’s like this. “Will the lady teach me then?”
That’s how Qi Yan finds herself standing in her small, cramped office, holding Nangong Jingnu close to her body. “Monstadt-style dancing has become very popular here,” she explains as she adjusts Qi Yan’s hands on her body, the only evidence of her discomfort in the blush across her cheeks. “The name is… augh, I can’t remember. Something strange and hard to pronounce, like all of Monstadt names.”
“Waltz,” Qi Yan supplies. She isn’t sure where the information came from. The Fatui gave her all sorts of books to read—must be something there.
“Yes!” Nangong Jingnu beams at her, and the sight is destabilizing so close. “Ha, I knew you secretly wanted to dance! Really, you should have just said so. When did I ever tell you no?”
Would this be the face you show me after I unleash my Vision, the one you don’t even know I have? Would you still be so indulgent of me after I tear apart your entire family?
“The lady is very generous.”
“Jingnu!” Nangong Jingnu takes a pause from positioning themselves to stomp her leg. “Call me Jingnu, or I won’t teach you at all.”
“Perhaps not so generous after all,” Qi Yan says with a small smile, and at Nangong Jingnu’s frown she adds: “It would be improper.”
“At least—at least here,” Nangong Jingnu says, proving to Qi Yan that she hadn’t ignored her many lessons about etiquette and society contracts after all.
“In this room?”
“When we’re together, alone,” she corrects her, and places Qi Yan’s hands on her waist, her own then brushing along her arms to rest against Qi Yan’s shoulder. The barest hint of contact makes Qi Yan shiver, makes her fingers tremble against Nangong Jingnu’s body. “Call me Jingnu then.”
“Jingnu,” she says, but it comes out more of a whisper. The taste of her enemy’s name on her tongue should feel like poison, should burn like a pyro Vision, but it doesn’t—it tastes valberry-sweet.
Now it’s Nangong Jingnu’s turn to shiver. The two of them are standing so close together that Qi Yan’s breath is ruffling the strands that have managed to escape her elaborate headpiece. “Th-That’s better,” she declares, the words those of a spoiled princess and the tone that of an unsure young woman.
Qi Yan lov—Qi Yan cares for her, this awkward slip of a woman, born to the most powerful man in Liyue and wanting nothing to do with it. In a kinder, gentler world, perhaps the two of them could have really stood here, holding each other; no lies or secrets between them, no contracts of blood hanging over their heads. That Qi Yan could kiss her: could close the gap between the two of them, tilt up her head and slot their lips together. It’s nice to imagine that that Qi Yan has never kissed anyone before either, that this would be her first kiss. She would whisper Nangong Jingnu’s name against her lips. She would see if she tastes as sweet as her name.
She would whisk her away—beyond Liyue Harbour, beyond maybe even Wangshu Inn. She had always thought Mondstadt would suit her, that the city of freedom and song and alcohol would welcome a woman like Nangong Jingnu. Could they be happy, away from the weight of stone and monoliths?
But to allow herself to dwell on the ifs and maybes is the worst kind of torture, and Qi Yan’s heart must be iced twice over, must have shriveled and turned to husk already. There are no alternatives to the abyss. There is no escape from oblivion. It is a dream that could never be dreamed.
“I—I just realised,” Nangong Jingnu says.
“Hmm?”
“We don’t have any music.”
“Hmm, that is a problem,” Qi Yan smiles, looking down at her. “I suppose that means we can’t dance.”
“No!” Nangong Jingnu declares. “It’s fine, I will—here, listen.” She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and as she lets it out she starts humming. The melody is strange, nothing like the songs Qi Yan remembers from her childhood on the plains, or even Liyue’s more harmonious sounds. She realizes: this must be Monstadt’s waltz.
Nangong Jingnu’s voice is soft in her ears. She isn’t particularly musically gifted, but one doesn’t have to be to hum a song, and the melody is pleasant enough. Unconsciously, she starts swaying in place, and Qi Yan sways with her, helpless to resist. Their bodies come together and then apart, like a tidal wave crashing on shore. It would be kinder to herself to close her eyes, but Qi Yan forces herself to keep them open, to memorize everything about this moment, knowing that one day it will be weaponized against her. It’s nothing less than she deserves.
Either the melody comes to a stop or Nangong Jingnu forgot the rest, for the humming peters off, and she opens her eyes. “How was that?”
“Dancing is not as hard as I thought it was.”
Nagnrong Jingnu blushes. “Oh! I guess we didn’t really… dance.” She scrunches her face, looking like one of the squirrels running around Mountain Tianheng. It’s outrageously adorable. “I can’t teach you the steps if I also have to hum the song, it’s confusing.”
“This is nice though,” Qi Yan says. She didn’t mean to, but so often she says things she didn’t mean to around Nangong Jingnu. It’s what makes her so dangerous.
Nangong Jingnu looks up at her, shyly. “You think so?”
Instead of replying, Qi Yan tugs her closer, resting her chin on top of her head. Like this, she doesn’t have to wonder what expressions her face is doing, what secrets is it betraying. “Maybe we can… stay like this for a little bit longer.” It’s nothing but a contract, she tells herself. Nangong Jingnu offered her time to teach her to dance, and thus Qi Yan must repay with the affection she is so clearly looking for. Never mind the fact that Nangong Jingnu has never, not once, asked anything of her.
Nevermind the fact that Qi Yan craves the same affection as well.
Nangong Jingnu lets out a surprised noise but then cuddles in closer, as if afraid Qi Yan will change her mind. Like this, they no longer hold the positions of the dance, and Qi Yan’s arms sneak around Nangong Jingnu, holding her closer.
Until I burn down the Liyue Qixing and collapse Qingyuan Peak over the corpse of the Geo Archon, until I tear away my Vision from my flesh and kill her with my bare hands, no harm will come to Nangong Jingnu, she swears to herself once more. Underneath her robes her Vision throbs once, twice, three times. The people of Khaenri'ah are proud of many things, but perhaps none more so than of their Visions—not archon-given gifts, but their own effort and ingenuity. They are the ultimate rejection of divinity, the hubris they were punished for. Qiyan Agula made her Vision on her tenth birthday. Her parents said it was powerful, reflecting her strong spirit. Her sister said it was beautiful, reflecting her gentle soul.
Having the Fatui sew it into her flesh was the worst torture she had ever went through. A contract carved not into paper or stone, but flesh and blood.
Compared to that, a few pretty words were a contract not even the Liyue Qixing would bind her to honor.