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Xiao leaned against one of the kitchen counters, watching a certain lilac-haired Yuheng with pursed lips.
“You do realize that you could just order a cake...” he deadpanned.
“Cake tastes better when it’s homemade,” came her absentminded reply. Xiao took note of her furrowed brows as she focused on measuring the exact amount of flour dictated by the recipe. To anyone else, this constituted the very much ordinary act of baking something. But to the yaksha, this was a testament to Keqing’s iron will—her unyielding perfectionism.
Keqing exhaled a sigh at the suddenly empty sack of flour, muttering to herself about “still being short a teaspoon” as she sifted through the pantry for another sack. This warranted a scoff from Xiao, unsurprisingly. He never quite understood why she put forth so much effort into things that were meant to be simple...
...Yet, at the same time, he had to admit it’s that same stubborn determination that captured his attention and, eventually, his heart; it was one of the things he loved best about Keqing.
She groaned in frustration as she, ironically enough, deposited two teaspoons too many into her batter. Xiao scoffed once again from his spot against the counter.
Annoyed, Keqing looked up at him. “What? You think you can do better?”
A mischievous glint flashed in the yaksha’s eyes—a stark contrast to his otherwise impassive expression. He parted ways with the counter and sauntered over to where Keqing was standing, a half-full measuring cup still pinched in between her fingers. She aimed a skeptical look at him, seemingly intent on saying something…
...Until he reached a hand into the flour sack, plucked out a palmful of flour, and after taking a deep breath, blew said palmful into her face.
Xiao mustered the lightest of chuckles at Keqing’s astonished expression, his upturned lips broaching a smile, until she decided to dump the flour remnants in her measuring cup onto his head.
Thus, a fierce battle ensued—one where no words were exchanged, only yelps and swears and the clattering of kitchenware. The aftermath? Two of Liyue’s most serious and dutiful individuals, and an entire kitchen, completely covered in thick layers of white powder; the sight may as well have been a Winter Wonderland that would put Dragonspine to shame.
It was only when there’d been no more flour to throw that Xiao and Keqing were able to communicate with one another coherently.
“Heh! You should see your face!” Keqing exclaimed, her voice just shy of a cackle.
“Me?” Xiao challenged. “And what about you?”
“I’m sure you look worse.” And before Xiao could contest that, she grabbed a clean spoon from the counter and held it up so that he could see his reflection. He frowned and motioned to scrub the flour off his face, only to be stopped by Keqing, who’d seized his wrist with wide eyes and a strange urgency.
“Hold on! We have to take a picture!”
Xiao raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Because...” she began, her voice an echo as she suddenly hurried off into another room. When she returned, it was with her Kamera lodged between both of her hands. “...We will never be here, in this exact moment, ever again.”
Keqing moved to stand right beside the ever-wary yaksha, who’d crossed his arms and frowned the moment his gaze met that of the Kamera’s. “Fifty years from now, I want to be able to look back and remember the day we had our first—and perhaps only—food fight.”
She leaned her head in closer to Xiao’s. Only then did his expression soften, even in the Kamera’s sights.
“Now, smile.”
Xiao sighed, staring wistfully at the photo from that day. It was one of the very first in the commemorative photo album Keqing had put together for him. He hadn’t understood, then, how precious such a memory would be. Now, so many years later, he was glad for her foresight (yet another of the many things he’d loved about her). He allowed himself one final look at the photo before flipping to the next page.
This photo featured the two of them attending Liyue’s annual Lantern Rite. That year, Keqing had convinced him to celebrate in the Harbor with her, as opposed to hundreds of miles away atop Wangshu Inn. Xiao shook his head as he continued to study the photo, recalling that he’d only agreed to her wishes on behalf of their anniversary falling into that same week. A pettier part of him also recalled her eating so much food at one point that he obliged to giving her a piggyback ride for the rest of that night.
“It’s just a shrimp ball,” the yaksha mumbled. “You can get them anywhere.”
“Golden Shrimp Ball,” Keqing corrected, to his chagrin. “And no, not necessarily. Food vendors opt to make their fried delicacies extra crispy during festival season...and by extra crispy, I also mean extra delicious.” She popped another Golden Shrimp Ball into her mouth, chewing loudly and richly in his direction as if to solidify her point.
“Ah. Fascinating,” Xiao remarked in a tone that conveyed the exact opposite.
Not one to entertain his complacency, Keqing elected to ignore his remark and instead seized his wrist and pulled him towards the next vacant food stand.
Xiao sighed but, nevertheless, permitted himself to be dragged along. She’d insisted on consuming every “extra crispy fried delicacy” the Harbor had to offer, which, apparently, meant paying every food stand within eyesight a visit. Her diet so far had consisted of two cartons of Golden Shrimp Balls, five sticks’ worth of Lantern Rite Special Fried Radish Balls, four Lotus Flower Crisps, and an extra large helping of Squirrel Fish.
The yaksha was both horrified and enthralled, at a loss for how a mere mortal could stomach so much garbage in such a short span of time. And had Keqing refrained from ordering another carton of Golden Shrimp Balls, that impression would have stuck.
The carton wasn’t even remotely close to empty when she’d suddenly keeled over, one hand pressed firmly to her stomach and half of a groan lying limp on her tongue.
“Keqing. Hey, careful now…” While her ailment was quick, Xiao was thankfully quicker. Upon registering the slightest hitch in her breath, he’d secured one arm around her waist and draped the other over her shoulders.
“S-Sorry,” she slurred, aiming a heavy, half-lidded stare in his direction.
Xiao rolled his eyes in response, but there was no disputing the concern furrowing his brows. He carefully wove a path around the hustle and bustle of the Harbor, opting to seclude them somewhere so she could rest for a short while.
Five or so minutes later, and Xiao found himself idling away beneath a grove of bamboo trees, his significant other but a ragdoll in his grasp. While this hadn’t been the ideal way to celebrate the anniversary of their relationship, he figured, it wasn’t the worst.
“Xiao, try this!” Keqing suddenly exclaimed, catching him off guard. She then lodged a leftover Golden Shrimp Ball into his mouth before he had the chance to refuse.
He glowered at her, unhappy at being force-fed. However, such an expression slowly melted as he chewed and chewed and swallowed...
“See, I told you,” the Yuheng chortled, a dopey smile gracing her lips. “Extra crispy. Extra delicious.”
Admittedly, the Golden Shrimp Ball did taste delicious, or “extra delicious” as Keqing had put it. But Xiao wasn’t about to admit that. Instead he sighed, crossing his arms and fighting to keep his expression neutral.
Keqing snorted, knowing that was his way of conceding–of implying she was right. “It’s okay. You can smile.”
The two of them had returned to the Harbor for the Lantern Rite every year after that, partaking in countless food crawls. Even now, Xiao could taste the “extra crispiness” of the Golden Shrimp Ball on his tongue.
He flipped through a few more photos, until he came to one from about five years into their relationship, on the day Keqing decided to paint her mailbox...which, later that day, also became his mailbox—their mailbox. That experience played out similarly to how the cake-baking had, except this time, the pair was covered in the lovely shade of 6222.
As the pages turned, Xiao took a few minutes to savor each memory: dancing at Mondstadt’s Windblume Festival, playing with the Seelies residing in Liyue’s ruins, their picnics on the peaks of the Guyun Stone Forest. The years went by, until Xiao came to a moment that he would have remembered for an eternity, even without the picture.
He and Keqing had just returned home from a fancy dinner, and she was standing in front of the bathroom mirror removing her jewelry. It’d taken her an unusually long amount of time to finish freshening up, was what the yaksha had gathered at that point in time, but he thought nothing of it.
That is, until Keqing returned to their bedroom, an equally unusual sadness washing over her features. She clasped her shaky hands behind her back. “Xiao.”
“Hmm?” he responded as he fished for something in a drawer, not really paying attention.
“Why do you stay with me?”
Xiao froze. Then, he turned to face her. “What?”
She blinked at him in surprise–as if he’d been the one to pose the question–before fixing her gaze to the floor.
“I mean, I’m…getting old.”
“Are you serious?” Xiao was stupefied. “Have you forgotten how old I am?”
The retort he’d anticipated from the silver-tongued Yuheng had instead been exchanged for silence, one that was a beat too long. He watched her twiddle with the ends of her hair, and then exhale a breath she seemed oblivious to holding.
“Yes, but that’s different. Sure, you’re...ancient, I guess. But physically?” Keqing paused, shutting her eyes for a moment. The strands of hair she played with unraveled from her fingers. “Physically...you’re young forever. You could have anyone you want, and I…I wouldn’t blame you,” Unwittingly, tears pricked the corners of her eye. “After all, I’m…not pre –”
Xiao crossed the room in a flash, clamping one hand over her mouth. He tilted her chin upward so that she looked him in the eye. “Were you about to say that you’re not pretty anymore?”
She shut her eyes again.
“Keqing,” he began gently, removing his hand from her mouth, opting to cup her face instead. “Do you honestly think I care about this?” He used his thumb to trace a set of faint wrinkles on her face.
Keqing remained unresponsive, her eyes still closed.
Xiao sighed and altered his skin ever so slightly. “Keqing, please look at me.”
Slowly, she pared her eyes open. At first, Xiao appeared the same as always, but after studying his face for a few moments, she noticed that it was now crossed with small lines to match hers.
“There. Do you love me any less?” he asked.
“How did you–?” Keqing interrupted herself to shake her head, effectively casting aside her bewilderment in favor of answering him. “No, of course not.”
“So why would you think that I would stop loving you because of a few wrinkles?”
To Xiao’s relief, his query had reignited the fire in her eyes. He could have laughed aloud watching her mouth fall agape, as she struggled to come up with something witty to say in return. Instead, he chose to embrace her tightly, pressing a kiss to her forehead when he pulled away.
“Keqing...Beloved, you’re beautiful, and you’ll always be beautiful. Understand?”
All she could do, as she processed his sentiments, was stare at him. While she couldn’t exactly believe in them herself – not yet – she at least knew she could believe in him.
So, she finally mustered the will to smile – the will to wipe her tears away herself, the will to tell him “yes”.
The yaksha reciprocated her gesture with a rare smile of his own. “Good.” He leaned forth to kiss her again, this time on the lips, before resting his forehead against hers. “I realize it has only been a few minutes, but nevertheless...it’s nice to see you smile again.”
Keqing snorted, lifting a hand to flick the bridge of his nose. “Oh, please.”
“We should take a picture.” He moved to retrieve the Kamera.
“No way,” she exclaimed. “I’m a mess. I can’t – ”
“I recall commending you for smiling, not complaining.” And before Keqing could further protest, Xiao pulled her closer, bringing the Kamera in front of them and snapping away.
Ever since that night, whenever his beloved got a new wrinkle, or a grey hair, Xiao did too. While she was thankful, she often told him that he didn’t have to make himself look older out of pity. And time and time again, he would reassure her that he didn’t mind. In fact, he enjoyed growing old with someone – someone he loved. It made him feel almost normal. Almost human.
Xiao continued flipping through the album, his hands moving a little slower, a little shakier, with each turn of the page as he watched their life together play out all over again. Finally, he reached the final picture.
The two of them sat next to each other in the living room – not on the couch, but in personalized reading chairs Xiao had handcrafted himself one day. Keqing’s was tall and slender, while his was more square-shaped. He had insisted it would be better for Keqing’s back, given how often she remarked about carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. In turn, she’d laughed his rationale off, citing the saying as a joke...not that mortal colloquials would ever make sense to him.
They both faced the Kamera, smiling. Xiao was holding her hand on top of the arm of his chair. Muted was the once vibrant lilac of her hair, and the entirety of her face was lined with wrinkles. However, piled atop her head were the same cat ear buns she’d sported for the last sixty years, and the eyes that glanced his way were just as young and sharp and fiery as they had been on the day he first met her.
Xiao remembered this photo well. It was taken just a little over a month ago.
“I still think this is unnecessary,” he murmured under his breath, keeping his face aimed in the Kamera’s direction. “Why do we need a professional photographer?”
“Because,” she replied just as softly. “Someday, I won’t be here anymore, and I want you to be able to look back on our life together, from the first moment to the last.”
Dumbfounded, Xiao turned his head to stare at her. Of course, he had always known that one day, his beloved Keqing would die. He just hadn’t expected it to be so soon. After everything the two of them had been through together, life without her was unimaginable. Xiao opened his mouth to say something, but it was as if language had become an unknown to him. No words came out.
Keqing sighed and squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry. Don’t think about it. For now, just smile for me, okay?”
And he did.
A teardrop fell onto the page next to the photo. Then another. And another.
Xiao couldn’t hold it in any longer. “No,” he cried. “I…can’t. I can’t…!” The photo album fell to the floor as he brought his hands up to shield his face. “Keqing,” he whimpered softly, “I miss you so much.”
The yaksha sobbed until all of his energy was gone. When the tears finally subsided and his vision cleared, he bent down to retrieve the photo album. It had fallen open to the very last page in the book. Intrigued, he glossed over it.
To his surprise, there was no picture there, but rather a note, written in an elegant hand:
“Thanks for the adventure – now go have a new one!
Love, Keqing”
Xiao sat absolutely still, mulling over her words. There was no way. How could he possibly go on without her? His beloved Keqing? Where would he even start? A new wave of sorrow threatened to overtake him.
Then her voice came, unbidden, to his mind. “Just smile for me, okay?”
Xiao blinked, then wiped the tears from his face. This had been her intention all along – her whole reason for making the book. She wanted him to be happy.
He recalled every moment the both of them spent together, from the first to the last, until a small smile touched his cheeks.
“Okay,” he whispered.