Chapter Text
Xingqiu stood in one of the many back hallways of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, running his hand along the golden plaque that hung beside the door he was facing. He traced the pattern of raised dots that stood for each character in the occupant’s name. He felt that if he were to trace it enough times, imprint the patterns into his memory, any anxiety regarding his current predicament would dissipate. It was a foolish hope.
He already sent Xu ahead to forewarn the consultant of his visit, but he still was hesitant to take that final step and open the door to Zhongli’s office.
An endless stream of worries seemed to occupy his mind, but Xingqiu, in a huff of breath, dismissed them all. If he were to be anything like his literary heroes, he needed to be brave. At the very least, he needed to be brave enough to jimmy a door open.
Which he then, with little fanfare, did.
Zhongli was seated at his desk, a desk that was, contrary to Xingqiu’s assumptions, teeming to the brim with potted plant life and antique trinkets. There hardly seemed to be enough room for Zhongli’s paperwork amongst the clutter.
The elder man wasn’t bothered by Xingqiu’s interruption, and he coolly tilted his head up to examine his new guest. “Young Xingqiu, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
Xingqiu sighed and took a seat. “My visit isn’t a very pleasant one, I’m afraid.”
“Oh? What’s bothering you?” Zhongli folded his arms, regarding Xingqiu contemplatively. Zhongli always seemed to be contemplating something, the only difference now being that Xingqiu knew for certain what it was: him.
“It’s about Chongyun,” Xingqiu confessed. “He’s been acting odd lately.”
“How so?”
“Well…” Xingqiu let his response hang in the air, before leaning in and whispering furtively to Zhongli, “First, you have to promise not to laugh. It’s sort of embarrassing, okay?”
“I promise.” Zhongli nodded, and, having decided his declaration was earnest enough, Xingqiu leaned back into his chair.
“Well then.” Xingqiu cleared his throat. “It was Chongyun’s birthday last week, and, as his most dearest friend, I wanted to give him an excellent birthday present. Chongyun loves music, but his temperament makes concerts inaccessible to him. So, I decided to compose an original birthday poem for him and deliver it through song.”
“That sounds like a very thoughtful gift, Xingqiu.”
“I know, right?” Xingqiu cut off his sentence, realizing how undeniably rude and arrogant that sounded. “I mean, uhm, thank you. But when it came time for the performance, Chongyun’s reaction was…not so great. His nose erupted like a bloody geyser, and then he just ran off, apologizing profusely all the way. Now, whenever I so much as hum a tune around him, his nose starts to bleed.”
Zhongli rubbed his chin, before narrowing his eyes at Xingqiu. “I don’t mean to be rude, but isn’t this a discussion best suited for your friend group?”
Xingqiu flushed bright red. “There aren’t many people that are knowledgeable about Chongyun’s excessive yang energy, and Doctor Baizhu isn’t very…accessible for these sorts of queries.”
In other, less polite, words, Baizhu would just laugh at him. And charge him a lot of money. Baizhu was a very knowledgeable man, but certainly not a kind one.
“Hmm…” Zhongli closed his eyes, contemplating the matter. When he opened his eyes, they were an intense amber that made Xingqiu squirm in his seat. “You said before that concerts trigger Chongyun’s condition, correct? Then, perhaps, this has imprinted on him so deeply that even music will lead to a surge in his yang energy.”
“So, you’re saying that Chongyun’s nose bleeds happen because my singing reminds him of concerts?”
“That’s one of my theories, yes.”
“And the others?”
“My other theory…” Zhongli’s words tapered off, and he glanced at something on his desk. A picture? Xingqiu tried to discreetly peek at it but could only make out that the subject of the photo had ginger hair.
“…is that your singing could perhaps invoke in Chongyun an emotion that then triggers his positive yang energy,” Zhongli finished his statement and leveled his gaze back at Xingqiu. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, of course.” Xingqiu answered, even though he, in fact, did not understand what Zhongli was saying. He had seen Chongyun accept many birthdays wishes before, and those had barely provoked a blush, much less excessive bleeding. Why should Xingqiu’s be any different?
“Are you satisfied with that answer?” Zhongli asked, and Xingqiu took that as his cue to leave. After all, Zhongli probably had many clients to attend to, ones that would present him with more pertinent matters than Xingqiu’s little problem.
“Yes. Thank you for your advice, Mr. Zhongli.” Xingqiu stood up from his seat. “Should I pay you now, or would you prefer your payment go through more official channels? I can have Xu take care of the matter – “
“No need.” Zhongli dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. “This was just a chat between friends, was it not? I hardly see why the matter necessitates compensation.”
Xingqiu smiled. He felt genuinely better. “Thank you, Mr. Zhongli.”
Of course, Xingqiu wasn’t finished with his quest. Not by a long shot. Now that he had some insight into why Chongyun was having nosebleeds, he had to determine what lay in the realm of the theoretical and what resided in reality.
In other words, he had to see if Zhongli was actually right.
The most obvious solution was to expose Chongyun to other types of music – types that normally shouldn’t trigger his yang energy – and see his reaction. If he bled, that meant Zhongli was right. If he didn’t, then something else was amiss.
Xingqiu’s first instinct was to rent out the Heyu Tea House for the night. He’d have to clear the place of any other guests, lest the crowd agitate Chongyun’s condition, but he was familiar enough with Yunjin’s stylings to know that her show of classical Liyuean music would be suitable for the job.
Unfortunately, even for the second son of the Feiyun Commerce Guild, this proved to be too arduous a task. Xu had worn a heavy brow when he returned from the inquiry, and sadly informed Xingqiu that his request couldn’t be fulfilled until the next month.
Xingqiu certainly didn’t want to delay his curiosity for that long. So, he set Xu out on another mission: to find a musician that would be willing to perform a private concert. Preferably, within the next day or two.
Only for Xu to return empty-handed. Again.
“I didn’t expect it to be so difficult to find a musician,” he groaned, head down on the back counter of Wanmin Restaurant’s kitchen. The polished stone felt cool against his forehead, and he welcomed the clarity it brought.
“Well, it’s not like this is Mondstadt!” Xiangling responded. She wasn’t paying all that much attention to Xingqiu’s complaining, with her attention instead going to the dozen or so meals she was preparing simultaneously. “That city had so many bards running around, it was like Dihua Marsh after a rainstorm!”
“What?”
“Y’know, like the bards are frogs and there’s a lot of frogs after a rainstorm, just like how Mondstadt has a lot of bards…never mind, try this for me?” Xiangling stuck a wooden ladle into his mouth, and his tastebuds were overrun with the spiciness of Jueyun Chili Peppers. By the liquid nature of the food, he guessed it was soup. He swallowed.
“Needs more texture. Use that slime condensate I brought you last week.”
“Great idea!” Xiangling grabbed the bottle and heaped a generous serving into the boiling pot. “What do ya need this musician for, anyway?”
“A private performance,” Xingqiu answered simply. He had prepared his response far in advance, having predicted that this particular query would pop up now and again. “It’s a gift for Chongyun.”
“Oo-ooh!” Xiangling grinned at him, waggling her eyebrows. “Well, if it’s for that, then I think I know a gal.”
Xingqiu brightened, his interest piqued. “You do?”
Xiangling gleefully informed him, in between sessions of mincing and dicing, of a performer named Xinyan that regularly visited Wanmin and whom Xiangling boasted as a personal friend. Xingqiu had heard of her before, of course; there were few in Liyue Harbor who had been spared the clamor that her frequent and unannounced performances brought on, but he hadn’t considered her as an option. Mostly due to said clamor.
“Are you sure she would be…er, suitable?” Xingqiu questioned. “With Chongyun’s unique disposition, and all.”
“Mhmm!” Xiangling bobbed her head up and down, in a manner that reminded Xingqiu of her pet Guoba. “She’s very versatile – both in her food preferences and her musical stylings!”
With Xiangling’s help, Xingqiu was able to contact Xinyan and arrange the evening as he had planned. Xiangling even offered up Wanmin as the performance venue. (Xingqiu was slightly surprised at her enthusiasm, but he supposed it was his own fault for underestimating his friend’s generosity. It was just unusual for Xiangling to go to such lengths when it wasn’t for cooking).
That night, once Wanmin had closed its doors to all other customers, Xingqiu ushered Chongyun through the back door and into a chair, coaxing him with enthusiastic prodding and sweet promises.
“Xingqiu, can you please tell me what this is about,” Chongyun begged. “This is prime spirit hunting hour, and I can’t just be wandering around if I want to become Liyue’s greatest – ”
“Liyue’s greatest exorcist, I know, I know.” Xingqiu pushed down on his friend’s shoulders, trying to make him to stay put. “This is supposed to be a reward, Chongyun, a break from all those nasty, evasive ghosts.”
“And what does this reward entail, exactly?” Chongyun glanced nervously around the empty dining area. “I still haven’t fully recovered from the last time you wanted to give me a ‘reward’.”
Xingqiu giggled and leaned over to poke Chongyun’s cheek. He was cute when he was grumpy (in a platonic way). “Aw, are you still sour about that?”
“No,” Chongyun huffed. The lie was betrayed by the furrow in his brows.
“If you really want to hunt ghosts, then you need to up your tolerance level for spices,” Xingqiu teased.
“You keep saying that, but I’ve yet to actually encounter – ”
The ding of a bell interrupted their quarrel, and Xingqiu looked up to see the lady of the hour had arrived. Good. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep Chongyun here, anyway.
Xinyan smiled brightly, shifting her equipment to one hand to give both of them a cheery wave. “Am I interrupting something, boys?”
“No, not at all.” Xingqiu hurried to greet her, trying to maintain the air of chivalry he strove for. “We’ve been eagerly awaiting your performance.”
“That’s great! Though I wish I could say that I heard that more often,” Xinyan chuckled, a gesture for Xingqiu found oddly endearing. He had to admit that, in person, the rocker looked much more approachable than he had first assumed.
“W-wait,” Chongyun stuttered, and Xingqiu’s attention was drawn back to his dear friend. The exorcist had risen to his feet and was wobbling around like a newborn fawn. “Is this rock music? Because, if so, I should just leave – ”
“No, no!” Xingqiu waved his hands around and grinned nervously. “Xinyan wanted to practice a different type of music. A more calming and quiet type.”
“Yep!” Xinyan bobbed her head enthusiastically. “This old dog’s always looking forward to learning new tricks!”
Chongyun still seemed apprehensive, but upon noticing that Xinyan had swapped out her usual modified lyre for a finely carved wooden box, he sat back down in his seat.
“So…what’s that?” Chongyun asked, pointing at what seemed to be Xinyan’s new instrument. Come to think of it, Xingqiu had no idea what it was either. He had only requested that she played something less rowdy than her usual style and was too preoccupied with thoughts of Chongyun to fuss over the details.
“The clavichord1!” Xinyan answered, as if the word meant anything to them all, and opened the box to reveal a set of ivory-colored keys, not unlike those one would find in a piano. “I got it shipped from one of my fans in Mondstadt! Boy, that Deaconess Barbara is a real peach! I should go catch one of her concerts one day.”
When neither of the boys responded, still confused, Xinyan continued her explanation. “It’s this fancy-dancy mini piano! You can move it around with ease, which is perfect for how I throw concerts!”
Xinyan turned around to start setting up the instrument, while Xingqiu took a seat next to Chongyun.
“It’ll be fine,” he whispered, reaching over to squeeze Chongyun’s hand. Chongyun’s face turned red, and he turned away with a quick, affirmative nod. Xingqiu wondered if that was a sign that Zhongli was right, and that the very idea of Xinyan’s performance was already starting to affect his positive yang energy.
“Anyways, listen up!” Xinyan exclaimed, drawing both boys’ attention. “Cause I’m gonna play a little thing called…” Xinyan leaned in closer to them, hushed and theatrical in her delivery. “…Jazz.” 2.
Xinyan put her hands on the keys then and started playing a melody. It was fast-paced and rhythmic, but the keys sounded out softly, and Xingqiu could see that Chongyun’s interest had been piqued, and not in the bad, oh-no-my-yang-energy way. As she played, Xinyan sang, her voice raspy and low. It wasn’t the most refined performance, and Xinyan seemed to be making it up as she went along, going off on little tangents where she repeated words and threw in nonsense sounds in between, but it was good. Enjoyably good 3. For some reason, Xinyan’s lyrics, which spoke of finding love in the harbor, made him antsy and flushed. He kept sneaking quick peeks at Chongyun (for his reaction, of course).
By the song’s end, when Xinyan stood up and dipped into a low bow, Chongyun didn’t have a single drop of blood on him, from his nose or anywhere else.
Chongyun, surprisingly, was the first of the two to speak, rising from his seat to thank the young starlet for her performance.
“I shouldn’t have let my preconceived notions get the better of me before.” Chongyun tilted his head, apologetically, before giving Xinyan a shy smile. “That was really nice.”
“You’re welcome, Chongyun!” Xinyan winked at him. “That means I can catch you at a concert soon, yeah?”
“Uh, I’ll have to think about that.” Chongyun winced, before turning around to face the still-seated Xingqiu. “Thank you for inviting me, Xingqiu. I have to head out now, but I’ll see you later?”
“Right.” Xingqiu watched as his friend disappeared through the backdoor.
His heart felt heavy. He clutched at his shirt, silently willing it to lighten. It didn’t.
“Are you okay, Xingqiu?” Xinyan sat down next to him, occupying the seat where Chongyun sat mere minutes ago. “You don’t look very jazzed right now.”
“It’s just…really stupid?” Xingqiu said, and he was surprised by how shaky his own voice sounded. He felt like he was going to cry, which was very unnoble of him. After all, the heroes of both his novels and real life had shaken off worse than their friends not liking their singing, so it was pretty pathetic that it was affecting Xingqiu so deeply.
“It can’t be that stupid if it’s got you so worked up,” Xinyan said, and Xingqiu, in a glance, was only able to discern sincerity in her gaze.
That was what pushed him to tell her everything. The initial birthday disaster, his visit with Zhongli, and how her impromptu performance was actually a way for him to test the theory Zhongli had proposed. And how Chongyun had passed the test with flying colors, meaning it wasn’t music that was triggering his excessive yang energy: it was Xingqiu.
“I wish you had told me about this sooner,” Xinyan said, and her face sported a small frown. The sadness looked unnatural on her. “I really thought you just wanted to listen to my music.”
“I’m sorry,” Xingqiu said, and he really meant it. “I was so caught up in how I felt that I failed to consider your feelings as well. I shouldn’t have done that. It was dishonest of me, and unbecoming of someone of my stature and ambitions to act like that.”
They sat in silence for a few seconds. Xingqiu breathed heavily, recalling the techniques taught to him by the Guhua.
“But…” Xinyan broke the quiet, and she reached over to lay her hand over Xingqiu’s. They were rough and calloused, and Xingqiu supposed it was from her lyre-playing. “I can tell you’ve got a good heart. And I did enjoy the performance I gave y’all. You were a great audience.”
The way Xinyan said that, it seemed like she was giving him a great compliment, but Xingqiu didn’t have it in him to accept it. He stayed silent.
“I can tell you really want that guy, Chongyun, to like and appreciate your singing.” Xinyan laughed heartily. “Boy, do I know the feeling. So, I’ve got a proposition for you, and ya better listen to it!”
“Okay.” Xingqiu steeled himself for her response. “I’m open to any suggestions.”
“How about you take some singing lessons with me?” Xinyan proposed. “I may not be the most refined person out there, but I know my stuff! Plus, you’ve got passion, and that’s all you really need to make good music! You’ve just got to fine tune it a little.”
Xingqiu had to admit, he wasn’t expecting that to be her offer. But the more he thought about, the better her suggestion seemed. Xinyan was a musician after all, and her performance tonight only proved she was a talented one. Besides, just because Chongyun didn’t like his singing now, didn’t mean he couldn’t ever, right?
His spirits were lifted, and Xingqiu felt truly, wonderfully, hopeful again.
“I accept!”