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The beginning and the end are always the most profound moments of a story. The beginning starts with a problem, and after a series of tumultuous events, a conclusion is reached. A simple concept, but after how many events should an end be established? How long should it take to reach that end – months, years, centuries, millennia?
The Yakshas were never truly peaceful - their existence was to serve Morax, to fend off against any impending danger in Liyue and the lands beyond. It is not in their nature to be at rest for too long, like an evermoving tide crashing against crags on a rocky shore. Yet, even tides can be docile at times. Tides which have sunk many ships and selfishly took lives for itself can be but a thin sheet of blue with white foam, accommodating to even the most inconspicuous of birds or the occasional curious child wading through its peaceful form.
Liyue residents know of the Yakshas as five particularly remarkable illuminated beasts – figures of power, well-versed in the art of war, capable of striking fear into those who dare threaten the nation. It is not wrong, Xiao notes, but unlike the calm sea waves, not many people are around to see their peaceful moments. No one is around to see how outside of what is established, they too have their moments of peace. How they would roam around Qingce Village when the glaze lilies were in bloom, or how they would help sightseers in Huagang Stone Forest, albeit discreetly; how they would actually gather a fair amount of times outside of duty, to simply talk about menial things.
Such an ideal scenario should have been reserved for the end of the story, to finish the bittersweet journey off with a resounding note. But all things are impermanent, to exist is to suffer, and fate’s nimble fingers are particularly cruel. It started out small, the weight of karmic debt feeling just a tad bit heavier every time they returned from their duties. Before he knew it, one by one they had succumbed to the burden it imposed upon them. Reduced into masses of hatred and darkness, shells of their old selves. A suffering so profound, death would actually be the ideal outcome here; a merciful act even.
He would not be like them, even if he is the last stitch fate is looking for, even if he is the last shiny trinket fate needs in its sick display of previous conquests. He would not – which is why he sets his spear down, even if just for a moment. He’s vaguely aware of the mass of negative energy not too far away, but he allows himself this one reprieve.
“You’ve had one reprieve too many,” his mind quips.
He sits down anyway, leaning against the rough bark of a sandbearer tree, feeling the cool night air brush against his weary body. The moon is up high and bright this evening, bearing an uncanny resemblance to the natural illumination found in adepti abodes. Xiao can almost find comfort in it, if not for the searing pain radiating from the gash staining his hip and forearm.
Xiao winces in pain. He ruminates his options – to return to Wangshu Inn, and ask Verr Goldet once more for the salve and painkillers he knows Morax tells her to keep, for his sake. No, he would risk letting the spirits run even further amok in his absence. Maybe he should trudge on and deal with them in his weakened state – no, not possible as well, for as reckless as Xiao is at his core, he has his limits. Limits he’s long since breached, his mind supplies begrudgingly.
The yaksha scoffs at himself. For all the intricacies life brings to both mortals and immortals alike, he finds it greatly inconvenient that he, too, is privy to the self-doubt that runs in mortals’ brains. Add his karmic debt into the mix, and it’s a never ending tango of two unwelcome entities in his head.
In a flurry of green essence and black shadows, he brings himself to the bank of Dihua Marsh. He will continue to fight, but he ought to clean his wounds, at least. The soil in the area muddy, and gives in easily as he drags his bloodstained boots against them. He strips himself of his pauldron and sets aside his spear. The marsh vegetation gently caresses his face as he wades into the water, heavily contrasting with the sharp surge in pain from the wound submerged in his side.
Suddenly his hair is ruffled by a strong, cool gust of wind. Strange, he wonders, when Liyue had just begun its arid season once more. The wind blows again, and a sound reminiscent of a windchime accompanies it. Although strung up as he can be, it sets him at ease – for a moment, he could almost forget that he still has a duty to do.
His duty.
He is suddenly hyperaware of the fact that he can no longer sense the negative energy he was seeking. Xiao concentrates once more, but only the distant sound of birds chirping and frogs croaking can be heard. It’s strange, he thinks, for it isn’t possible for evil spirits to disappear of their own accord, and it wasn’t likely for them to be banished by someone else either. Mortals cannot detect evil spirits until it is too late for them.
Xiao’s thoughts are interrupted when the sound of a flute reaches his ears. It was not too far into the distance, its soft tunes and melodious chimes being carried on the wings of the wind to where he was currently standing in the marsh, quite confused, but very much intrigued. The pain in his side had subsided – was it exacerbated by the karma? – and he makes his way back to the bank to look for the source of the sound.
He picks his spear up and wagers a look in front of him, and in the distance he sees a young boy perched on a cliffside. He was clad entirely in an outfit sporting a rich shade of viridescent. His raven hair tipped with bright blue sway in the wind, his eyes closed as he played a small wooden flute. The pearlescent glow of the moonlight highlights his figure against the dark Liyue evening, and the tunes wafting from his instrument are nothing short of absolutely divine. Xiao couldn’t help but stand transfixed.
“Who are you?”
The flute player stops, and cracks a small smile before opening his eyes to look at the yaksha. His eyes were breathtaking, almost ethereal even, pools of azure blue dusted with bright green. Xiao found himself looking straight into the eyes of what could very much be a god. He attributes it to his exhaustion meddling with his perception, but in those eyes he could see just a tinge of melancholy.
The boy looks at him for a split second, and with a large gust of wind, disappears. Dainty white feathers fall from the void where he once was, emanating strong anemo energy. Against Xiao’s better judgement, he reaches a gloved hand out to it, feeling its warmth soothe his aching hands like the first morning after a harsh winter.
He’s unfamiliar with it, but it feels like home. Xiao takes solace in it, even if just for a moment.
It only takes a few centuries, but Xiao eventually learns that indeed, he had been looking into the eyes of a god. The boy actually hadn’t gone far – he was only a few meters away in a small marsh near Guili Plains. Xiao had tried to conceal himself from the boy, but he had noticed him in his state. At the young boy’s behest, he let himself be taken back to Wangshu Inn with him that night to get his wounds treated. When asked for his name, the boy simply smiled and said –
“You can call me Venti!”
So, Venti did he call the boy. He had muttered out a rushed “Thank you, Venti” to this sanguine bard, and left, expecting to not hear or see of the boy ever again.
But again, fate is unpredictable, and one fateful day many years later, he comes back to Wangshu Inn and once again comes across the bard, this time with another man Xiao could recognize any day.
“Morax?”
The amber-eyed man turned to look at him, rich brown suit as crisp as ever, with hands clasped behind his back in an ever unchanging display of grace and elegance.
“Xiao, once again, it would please me greatly if you were to call me Zhongli.”
“Ah. Forgive me for my impertinence, Zhongli.”
Xiao was much too caught up in his surprise to remember to call Morax by his new desired name, Zhongli. It had been a while since the Exuvia’s fall, the unveiling of the Fatui plot and the return of Osial, which ultimately culminated into the stepping down of Morax – Zhongli, as archon. Xiao still has some difficulty addressing his master with anything but utmost reverence. Zhongli, kind as ever, only smiled in return.
“Nonsense. Do not speak of yourself that way.” He looked over to his side where the green bard once more was gazing upon Xiao in an almost amused expression. Xiao sighs, knowing any attempt at rebuttal will be swiftly rejected.
Zhongli clears his throat. “Xiao, are you perchance familiar with the nation of Mondstadt?”
“Not beyond what borders Liyue, and knowledge of the archon that bears the same blessing of the wind that I do, sir.” Xiao says truthfully. He had sometimes wondered about the land of the wind, being an anemo user himself, but he very rarely entertained such trivial matters beyond a fleeting thought.
The taller man chuckles, and the verdant boy beside him quirks up an eyebrow.
“I ought to introduce you to my old friend then, dear Xiao. Perhaps you recognize this man as Venti, but you may have also heard of him from stories told far and wide as Barbatos.”
Barbatos.
“Yep, what Zhongli said! Although, I’d really much rather prefer if you called me Venti.” the boy says sheepishly, grabbing an apple from the basket on the table and tossing it into the air absentmindedly.
Xiao remembers their first encounter centuries ago once more, and it dawns on him – the real reason why the spirits that day disappeared out of nowhere. He almost berates himself for it – of course an archon would have enough power to vanquish such spirits.
“Venti.”
Venti perks up, bright blue-green eyes once more staring into Xiao’s golden ones. “Yes?”
“Thank you. For that day.”
Venti only smiles, and Zhongli listens in an unknowing, but curious fashion. Had Venti not told Zhongli about their encounter?
“You’re most welcome, Xiao.”
There is an unspoken agreement between them, to give no comment on the odd manner of exit that Venti had left Xiao with that day. However, that was not what presided in Xiao’s mind.
Xiao wonders if Venti knows just how much weight lay behind his gratitude. Venti will never know of the few times he’d dreamed of his form in the moonlight, serenading him to a peaceful sleep in his dreams. How his tunes would flow in the background of Xiao’s long bygone days, dancing in a field of flowers in olden Liyue. Such was the influence of a single bard that should not have affected him to this extent, but he set aside the thought quickly.
For the next few months, he sees Venti around Liyue quite often.
He sees him on the marshy farms of Qingce village, trying out the local jueyun chili specialties the farmers fondly made for the foreign traveller. Xiao recalled him bragging of his taste for all kinds of food but cheese, only to begrudgingly down two bottles of milk after two spoonfuls of the dish left him sputtering and red-faced.
He sees him on the shores of Yaoguang Shoal, picking up the starconches buried within the fine sand and examining them with careful hands. The boy had also stripped of his stockings and loafers to wade in the wet sand, catching crabs and peeling off stray seaweed that wrapped around his ankles.
He sees him during the weekends, in the midst of Liyue’s everyday hustle and bustle. He’d always come up to a quaint curio shop and come out with some odd trinkets, or visit the food stalls around the harbor and eye the food as he engaged in lively chat with the owners, and sometimes customers too.
Xiao had only questioned Zhongli about it once. They were back in Wangshu Inn then, with Zhongli having poured himself a fresh cup of tea.
The weather was cool, and the air smelled of fresh fish from the kitchen below. Leaves fell from trees perched on top of Wangshu Inn’s balcony, one landing squarely in front of Xiao’s clasped hands on the table.
“Sir Zhongli.”
Zhongli smiles and set down his cup.
“Honorifics, Xiao. I am now your equal, after all. But I digress. What is on your mind today?” the older man asked.
Xiao had brushed aside the remark, and continued to look into the distance.
“The bard.” Xiao huffed, remembering the wide grin he loved to don when he was around.
Zhongli had tapped a practiced finger on the table, awaiting Xiao’s next few words. Morax has always had the peculiar ability to coax anything out of the younger man without any particular effort.
Xiao inhaled, suddenly finding it a tad bit more difficult to speak. “The bard, he.. seems to be enjoying Liyue.”
Zhongli nodded. “He seems to be indeed.”
A taut silence stretched between them as another leaf came to fall on Xiao’s head. He brushed it off, and made a mental note to sit covered next time. The silence was broken by Zhongli, who queried Xiao on the one thing he had hoped he wouldn’t comment on.
“I’m surprised you’ve been aware of Venti’s whereabouts.”
Xiao coughed, a bit louder than usual. It was not intentional, not at all. He had just happened to see Venti on his daily patrols, maybe rerouting once, twice – or thrice, but it was irrelevant to the matter at hand. He simply happened to chance upon Venti multiple times and incorporated that into his routine. Nothing more, nothing less.
Zhongli was unfazed. The archon could only look at him in what he surmises to be mirth, and in similar fashion to Xiao, clasped his hands on the table in what seemed to be a knowing gesture.
“Stubborn as always, my dear Xiao. Should you be curious about Venti, I can assure you he would not be averse to a visit from a yaksha.”
The next time Xiao sees Venti, Zhongli’s words ring fresh in his ears.
It rings in his ears the same way the crowd rings as Venti finishes his little stint with his lyre right outside Liuli Pavilion. Once again, he had made himself comfortable within downtown Liyue, attracting the attention of locals with his tunes and foreign attire. He grins as a sizable amount of the crowd offer him mora, some even giving him bags of the money. Venti could all but thank each one of them, refusing the mora until the crowd dissipates.
Xiao wants to approach him – which was, frankly, not quite possible when he was watching from atop a nearby mountain. The rocks under his feet budge the tiniest bit, but he remains leaning against the face of the mountain, arms crossed in their usual fashion.
He ponders how he ended up in this position, watching Venti from afar when he could come down there and confront him himself. But the safety of Liyue comes first and foremost, and eons of karma piled onto his being will certainly not end well for him or its residents.
He hadn’t even realized he’d closed his eyes before a breeze brushes against his face, and he feels the airy presence of another next to him. So he’s noticed, after all.
“You’re not going to budge at this rate, so I thought I could do you a favor and initiate things myself.” A familiar airy voice says, and upon that statement Xiao opens his eyes and looks to his left.
There stood Venti, looking as he always does. The all-too-familiar pudgy face with wide eyes and a big grin. His lyre hovers parallel to his back, reflecting against the mid-noon sun. Venti shuffles a bit, dusting off the small remains of brush that accumulated on his coat.
“Hello, Mr. Xiao.” Venti says, holding his hand out. Xiao is almost taken aback at Venti’s gesture; does he know to whom he’s offering his hand to?
Xiao, the last yaksha, whose hands are stained with centuries of unjust bloodshed? He didn’t deserve to take his hand in a display of friendship.
But as with many other things, Xiao allows himself this treacherous act, and grasps Venti’s delicate fingers with his rough, gloved ones. The difference is stark, but the feeling isn’t bad. Xiao pretends that the tingle travelling down his spine is due to the heat of the afternoon.
They bump into each other every now and then. It’s purely coincidental – Xiao just happens to meet Venti often, and Venti just happens to be in the right places at the right times. Neither bring up the concept of possibly trailing each other; it was an absurd thought to both parties.
This time they are in Huaguang stone forest, Xiao sitting on one of the hanging bridges’ posts. It was early in the morning, and he had been on patrol for an hour, looking for the slightest sign of disturbance in both the mountaintops and chasm down below.
The familiar, powerful breeze of pure anemo energy can be felt behind him, and he turns to meet face-to-face – no, face-to-back with none other than Venti, who had appeared the opposite way.
“Hello, Venti.”
Venti turns a bit too quickly, and the flower on his cap falls to the ground. He picks it up, and gives it a mock look of scrutiny before speaking.
“Hello, Xiao.”
Xiao nods in acknowledgement, and turns to look back at the horizons of the stone forest. He can see a few seelies in the distance, and the distant smell of someone cooking fish. No sign of spirits so far.
Venti, possibly noticing the other’s silence, decides to speak up. “Have you ever seen this flower before, Xiao?” he says, straightening its petals.
Xiao turns, and sees the object more clearly. He has, but he could not give a name to it. It’s long and thin, with majestic white petals that have a slight green tinge to them. Venti comes over to Xiao, and shows him the flower.
“It’s called the Cecilia.”
Cecilia… a peculiar, but beautiful foreign name.
Xiao couldn’t help but allow himself a moment of curiosity for once. “Is that your favorite flower?”
Venti’s eyes widen, as if he wasn’t expecting Xiao to show any interest beyond his demonstration of its name. He coughs a bit, and looks down at it once more.
“I suppose so. Well, I do hold it close to my heart.”
Xiao nods. There’s something Venti isn’t telling him, but he makes no comment of it. He has no say in the matter, anyway, he hides his fair share of secrets from the bard too, more of them about Venti himself that he’d like to admit.
He hears a sharp inhale, followed by a resigned sigh.
“You’ve never been to Mondstadt, but well… there’s this place called Starsnatch Cliff. It’s really nice. The wind is usually cool, and you get a breathtaking view of the sea as well. It’s the highest point in Mondstadt, after all.”
“Hm.” Xiao hums, indicating his full attention is on Venti.
“Cecilias grow only on Starsnatch Cliff, towards its tip. You can usually find them in clusters of about three to five. They’re very distinctive with their bright white color,” Venti explains.
“These flowers are really beautiful, but not many people get to see them grow in the wild… I guess you can say that they’re quite lonely, in a way.”
Xiao straightens his posture a bit, realizing that he, too, would like to show something to the bard. How fitting it was that they were in Huaguang now, of all days.
Venti’s aquamarine eyes close for a split second, and in the next they’re once again on Xiao. “That was a handful, wasn’t it?”
The yaksha shakes his head and holds up his hands. Absolutely not.
“No, not at all. In fact… I have something to show to you, too. Follow me.”
Venti’s ears perk up, and his eyes go wide.
“And what does the Vigilant Yaksha want to show a lowly bard like me?”
“Don’t humor me, Barbatos.”
Venti giggles, “You’re quite fun to tease, you know.”
Notwithstanding the playful comment, Xiao continues his quick stride up the mountain, feeling Venti trail behind not too far behind him.
Thankfully, this mountaintop didn’t tower too high from where Xiao was already standing beforehand. A few minutes, and they’ll be at the peak.
The journey was silent in the presence of the newly rising sun, mildewy smell engulfing both of their senses as they approached the top. Xiao occasionally caught the distinctive tinkle of Venti’s fake vision against his hip, signaling his presence still following closely behind him.
The sun is bright, but not scalding as they reach the peak. Xiao peeks over the edge and offers a hand to Venti, helping him scale the last few juts leading to the top.
“Xiao, I hope you haven’t forgotten that I’m perfectly capable of lifting myself up on my own.” Venti huffs, flashing him a small pout.
Xiao almost grins, seeing the bard flustered for once. “You did take my hand.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
Any other remark Venti may have is quickly replaced by him looking around the top, where clouds are only a few feet apart from them and the cool mountain air mingling with the morning breeze to leave even the harnesser of wind breathless.
“The Huaguang peaks are as beautiful as I remember,” Venti says.
Xiao nods, and kneels down to the stone ground. A lone Qingxin grows on the ground. "Perfect," he thinks, he had been worried there wouldn’t be any on this peak. He picks it up, and nervously clears his throat.
“Venti.”
“Yes?”
Xiao holds out the Qingxin, presenting it to Venti the same way he showed his Cecilia.
“Er… I think you’ve seen these before? Qingxin. It’s nothing much, your spiel about the Cecilia reminded me of Qingxin too. They only grow in these mountaintops, far away from most mortals’ reach, and well… they’re pretty. Lonely, too.”
Xiao is bad at words. Unlike Venti, he’s nearly not as capable with his language – his words come out too constrained, and sloppy, but he hopes he carried the point across.
Venti only stares at him in an expression unreadable to him, and Xiao, before he could think of it any further, ends up threading the Qingxin flower into Venti’s dark locks, adding to the Cecilia already sitting comfortably in his hat.
It’s unusual. Xiao knows that it’s possible that Venti had lived longer than him, and the entirety of Liyue, including Qingxins, are far from a foreign concept for the bard.
But seeing the sparkle in his eyes, the embarrassed smile he gives Xiao, and the nervous touch of the flower nestled in his hair, the yaksha can almost believe that maybe there are things archons themselves have yet to experience in this world.
Still, Xiao is very much certain he had seen and experienced most things in life.
However, in his centuries of being Xiao, and even more centuries being controlled by his former master doing unspeakable horrors, he had not been witness to something like this up until now.
The night was clear and serene, gray clouds lazily rolling along a pitch black sky dotted with stars. The moon rose high, illuminating the land in a soft white glow.
The trees swayed calmly, the whispers of the wind audible amongst the sounds of nature during a peaceful night. It was tranquil outside, but in this calm setting did Wangshu Inn beg to differ.
The establishment was extremely busy and loud tonight. The Inn was never this boisterous, it had always served as a resting place for weary travelers. Venti had, according to his words, "accepted the offer for a gig at the most esteemed Wangshu Inn."
Venti himself had invited Xiao to watch him, but Xiao politely refused – he does not possess the luxury to spectate such things.
He hadn’t a clue why Verr Goldet would allow Venti to possibly disrupt the peace in the inn, but he supposed it would be tolerable.
This night, however, Xiao had finished his rounds early, and found himself back at the inn while the night was still relatively young. He had expected Venti to be situated at the stage set up for him, on a pedestal with all sorts of bright decorations surrounding him.
What he didn’t expect was for the stage to be empty, and Venti not playing his lyre, but rather mingling with the crowd by the entrance.
The lyre was left forgotten on a nearby table to the boy; Xiao presumes he’d arrived too late and Venti had long finished his show. He feels a twinge of… regret? Guilt? Nevertheless, it was irrational; he had told Venti he wouldn’t be around to watch him.
The yaksha begins to distance himself from the inn, opting to find a quieter place among the clouds instead. He dislikes this kind of environment, and would rather retreat before it was too late. However, before he could even take two steps back, a familiar voice called out to him from the crowd.
“Xiao!”
Oh.
Xiao should have swiftly exited the scene, leave Venti in an environment he seems to be comfortable with. Tonight, however, things are not happening as per usual – Xiao’s feet stay planted in place, eyes fixated on Venti until he stumbles in front of him, face flushed and smile slightly lopsided.
He’s not stupid, he knows what those features are indicative of. Something he’s thought of all those centuries ago when he first met Venti comes back to mind – even immortals can fall prey to mortal faults.
“Venti, you’re drunk.”
Venti only giggles, and Xiao can see the curious glances of some people in the crowd directed towards both of them.
“I’m not… ah. I have to get back on stage, I said I’d play for you Xiao–“ Venti protests.
"Did he?" - Xiao wonders. He recalls no such promise.
Both for and against his better judgement, Xiao picks Venti up and in a flash of green, brings him to his room in the uppermost part of the inn.
His room is extremely barebones, with only a rickety bed in the corner and a drawer that only contains spare clothing and numerous swathes of bandages, bottles of ointment, and other miscellanous remedies for all kinds of afflictions. The yaksha sets aside his spear against the wall, and leads Venti to the bed.
“Sit, or lie down. I will get you something in the meantime.”
Venti collapses on the bed, face-up, and giggles.
“Xiao is taking care of me,” he says, in a singsong voice.
Archons.
Xiao wills away all thought, and rummages through the drawers until he procures the vial of medicine he keeps for intoxication. It’s still filled to the brim, he’d had no use for it after all, but Verr Goldet had given it to him anyway.
"For good measure,” she had said.
He makes it back to the bed, where Venti had propped himself up on the pillows, one leg swung over the bed, shoe hanging off his sole. The bard seemed a lot more subdued now, eyes a bit heavier than moments ago.
Xiao sighs, sitting next to Venti on the bed and tapping his chin. “Open up.”
The same lips that sing of beautiful lands far and beyond open, and Xiao pretends he doesn’t fixate on it a second longer than he should. But Venti only manages to down one small gulp before pushing the other’s hand away gingerly.
Xiao frowns. “You’ll need more than that.”
The boy grumbles, and suddenly shifts over to Xiao, wrapping him in an uncharacteristically tight grip. His face is buried in his torso, his cap’s fastenings loosening just enough for it to fall neglected to the creaky wood paneling below.
He looks down and is greeted by a mess of ebony hair, and wide, curious eyes looking straight at him once more. The flush on his face only seemed to have spread instead of subsiding.
Something in the bard’s eyes soften, and he breaks eye contact, opting to shift his focus onto Xiao’s right arm where his tattoo glows in the resplendent moonlight. Deft fingers travel upwards, tracing the delicate lines and curves of verdant beauty inked into his forearm. Xiao shivers slightly before grabbing Venti’s hand once more. Venti only chuckles.
“You’re pretty, Xiao,” he hiccups, noticing Xiao’s bewildered expression. “Ehe...”
Xiao had been subjected to centuries of suffering on an unimaginable scale. He’s had moments where he had to push the limits of his mental fortitude.
Yet why, why is it, that out of all things he’s been through, it’s Venti muttering sweet musings that render his brain completely nonfunctional?
Venti turns docile, and Xiao quickly uses the opportunity to have him drink the rest of the antidote and take a breather outside of his room, still hearing the slight commotion downstairs.
He can’t afford to dwell on this, on this moment, on Venti, and certainly not on the frantic beating of his heart in his chest.
If Xiao is avoiding Venti for the following few weeks after that, then it wasn’t of his own accord. Xiao had resolved to be more vigilant in seeking out evil spirits, and even included small mobs like hilichurls in his daily duty. As such, it was only natural that he’d spend more time out and less time thinking about where a certain green bard stood in his life currently. Xiao and his duty are one single entity, he should only exist to do what is assigned to him.
So why is it that even on his rounds, when the yaksha is trying to avoid him, does the bard approach him anyway? And why has Xiao still not adopted the habit of retreating the second he detects Venti’s presence in the distance?
“Xiao.”
“Venti.” Xiao says, leaning against the rocky cliffs of Guyun with his head down low as he sees the whirl of green in the corner of his eye. Venti comes into his view, the white flower on his beret swaying with the wind and his eyes as bright as ever.
He’s back to his usual self, Xiao notes. Xiao doesn’t know if he has any recollection of that night. He doesn’t want to be aware of it, if he does.
Venti smiles, as always. “No evil spirit vanquishing today?”
Xiao shakes his head. It’s quickly approaching dusk, and spirits are usually not active at this time just yet. Still, he had come to Guyun as per his rounds dictated for good measure, but ended up battling an awakened ruin guard instead.
Unbeknownst to him, Venti had witnessed the entire scene. He had witnessed how Xiao had effortlessly teared apart the machinations from a certain nation, and the gentleness in which he buried the leftover parts so as to not obstruct the view of the stone forest.
“Xiao, I saw you earlier.”
The yaksha tenses a bit, but quickly regains his composure. “What of it?”
Venti tuts at him, pinching one part of his cheek. It’s been a while since Venti initiated friendly physical contact with him, even before the incident, but Xiao very quickly learned that it was futile to try and prevent him. Xiao also learned that he was not averse to it in the first place, and even started to anticipate it, but he would rather be silenced forever than to admit that fact.
You’re already making a mistake acknowledging it, Xiao subconsciously inputs to himself.
“You act like defeating a ruin guard alone isn’t an impressive feat!”
Xiao frowns. “It isn’t.”
Venti pouts, and releases his grip on Xiao.
“Whatever you say, Mr. Yaksha.”
He walks around the area they’re currently staying in, admiring the view of the Guyun sea below. They are situated in front of a temple, with a circular clearing in front of it. A rock formation above makes for a high ceiling, and numerous precious ores such as cor lapis sparkle in the corners.
Dusk has started to settle in, and the luminescence of crystalflies make itself more prominent in the darkening surroundings. Venti looks around at them, and Xiao notices that the creatures’ glow illuminate the bard’s face beautifully, as radiant as the moon did that day. Something in him stirs, just the slightest bit. Before he could look away, Venti’s eyes catch his, and his brows raise.
“Are you interested in these crystalflies?”
Xiao doesn’t answer. Venti sighs once more, and with a summon of pure anemo energy, he encapsulates the crystalfly in a light green glow.
Venti comes over to him, and Xiao expects him to place the crystalfly in his hand. His fingers move out of reflex, but to his complete surprise the bard weaves it into his tousled hair instead.
“Venti.”
Venti hesitates, but once again deep blue-green meet molten gold, and for a moment Xiao swears time had stopped between him and the enigmatic boy in front of him, looking at him so dearly –
“Let yourself have this one thing, Xiao. Please.”
The night stretches on as the wind flows between the cracks and arches of the stone forest at night, permeating the cozy little abode both immortals have created within the clearing. And if both of them interpret the delicate caress of cheeks or curious brush of lips as something more than they should have been, then neither say anything of it.
Xiao is distracted, terribly distracted.
He stabs his spear into the large slime’s carcass, hitting against all but moldy residue as he repeats the motion over and over again. The sound of polished jade repeatedly hitting slime is not pleasing to his ears, but it gives him a temporary space of mind to think about anything but the happenings of a week ago.
Dusk, at Guyun. Venti had kissed him, trembling and delicate, as if scared he would break Xiao at the display of affection. In a way, he did, because from then on Xiao’s thoughts had been plagued with the memory, persistently sticking around his mind like a broken record. It was almost funny – his karmic visions were growing weaker as of late, but that day with Venti opened a whole new problem for the yaksha specifically.
Perhaps even more infuriating was the fact that he had reciprocated – or tried to, given his lack of experience. He berated himself badly, knowing full well it was a complicated mess he was getting himself into. What on Teyvat had spurred him on that time? They had pulled back after what seemed like an eternity, two flushed faces looking into each other for a split second.
Xiao, running on pure adrenaline then, had quickly disappeared in a mass of black-tinged anemo. He found himself once more on the tops of Huaguang, panting and bringing gloved fingers to his lips. For the first time in a long while, he feels a telltale quirk at the corner of his lips.
Venti. He had chanted to other’s name to himself, and even now as he hunts down every mob he chances upon, he thinks of his name.
Venti, Venti, Venti.
He is not a man without his misgivings. Xiao could not fathom what caused him to act that way towards him, but he ascertains to himself that it was a misunderstanding. They unfortunately got caught up in the moment, they were not in their right minds. This was the culmination of years of immortality leaving them both wanting for any kind of respite, even if it meant engaging in actions far too intimate than what they've currently established between them.
"Xiao, you've been amiss lately."
The bamboo trees of Qingce tower over Xiao's small stature as he leans against one's thin bark, Zhongli observing a cluster of bamboo shoots not far from him. It was early in the day, sunlight reflecting of the nearby waterfall and occasionally glinting into Xiao's weary face. Venti no longer comes to Liyue, which is something Xiao should not have been made aware of as he was after all, actively avoiding him this time. But he does, and the sunlight streaming into the bamboo forest reminds him a lot of the day he shook hands with the bard. Simpler times.
Xiao grumbles. "Have I?"
It's a rhetorical question, and Zhongli knows. He sighs, coming over to where Xiao broods in the clearing.
"Perhaps I should have taught you a few things about human culture, and what it means to harbor emotions."
"Emotions are out of the question, and we are immortals. This is a minor inconvenience at best, it will pass."
The older man only sighs and gives Xiao a small smile.
"Xiao, not too long ago, I was in your position. I'm sure you remember our beloved Guizhong."
He remembers. Guizhong, the God of Dust - a person that reminded him of days long past; Guizhong, who had an odd affinity with ballistics, constructing a ballista within her lands as a means of self-defense. Guizhong, one of the many people who regarded the much younger Xiao as a dear friend; Guizhong, who brought out only the best in Morax during the olden days.
Guizhong, who also brought out the worst in Morax, her death bringing Morax unparalleled rage and anguish. For years he would be inconsolable, shifting mountains and bringing about natural disasters only books wrote about. If Xiao didn't know any better, he would never have taught the resentful Morax from then and the refined Zhongli now were one and the same, but he supposes such is the duality of living.
Zhongli repeatedly clenches and unclenches his fists, as if not quite sure how to speak of the former god. Xiao knows that behind this action is an inner conflict on how to speak of a long departed friend.
"Her untimely passing, as you know, changed me. My perception of the world became quite distorted, a stark contrast to the uniform, stolid demeanor that was synonymous to my entire being. It truly changed me, and for the better, but some thoughts should never be left to fester lest it be too late."
"I'm sure you understand, Xiao."
Xiao begins to protest, but Zhongli looks at Xiao with a soft look, quite uncharacteristic of the stoic god of geo. The yaksha is aware he is no longer bound to the man, but out of due respect, he backs down once more.
"I will only do this once. I will call for the bard tonight at Wangshu Inn, and what you decide to do is entirely up to you."
"My duty-"
"You've been hard at work lately, I wager that you've been successfully able to subdue most of the spirits for the next few days."
Xiao inhales, and exhales shakily. He doesn't believe he has, it's only a flimsy excuse to distract himself from his current predicament. Likewise, it's a flimsy excuse for Zhongli to provide relief for Xiao - an offer he's declined multiple times across many centuries, but when Venti is involved, he finds himself susceptible to actions even he thought was impossible.
The night is chilly as Xiao waits in Wangshu Inn's balcony. This situation was absurd, he should have been out on his nightly rounds, looking for more spirits of the damned and vanquish back into the deepest nether. Incredibly, Zhongli was right - close to none were present tonight. He could have chosen to run, to hide, to do anything but this - but Xiao, a tad bit too late, realized that he too, is constrained to his inner desire and conflict no matter how much he represses them.
And so, he's on the balcony, against his better will, hoping that whatever comes of this pseudo-rendezvous will not end up serving as yet another burden of regret he'd have to carry in the future.
"Zhongli? Where are you?" A familiar voice calls out, putting Xiao's senses on high alert.
"Zhong-? Oh."
He had finally come out into the balcony, and instead of seeing Zhongli, he meets the familiar green-haired adeptus, arms strangely not crossed but rather hanging pathetically limp at his sides.
Venti's mouth purses, and he shows a grin even Xiao can tell is constrained. He finds it interesting however, that the light in Venti's eyes hasn't diminished in the slightest. They're as warm and colorful as ever, crinkles at their edges framing them beautifully.
"Xiao."
To be a yaksha is to possess a healthy amount of pride. They were the some of the strongest in Liyue after all, and second only to Morax himself. They are not meant to submit to anyone, as powerful and destined for doom they are. But in the serene moonlight, where a black-haired bard stood, eyes full of an emotion Xiao can't exactly name and smile forced, he can barely bring himself to think of that fact now.
If Venti asked for a display of weakness from him, then so be it.
"Venti... pardon my intrusion, but-"
Venti inhales, suddenly understanding the predicament he's in. He turns as if to go back out the exit, but not before saying a somber line.
"It's okay, Xiao. If you're here for that, we can forget it ever happened, no? Just give me some time. I'm sorry." Venti says, clearly feigning nonchalance.
"Wait!"
He steps forward and grabs Venti's coat, faux anemo vision glinting in his peripheral vision. He's looking down, he'd rather not see the expression Venti sports on his face right now. But he has to, and when he does look up the moment Venti turns around, he's surprised to see the bright eyes he's grown to cherish be slightly teary. He hadn't noticed them the first time, but Venti really did have quite long eyelashes. He looked absolutely ethereal.
Xiao knows he's crossing his boundaries - he should have let Venti go, so both of them can forget about this awkward arrangement and continue along their lives. He should have refuted Zhongli's offer to help, this is his dilemma after all, he should not have pondered with even talking to Venti after all of this.
Body moving against his better judgement, he gingerly places both of his gloved hands on Venti's face, thumb stroking the other's right cheek to wipe the wetness gathering in his eyes. Venti leans into his touch in the dim moonlight, and fingers calloused from his musical endeavors brush on top of Xiao's own hesitantly, looking to play the strings of Xiao's heart, to hear the melody of songs unsung.
"Xiao... please. Don't make me hope for anything more than I already have."
Xiao exhales shakily, and swipes a thumb along Venti's trembling lips. They are both crossing into unknown territory; previously they had been cautious about it, taking an experimental dip for a split second before retreating back to the comfort of their familiarity. However this time, they are both wading into the unknown, minds so addled yet so clear, their nervous shared breath the only thing separating both lone souls.
"I've... been hoping, too. It's just, perhaps you've misunderstood. I don't think this is a good idea, and I don't think I ever will, but-"
Venti could only widen his eyes in surprise before Xiao seals his lips with his. Xiao doesn't know how to kiss; it's messy, it's awkward, and certainly not the prettiest display of affection out there. But the way Venti lets his gathered tears fall, the way his hands come to rest on the small of his back, the way he kisses back in slow, delicate movements, the distant taste of apples on his lips - it is everything and more to Xiao.
Xiao makes to break apart, but Venti pulls him back in with a strong grasp of his shirt. Venti continues to shower him in affection, fingers trailing from his cheeks, down to his neck, to his collarbones. Xiao lets out a small sigh, not used to the affectionate contact. When they break apart, Venti reaches over and gives a small peck to the sensitive spot just below his ear as well. The yaksha could all but take a sharp breath, absolutely overwhelmed by the moment.
When Venti pulls back, the ghost of a small smile is visible on his lips, and Xiao is panting ever so slightly. He looks at Xiao, and smirks a little.
"Aw, the great Alatus is blushing."
Since when had Venti known about his adeptus name?
Xiao coughs and turns away, making sure to question Zhongli on that another day. "I am not averse to your affections, not at all. I've come to realize that. But you should know... that should you choose to stay with me like this, there may be unwarranted repercussions on your part."
Venti's face is still very much tear-streaked, but the laugh that follows his statement is one of the most genuine Xiao has heard in the time he's known Venti.
"Oh, Xiao, that's what you were worried about?"
The bard comes over to him and wraps him in a tight hug, nuzzling his face into the crook of Xiao's neck. He smells of flowers and wine, he feels like song, he is encompassed by beautiful things that stir something once more within Xiao. His fingers twitch as he returns the hug, battle-worn arms not quite as welcoming, warm nor soft as Venti's, but it will have to do.
Venti, much like older days, doesn't hold back on the physical contact. He reaches up and squishes Xiao's cheeks, enjoying the slight frown that comes across the other's face.
"Xiao, I don't care about that. I know who I'm involving myself with, and I know of your current predicament. I shouldn't have to remind you that I am Barbatos after all, don't think I can't defend for myself."
"But-"
Venti shushes him, pressing a slender finger to his lips.
"We can talk about it later. Just look at me now; don't think of anything else."
They both make to sit against the railings of the Wangshu Inn balcony, none of them breaking contact even once. The moon is rising higher, and Xiao presumes the evening has turned late.
And once again Xiao is staring into those beautiful azure eyes tipped with green, and raven black hair tipped with blue, except now he can safely say that they belong to a man that is... his. The idea causes his chest to constrict, pleasant emotions simmering low in his chest.
"You're pretty, Venti." Xiao says unconsciously, before realizing the full weight of the statement.
Venti, still nestled into Xiao's body, suddenly shifts. The archon hums, and his grip on Xiao's body tightens.
"Using my own words against me, not fair..."
Xiao couldn't help but chuckle. So he had remembered his drunken ramblings; in another time he'd be mortified on Venti's part, but he is too caught up in the bliss of this moment to pay much heed to the newfound truth.
Eventually he knows that he'd have to go back to his duty, repaying his karmic debt until it consumes him whole. Up until now, he had been ready to accept death with open arms, but now he's not quite so sure about his resolve.
He hears Venti's soft snoozes below him - he'd fallen asleep. Xiao sighs and threads his fingers slowly through Venti's hair - one day he will inevitably fall, and should this intimate arrangement between them continue, he wonders how Venti would react as he draws his last dying breath. For someone as ready to face death as Xiao, the thought makes him shiver; but for now, he allows himself the privilege of finding comfort in his newfound companion, determined to make Venti the happiest he can be for the rest of his days.