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Hu Tao thought that her garden was the most beautiful place in Liyue, until she had seen Yanfei laugh so domestically in her own home, loud and bold like she had no care in the world. It was such a wonderful thing to be with Yanfei, even if it was in passing.
She thought that it was a shame that she had to pass in the garden, instead of in her arms.
She took a deep breath, though the flowers stuffed in her chest allowed her only a shallow inhale. Each passing minute felt like the flowers grew twice its size, wrapping and binding themselves to every beat of her heart. Each heartbeat felt like a prick to the chest, the thorns of those roses and azaleas and tulips feeling too much like a butcher’s knife.
Hu Tao swallowed, then closed her eyes. She swung the crook of her elbow over her face, shielding herself from the harsh sun. She took another breath.
Then another, long and harsh, like the grating of stone.
Eventually, those flowers had proven too much for her human heart, and Hu Tao let her soul pass. She thought only of Yanfei, and how wonderful it was that she got to meet such a beautiful creation to nature.
Yanfei put down her tea cup, her fingers shaking slightly against her desk. She curled them together and frowned.
“You won’t come visit Hu Tao today?” Madame Ping asked her gently, pouring her another cup.
She mulled it over. “No,” she said decidedly, sighing to herself. She picked up the cup and brought it to her lips, letting the taste of dried petals run down her throat. “I’ll come see her tomorrow. I’m too tired today, Madame. I don’t want her to think that…”
“I see.” Madame Ping smiled at her sadly. “I hope you’ll feel better by tomorrow then. I know she’d love to see you.”
Yanfei almost laughed at that. Not as much as she’d love to see Hu Tao, she bet.
She looked wistfully out her window, wondering what Hu Tao was doing on such a beautiful day. She envisioned Hu Tao’s infectious grin and her rambunctious laughter, and smiled. She loved Hu Tao more than any of the flowers scattering across Liyue.
Maybe someday, she’d work up the bravery to hold her hands, look her gently in the eyes, and say, I love you.
Yanfei woke up that morning feeling much grander than she did in weeks.
The sun was shining, welcoming the warmth of spring, and birds chirped their songs outside her window as if nagging her to get up and make the best of the day. She stretched, yawned, and enjoyed the crack of her bones as they were slowly shaken away from her slumber.
The flowers in her chest seemed to lay stagnant, for once.
It was odd, honestly, but she thought of it as a blessing. Their quietness, though still heavy and painful, especially when she moved too suddenly, gave her an opportunity to seize the day. She hadn’t seen Hu Tao in two days— though the number may seem meager in comparison to her clients who complained about significant others halfway across Teyvat, she couldn’t help but mourn the loss of her friend’s smile, her laugh, the easy way she seemed to put Yanfei in a state of peace.
Though she knew it made the flowers come up quicker and harder from her lungs after their times together, Yanfei knew it would be futile to stay away from the cause of her aches and comfort.
Much like how a sunflower sought out the face of the sun, Madame Ping had once compared her to. Yanfei didn’t dare disagree.
She ripped the blankets off of herself in a flurry, getting through her morning routine with a practiced ease. Her very fingers buzzed with the promise of a beautiful laugh, and the way Hu Tao would grin so easily at the sight of her. Oh, how she loved her so much. Every prick and acidic taste in her mouth laid no contest to the feeling of warmth pressed to her skin with the very thought of her Hu Tao.
Which was why she was in no hurry to tell, to watch that grin fade into something awkward and apologetic. She had time though. She just needed more evidence, more facts, that the pros of a confession outweighed its cons. It was standard practice for a legal advisor, and they were always given time in the courtroom to accumulate those kinds of sensitive evidence.
So she had time. She will always have time.
Yanfei bought some hot dumplings from their favourite food vendor, and she didn’t need to ask for Hu Tao’s side of soy sauce and spring rolls, as the man had already gotten to work on his fryer the moment she walked up to him. He gave her a kind smile when Yanfei handed over the mora, and Yanfei’s chest squirmed when the smell hit her nose. The memory of holding her chopsticks over Hu Tao’s lips and the way Hu Tao smiled so kindly at her the last time they ate these dumplings made the bleeding in her heart feel like a soothing balm.
“Yanfei!” Madame Ping called, her short arm waving her over to the park bench she was resting on.
Yanfei sauntered over to her, greeting her with a hearty smile. “Yes, Gran?”
“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” she teased, but a quick glance and a knowing half-smile on her face made Yanfei think that she only asked to get a rise out of her.
“I’m headed over to Hu Tao’s,” Yanfei said simply. She held up her bag of takeout for proof. “I haven’t seen her in a while, so I thought it would be nice to just drop off some food for her if she’s been swamped with work. Gods know that I’ve been there,” she added with a laugh.
When Madame Ping smiled at her, her eyes crinkled at the corners. Somehow, it looked rather sad.
“Would you like me to come with you?” Madame Ping asked, and her voice took on a kinder tone. Gentle, like the way a mother would to a blubbering child.
Yanfei tilted her head at her in confusion. “I mean, if you'd like to?” she said, though it came out as a question. “I mean— I was just going over to drop this off. And chat, if she has the time. And I don’t think you’re that fond of talking to her, considering all the times she asked if you were perusing for a new coffin or a—”
“Nevermind, nevermind,” Madame Ping said with a chuckle, waving her off with an old hand. “Just… please, take care of yourself, dear.”
“I know,” Yanfei said with a groan. She rocked on her heels. “You tell me that all the time when I go to see her. I’m not pushing myself, pinky swear! Plus, I feel great today. I won’t be needing as much tea tonight, I think.”
Madame Ping shook her head. “I see…” There was a sadness in her eyes as she overlooked the horizon, beyond the mountain and into the general direction of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. “I’m sorry if I seem to dote on you so much, dear. These old bones woke up feeling like something was a little off.”
“You should get some rest then, Granny,” Yanfei said kindly. She bent down and gave her a quick, careful side hug, making sure not to let her bag swing too harshly. “I’ll be back in time for dinner.”
“Take your time,” Madame Ping advised her.
Yanfei was off after that. Her legs knew the way to the parlor like the back of her hand, almost literally, considering that she studied the map of Liyue so intensely (and the places where Hu Tao frequented the most) that she bet she could draw its entirety on her palms. Palm lines could be the roads and places where Hu Tao was seen wandering to, and she wondered, vaguely, when the next time was that they could stroll through their wonderful city during the untimely evenings and early mornings.
Maybe, on one of those walks, she’d have the courage to grasp Hu Tao’s hand, the same way those flowers had their nimble fingers wrapped around her heart.
Once she had climbed the steps, there were a couple facts that had captivated her working mind. For one thing, Hu Tao’s undertakers were swarming the place in a flurry. In and out, bustling around like bees to a beehive, their dark clothing matching their dark eyebags and their even darker looks.
Second, Xingqiu was standing next to Zhongli, his head low, a shiny new pen clipped to his chest and eyes puffy with redness. When she stared a little too long, he met her eyes, and Yanfei couldn’t describe the flashes of emotion that flooded his face and body language.
Last, when Zhongli turned to look in the direction he was looking, his eyes immediately settled onto hers, and his tall, broad body seemed to look so small in the sunlight. His face was set into vague lines, arms folded in thought, and though the contents of his facial features gave nothing away, it was his eyes that told Yanfei that there was something tormenting him.
Eyes were the window to the soul, her father once said.
And Zhongli’s soul looked so very tired.
When she reached them, Xingqiu bid goodbye to the consultant and gave her one last look (a tight smile meant to be friendly, but there was a plaguing meaning behind it, she was sure) before turning away and finding two other undertakers.
Before Yanfei could ask, Zhongli answered, “He’s here to read out last rites. For a client.”
The way Xingqiu looked, Yanfei could only guess that it was a dear friend. Her heart and her flowers ached for him.
“Who passed away?” Yanfei asked, trying to make her voice sound as casual as ever. Death was natural in a parlor hosting these kinds of things, though she couldn’t help but dance around the subject. Though she supposed she had to get used to it, if she were to continue befriending such a lovely, eccentric funeral director. “I don’t think I’ve seen these many people preparing for a funeral since the passing of that one poet.”
Mindlessly, she racked her brain for famous celebrities. Most of them were healthy, the last time she remembered hearing on the street, but she knew some were ill, or simply running out of mortal youth.
She admired Zhongli for his candor and dedication to work. He was always the one to go to for answers, and she remembered fondly of the way Hu Tao would speak of him so highly.
Except this time, instead of answering, Zhongli sighed, long and heavy. His folded arms no longer seemed like a stance of ease, but instead a posture of instability. He looked like such a chiseled rock each time Yanfei met him, his chin held high and his voice speaking of things that earned him the respect and care of being an anchor to Hu Tao’s enterprise. This time, this poor time, Zhongli looked only a strong breeze away from crumbling.
“I’m assuming you don’t know then,” Zhongli said matter-of-factly. Then he chuckled to himself, letting his chin hang low. When he lifted it again, he did not meet her eyes, but instead looked towards the plum trees. “Of course you don’t know. No one would assume for you to know so swiftly.” He said it like Yanfei wasn’t there.
Confused, Yanfei let her bag of warm food drop gently to the ground. The ache in her arm was accompanied by the ache in her chest, and she didn’t want to exert herself any longer than she had to. Her mouth went dry, tasting like soiled pasture in the back of her throat.
“What’s going on?” she asked. She was worried now. She’d never seen Zhongli so unsure of himself, not like this.
Zhongli closed his eyes gently, then shook his head so lightly that it looked as if it moved to the tugging of the wind. “I’m sorry, Yanfei,” he said. “We were going to tell you in the evening. After all of this chaos— most of this chaos— was resolved. You deserved better words that way.”
“What’s going on?” she repeated, because she had no idea what else to say.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated back to her. “I’m truly sorry.”
“What happened?”
Please tell me.
Then,
Please don’t tell me.
“Director Hu had passed away this morning.”
Director Hu?
But Hu Tao’s grandfather passed away years ago.
Her father wasn’t a director either. The 77th title was given to Hu Tao, because she clearly loved the parlor and her grandfather’s work more than anything else in the world. She had no information on her mother either, or her grandmother, other than that they were wonderful women who kindly rejected the offer of tending to the funeral business. No brothers, no sisters, no siblings at all.
Director Hu?
Did he mean her Hu?
Her Hu Tao?
At the disbelieving look on her face, Zhongli said, “Yanfei, Hu Tao has passed from the mortal world. Being the parlor’s renown director, I have all belief that she passed to the afterlife without any lingering doubts.”
His comforting words did nothing. Neither did his gentle gaze. They tried to penetrate the thick vines suffocating her by the minute, but the spade and the shovels he poked and prodded with every gentle word and kind look did absolutely nothing.
“No.” Yanfei’s brow furrowed. “No, she said we were going to—” There, she remembered that Hu Tao never promised her anything.
Each time Yanfei made her promise to come by tomorrow, or to fulfill a promise in a future she didn’t have, Hu Tao would merely smile at her and say, “We’ll see.”
Hu Tao knew, then.
“How?”
Zhongli frowned. “I’m sorry?”
“How did she die?” she asked, and it scared her how much her voice did not match the tumultuous eruption of pain in her chest. She sounded like she was instigating a client, the way she would jump up so confidently to accuse someone after gathering every tidbit of evidence available to the world. “Why did she die?”
Yet right now she was falling apart, and it hurt, it hurt, it hurt.
Zhongli’s eyes were drained with age. “I cannot disclose that,” he said, and even his words had begun to take on a regretful edge. “I’m bound by contract to her not to say anything to you, specifically.”
There was no way it could've been borne from natural causes. Hu Tao was healthy, young , and so energetic. She knew that for a fact because she’d spend every day worrying about her tendencies to get hurt, only to watch Hu Tao spring up from her injuries and her pain like they were things to roll away in the dirt.
She thought of the way Xingqiu looked at her, his swirl of emotions directed towards her confusing and baffling. It was then that she realized that he looked pained, angry— a blame placed upon her that seemed unfair, yet well deserved.
She remembered that Hu Tao once told her that she didn’t wish to see her employees overworked, at any given time, but they were forced to whenever the circumstances were met with tragedy.
They were evidence, but they weren’t solid of anything to accuse. She knew that for sure. In order to win in court, one had to utilize every nook and cranny of a story, no matter how insignificant it seemed.
The flowers rippled like water in her chest.
It was their everlasting presence that made Yanfei bristle, and forced herself to focus on the way Zhongli’s eyes strayed back to the plum trees that were so painstakingly tended by a bright and wonderful soul.
Plum trees which held plum blossoms.
The plum blossoms in and around her lungs trembled as if in recognition.
“Was it hanahaki?”
Zhongli’s eyes snapped over to hers in surprise. It was that one millisecond of surprise that Yanfei used to build her case, her truth. The picture of his astonished look was imprinted on the forefront of her mind like a developed photo in a crime scene, and she almost sobbed in complete despair. There was no counter here, no counter evidence to suggest that any of her ideas were so perturbingly wrong.
“Who—” The flowers sliding up her throat were making it hard to speak. “Who was she grieving for?”
His lips were sealed to his promise, but even greater beings could not bow down to the human nature of sympathy.
His eyes held hers, words spoken so much in pity and grief that Yanfei wanted to look away.
You.
They were supposed to have time.
They always, always had time.
But she supposed, as a fortunate being with a lifespan ten times as great as that of a human, that time could slip, and it could pull down and take away things from her if she was not careful as to watch.
The pain in her chest was so grand and so vast that Yanfei couldn’t even spare him another look before she ran, her legs wobbly and shaky and aching as she practically had to drag herself away from the place she knew would only remind her of Hu Tao.
And what irony, she thought bitterly, that the first place her subconscious carried her to was the place that was surrounded only with Tao.
Her garden, beautiful and sought so carefully, though Yanfei knew it could never be partly as beautiful as the gardener.
She collapsed on her knees beside a pile of fallen plum blossoms. She retched out the feeling of sticky flowers in her throat until she couldn’t breathe and her head danced with the sight of swirls and her fingers grasped desperately around her throat for a chance to open it.
And Yanfei cried.
She cried until her tears and her sobs racked her body so hard that she couldn’t tell if she was still vomiting flowers. She knew that it hurt, at least, and it hurt so much.
So, so much.
She couldn’t tell if the pain of losing Hu Tao was the cause for the aches in her chest, or if it was the flowers mocking her. Maybe it was the pain of her grief stacking onto the pain of her love. Even so, it seemed that pain had loaded onto pain itself.
She sobbed so hard that she began to throw up even when the plum blossoms had all been dispelled. She couldn’t find it in herself to care.
Sitting there, crying her whole heart out, Yanfei lost track of time.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and her voice was so small that she felt tears gathering at her own patheticness. “I’m sorry,” she said louder, but it came out as half a sob. “Tao, I’m sorry, I’m sorry— I thought we had more time, I thought…”
The telltale pricks of seeds planting themselves into her chest ridiculed her.
You thought, it crooned to her. You thought? How selfish of you.
How selfish must you be.
Suddenly, the pain in her chest felt all deserved.
“Yanyan?”
She looked up so quickly that she nearly regurgitated the flowers in her throat. She coughed, gagging out a singular plum blossom, joining the many that had littered Hu Tao’s beautiful garden, to look at Hu Tao herself.
“Yanyan,” Hu Tao said again, and her voice was so fondly exasperated that Yanfei felt another choked sob crawl up her throat like an imitation of a flower. “What are you doing here?”
She stumbled up onto her knees, pressing her palms into the harsh soil that dug so deeply into her skin. She paid it no mind, instead stumbling and lurching forward in her attempt to run. “Tao?’ she slurred, and her voice sounded muffled to her own ears. “Tao?”
“I’m here, I’m here,” Hu Tao answered to her calls. She laughed, so merrily and kindly that Yanfei’s face scrunched up in pain. Her arms gathered underneath Yanfei’s, and she pulled them both up until she could lean them against the tree. “I’m right here, Yan.” Her cold breath tickled against her ear.
“Oh, Archons,” Yanfei said, and it wobbled. She was breathing heavily, her body sapped from the exertion of throwing up a dozen flowers. Still, the sight of Hu Tao smiling at her, smiling at her— “Tao? Tao, I love you. I love you so much.”
“Ah, famous first words,” Hu Tao joked, and Yanfei barked out a choked laugh. Then her mischievous grin softened into a wonderful, soft smile, and she brought their foreheads together, knocking them gently to remind Yanfei that she was here. She was here. “I love you too, Yanyan.”
“You don’t get it.” Yanfei felt the desperation in her voice. “I love you, Tao. More than anything.”
Hu Tao laughed, gentle as the breeze. “I know.” Her smile turned sad. “It’s why I’m here.”
She wiped away at one of Yanfei’s stray tears.
The gentleness of her action made Yanfei’s knees weak. Hu Tao, sensing her sudden weakness, hooked her arms back underneath Yanfei’s and let her drop slowly onto the grass. They were only inches apart, their knees against the grass and the shoulders pressed against the plum tree.
“I’m sorry,” Yanfei told her. “I’m so sorry.”
“What are you saying sorry for?” Hu Tao asked with a huffed laugh.
“I could have told you. You could have stayed, and I would have—”
“I could’ve too.” Hu Tao tilted her head. “I could’ve done lots of things differently, you know. You weren’t the only one. But you know what? I don’t regret it. I don’t think I’ll ever regret it.” I won’t ever regret you, were the words of her smile.
Yanfei was brought into silence. She studied Hu Tao’s face. It was blurry. She almost cried again.
“So what are you sorry for?” Hu Tao asked again, and it sounded so much gentler.
Yanfei felt her pale hand cover hers. She inhaled a shaky breath, one that crinkled the petals in her lungs. “It hurts,” she admitted softly. “Tao, it hurts so much.”
Hu Tao’s eyes became plagued with grief, and Yanfei begged for the return of its light. She regretted her admission immediately. “I know,” Hu Tao murmured. Her hand squeezed. “Trust me when I say that I’m probably the only person who knows.”
Yanfei exhaled, and the pain worsened.
“You know,” Hu Tao said, and the amusement in her voice was so familiar that Yanfei wanted to lean in and kiss her. “This garden won’t have anyone to look after it anymore. Not… emotionally anyway. I had a gardener arranged to tend to it, but…”
“I’ll take care of it,” Yanfei assured her. Just the same way I wish I took care of you.
Hu Tao smiled at her. Then, so carefully and swiftly that Yanfei could compare it to the gust of wind playing with a lone leaf, Hu Tao pressed a light kiss to the corner of her lips.
Not a kiss, but almost.
And that was all she needed.
When she breathed in, the flowers in her chest expanded with the breadth of her lungs.
Her wince didn’t go unnoticed. Hu Tao glanced down the hand massaging her chest, and she frowned deeply until lines appeared on her cheeks and Yanfei wished so desperately more than ever that she didn’t have to go so young. They could've had so much more time. Her thumb soothed the back of Yanfei’s hand in the only soothing manner she could give.
“It’s not going away,” Yanfei said, and it hurt more to see the agony in Hu Tao's eyes than it did to feel the slashes of wounds opened in her chest.
“And it won’t go away until you die,” Hu Tao said. Her voice matched her unwavering sadness. “Or until you let go of me.”
“Until I die,” Yanfei repeated, firmly— because there was no other option for her.
The look Hu Tao gave her were remnants of whispered jokes and muted giggles, shared only by the two of them. It made her heart become afflicted with the pulse of painful flowers. Somehow, this time around, she didn’t care to live with it.
Hu Tao brought their intertwined fingers up to her lips. She pressed a firm kiss to one of Yanfei’s knuckles, and held it there. When she looked up to meet her gaze, she held it too.
“Please, don’t regret anything,” Hu Tao begged her, and her beseeched words held so much sincerity that Yanfei found herself nodding. “I love you. Even if you won’t believe it from here on.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again, because it was all she could bare to say.
When Hu Tao smiled again, it was wrapped in everything Yanfei remembered her fondly by, only with borders of sorrow.
“Every plum blossom that blooms and that you see, remember it’s me telling you that I love you.”
Yanfei threw up scarlet colored plum blossoms for the rest of her life. Every day, like a continuous cycle of pain that served as an internal body clock for her to go on. It hurt each time, and as much as she knew that time healed, there were days that the flowers were larger and carried much thicker thorns.
They were especially painful on the days that reminded her so much of Hu Tao, and of the promise she gave her the day those flowers took her.
Yanfei just couldn’t bring herself to believe her.
Out of all the research she spent looking and scouring for answers, plum blossoms never did symbolize love.