Work Text:
At four-am in the morning, when the streets have only just started to flicker out of their prior late-night bustling of drunken citysounds, Ningguang is the only one in her office.
Ningguang doesn’t typically have music on, especially not when she’s in her workplace—in the name of professionalism and all. On top of that, she’s always believed that music would pull her out of the bubble she traps herself within when she’s working, pushing her into another trance where she’ll feel things. Ningguang lets out a disappointed sigh as an over-played Xin-YAN song lingers in the background, filling the silence between the gaps in the air. She finds herself humming along to the waxy tune of the song while she flips through her papers, ignoring the weight of her eye bags clinging to her undereye.
Upon making the slight mistake of looking up for a brief second, she catches sight of a pending stack of papers for her to get through and Ningguang throws her head back in frustration, slamming the documents in her hands against the table. She combs her fingers aggravatedly through her hair which has gotten knotted and rough since she busied herself with the new company deal. “Archons, Feiyun keeps asking for more,” she throws a hand to cover her glassy eyes. One second later, she realises that her crying won’t successfully cut a deal with Feiyun.
She drops her limp arm to her side while she stares at the stack of papers for a good few seconds. Ningguang sits up and it’s almost like she’s channeling any remaining energy within her body into her spine to adjust her posture properly. The pen she picks up only dangles as she maintains a weak grip around it, running her fingers along the blurred words of the contract papers before recreating a tired version of her signature.
As the song reaches it’s ending chorus, Ningguang starts swaying unlike she normally would. Her style of mannerisms would be tapping the floor with her heel or drumming her fingers to the rhythm, but never moving her body so recklessly where it’d be embarrassing and unclassy of her to do. A splitting headache tears through her attention and she lurches forward, toppling a pen stand in the process.
Following a hollow knock on the spruce door to her office, someone enters her office and Ningguang doesn’t even glance away from whatever it is that’s in her immediate view—ah, papers stained with black coffee. She decides she’s going to have to re-do them. A plastic container is slid across the table to her, carrying something which is indistinguishable in the darkness. /p>
Goosebumps prick against her skin knowing that there’s one more person in the room, knowing she’d secluded herself so much from the rest of the world that it feels odd to have just one more person within the closeness of her space. “Ningguang-nushi, you haven’t eaten anything,” a soft whispery voice breaks the silence, and Xin-YAN’s vocals fade into the background singing ‘the more you care for someone the more you can't see through them’.
Ningguang lifts her head for the sake of courtesy and on the other side of the door, she spots no one else but Ganyu, as she’d expected from the sound of the muffled voice. She smiles politely, quickly fanning down the wrinkles of her clothes. “It was improper of me to be lying down like that. Why are you at work? I ask that you go home as soon as possible, else you won’t be at your best tomorrow,” she stands, the chair squeaking out a painfully-deafening screech. Ganyu lowers her head to hide the creeping blush and impending embarrassment of what she’s yet to do, and reaches out to hold Ningguang’s wrist.
“Eat, please,” Ganyu begs with those pleading eyes of hers and Ningguang knows she won’t be able to sleep well tonight if she leaves her half-girlfriend and secretary behind. She sits herself down again, opening the container in which rests a few spring rolls topped with shredded carrots and caked in soy sauce (because Ganyu’s the only one who makes it this way and she likes it).
Unlike usual days, she doesn’t feel the same amount of excitement, but helps herself to one regardless, chewing on it with struggled bites. She hides the fact that she’s having a hard time swallowing it, knowing it might be offensive or hurtful to Ganyu who would’ve taken time out of her day to worry about someone who isn’t deserving of her attention in the least. She’d taken a smoke sometime about an hour ago in her office but the putrid taste of nicotine is still on her tongue, making almost anything either tasteless or terrible.
“Thank you,” Ningguang murmurs after realising it’s the least she can offer instead of finishing the entire box of spring rolls, it’s only courtesy. Ganyu sulks, a visible pout etched on her lips.
“Tianquan, you haven’t rested in days. You haven’t been the same since we’ve had issues with the Feiyun Cor Lapis trade. Hasn’t Zhongli-xiansheng been working on it diligently? I’m sure I’ll be able to do some work for you if it’s necessary,” Ganyu stammers, hoping Ningguang will give some thought to her suggestion instead of brushing it off and carrying the burden of her responsibilities on her own shoulders. Unfortunately, just as she’d expected the moment she proposed the question, Ningguang shakes her head, pulling her wrist away from Ganyu harsher than she’d expected. “It wasn’t my intention to—” Ganyu lowers her head in embarrassment at the realisation she might’ve crossed a boundary.
“Yuyu, I know you’re in love with Keqing,” Ningguang says with a small smile after taking a few counted steps forward to her secretary’s side. Her eyes are fogged with something like wistfulness, neither sadness nor happiness, simply the ambiguous in-between. Perhaps it’s because she’s so damn tired that she can’t make sense of the fact that her girlfriend’s in love with someone else, or that she’s simply not good enough at love to acknowledge she’d ever loved Ganyu in the first place. But really, if she were to look past the denial she’s been in for the past weeks, it might be the fact that Ganyu isn’t talking back anymore.
“You don’t have to care for me beyond what your feelings allow,” she adds, her intention to get her point out but she knows, despite this, the truth of her words won’t be any less jarring for either of them. Ningguang has had time to think about this—Ganyu… she couldn’t be so sure.
Ganyu is as sweet as her name suggests and Ningguang is well-aware that during her fleeting, almost-romantic interactions with Keqing, she wouldn’t have crossed the line into infidelity. Ningguang’s words, in all truth, aren’t sour or bitter or wistful in the very least, because it would be a crime for her to keep someone so lovely from finding someone equally as deserving of her love.
“How—” Ganyu stutters, eyes blown wide open at the accusation. Ningguang’s gentle gaze flutters down to the Adeptus’ flushed cheeks, her heart clenching at the gentleness of her lover. When neither of them speak, and Ganyu cuts herself off before unwarranted words roll off her tongue, Ningguang decides it’s time for her to leave it as it is.
“I’ve seen the way you look at her, Yuyu. I’ve never seen you happier,” the Tianquan confesses, and it must be because of her mastery over her emotions that she’s able to expertly hide the crack in her voice. She clears her throat, doesn’t look back up at Ganyu and leaves the room with nothing in her calloused hands but her pipe and a clenched heart in her chest.
Ningguang knows she’s not someone who can be mad at Ganyu for finding someone better—I mean, who wouldn’t? Ningguang is well-aware of her self-worth and she’s come a long way from thinking she’s incompetent over a single failure but one thing, one thing she fails to acknowledge, is her constant failure to love. She has overheard… people… and she knows what they say about her being forsaken in love because she’s so successful, and people like her, tend to be terrible with feelings.
Ningguang’s expression dissolves into an unreadable one, blanker than one devoid of emotion, and eventually she finds herself at the front door of her temporary office. She turns her head back, something within her hoping that Ganyu would follow her out and clarify that she’d misunderstood the reality of her situation or that when she blushes around Keqing, it’s simply platonic. It’s simply platonic, and perhaps it’s always this denial in the first place that made Ningguang impossible at learning love.
Clenching her jaw, she pushes the spinning door and leaves, turning right to an alley between the next-door restaurant and the office building itself. She lights the tobacco and slots it between her lips, her back meeting the cold wall behind her. Her eyelids weigh down on her eyes as she blanks out into her fatigue, staring at the messy wall-drawing of two girls on the cement wall before her.
Ningguang watches it with a silent curiosity, her Qipao shabby and crinkled. The addicting stench of nicotine wafts in the air surrounding her, intoxicating her into a state which is close to the edge of reality. “Was that a breakup?” she huffs out as another puff of smoke escapes her chapped lips. “Hm,” she closes her eyes, inhaling sharply at the thought of her bursting into a wave of impending tears.
Ningguang doesn’t take herself for someone who would drown herself in tides of sorrows in the wake of a break-up, one that should’ve been peaceful and expected, and she’s sure she would’ve been subconsciously preparing herself for a moment like this, and then again, had never thought of herself as someone so emotionally inept.
And still, for as long as she’s known herself, it has always been this way if not much messier and laced with more hurt and if there was one person to blame, it’d be the foolish person she used to be. No human is born bad, and Ningguang’s a firm believer of it in her own case as well, but much of the time, it’s simply too difficult to accept that the reason she’s been this way is because of the life she left behind for success.
The crayon drawings on the wall in front of her contort into the silhouette of two other girls, one with gentle white her like her own and a smile she’d lost years ago. The other, silken cedar hair with a tinge of magenta, an eyepatch draped over her eyes and an unforgettably notorious smirk. Ningguang’s eyes widen in surprise and she peels off the wall, reaching her fingers for the wall. Her illusion fades and once again, Ningguang feels as if she’d been stripped of her momentary happiness.
Actually, she wasn’t happy. She knew that too. She didn’t want to be either, especially if it meant she didn’t have someone else to share it with.
As Ningguang dips her head, she snickers incredulously. Perhaps it’s right that it’s never truly possible to fully erase the memory of one’s first love. At the realisation that wringing her sorrows into a puddle on the ground for another second was simply wasting her time, Ningguang pulls away from the darkness of the alley. She steps under the flickering light of the street that’s too cold against her exposed skin but too warm under her clothes, and then she realises there’s something, someone who she wants to return to again.
On the road back, Ningguang spots Ganyu waiting by the pavement, hands cupped in front of her hip. She doesn’t look sad, maybe bashful, but it’s difficult to see with her gentle blue hair covering her soft face. At the sound of Ningguang’s easily recognisable, very careful steps on the silent pavement, Ganyu lifts her gaze and a silver car stops in front of them. “You should sleep more,” a familiar voice is heard, affectionate as ever. Ganyu’s eyes wide, she stiffly turns to Keqing who’s now peering her head out of the car.
Ningguang nods, as if a gesture for her to go, to leave her behind. Her body is shrouded in the shadow of the surrounding darkness, dimly lit by the overhead street lights coloured a gentle amber. She lowers her gaze and peels away from the scene for her own comfort and for Ganyu’s, knowing it’s much too difficult to face Keqing right now. She’ll get over it by tomorrow, when she’ll have to pretend this relationship never happened and leave the company with a post-it on her desk. ‘Urgent circumstances have called for my presence. I’ll be in Qingce village’ she’ll write and she’ll go back to the only place that has made her feel at home.
✧ ✧ ✧
Ningguang has already cut a deal with a coachman by the time it’s dawn, ensuring to stop by the office before her employees start filing in. She went home for the first time that week, allowing herself to sleep for an hour and a lot more than she’d allowed in a while.
At the office, she has no remnants of anything which is extremely necessary to her, mostly because most of what she considered hers had been left behind years ago. When she left Qingce to indulge herself into her new life at the harbour, she’d had enough time to get over the fractured relationship she left with. She left a lot of herself with the broken pieces of her old love and by the tenth anniversary of their not-seeing-each-other, and it had gotten easier to not become sad or sorrowful. Love faded so easily and naturally with time that her only habit that stayed was smoking.
Ningguang tries to make herself comfortable against the wooden carriage, changing her position every now and then so she doesn’t bruise her back. It’s at this point that she realises she’s still crazy as ever over the lingering mark her first love had left on her life, enough to be leaving her corporate duties behind to see a girl who, really, could’ve moved on years earlier than her.
In her pocket, she has her purse with mora and a ragged notebook she’d taken with her all those years ago. It’s thin, but dust-laden and stuffed with receipts in between its gaps. It was a notebook she used when she ran a noodle shop to keep track of her orders and earnings. It was a time in her youth where she didn’t earn much but was happy in too many ways, such that it makes her wonder why she was heartless enough, to herself and the person she’d promised forever, to leave.
In between the pages, she sees a post-it tucked under a receipt, writing, ‘You look cute when you’re focused on work.’ There’s no sign-off but it’d be foolish of Ningguang to not know immediately who it’s from, or the exact scenario that led up to her receiving the post-its. Ningguang isn’t one to forget details, perhaps it’s what keeps her heart heavy all of the time. She flips the book shut and a tear slips off her eyelid. It’s okay to reminisce for a second.
By dusk, as a crack emerges through the clouds in the sky which spills amber light over Liyue, Ningguang is dropped off at the bottom of the stairs leaving up to the village. It’s the same as she remembers it, the same smells of fresh bamboo and the same sensations of cold air brushing against her skin from how cold it typically is around these parts. She walks up the stairs slowly and quietly and her ears muffle the surrounding cacophony of chatter above.
When pauses all the way at the top of the staircase, she exhales deeply and realises she recognises no-one anymore. Ningguang feels the overwhelming temptation of retreating once again. “The noodle shop… is it gone?” she mumbles sadly, her gaze darting around the vicinity only to see nothing. “Ah, Beidou’s always been a bit of a wild soul. She wouldn’t have stayed,” she tells herself.
Ningguang closes her eyes. It’s best to leave. She turns on her heel, proceeding to leave the village as soon as she’d returned to see it in its reformity. “One bowl of noodles coming right up! Hehe, it’s not like it matters what kind it is, hm? I can bet you’ll like this new recipe I have. Xiangling taught it to me,” a boisterous voice cuts through the air as swiftly as a knife. Ningguang whips her head around, her hair cinematically tossed by an oncoming breeze.
Lo and behold, like it’s straight out of a damn fairytale, Beidou stands almost roseate and glimmering in front of a store all the way at the edge of the platform, tending to a beeline of villagers Ningguang had completely neglected. So it seems there are some things which she can forget. Like the place she considered home. Guilt wipes over her eyes and Ningguang, as she stares, is not sure if she can keep watching from afar.
“Ningguang-jie! You came back!” a voice squeaks and an unfamiliar pair of arms wrap around her waist. Ningguang turns around to see a girl at least in her teens, unable to recognise her properly. She smiles awkwardly, initially hoping to melt into the surroundings without being recognised. A group of teenagers come running towards her, lunging onto her and pulling her into a large hug while chanting her name. Ningguang raises her arms, confused as to who they are. “Ning-jie! Why did you never visit us? You’re all old!” another chirps. Ningguang chuckles affectionately. Perhaps it’s best to go along with it instead.
“Ningguang?” someone calls out to her and the mere tone of it is enough to get Ningguang to turn her head. Truthfully, Ningguang would’ve been confident that she prepared herself well enough for this moment—she ran her mind through tens of different possibilities, weighing them out by the probabilities of occurring to cushion the blow of seeing Beidou again in the flesh—but it almost shatters as she watches Beidou simply stand there, wearing a silly apron, holding a silly plastic chicken toy in her hand. She’s a little taller and a little more mature than she existed in Ningguang’s old memories. Beidou looks equally as surprised until her expression contorts into one of gentle joy, contrary to the entire dynamic of her personality. Ningguang hasn’t ever seen this on her, not even when they first met years ago.
What happened to that dastardly smirk of hers? Has she grown out of it?
The children pull away from Ningguang, still chattering about nothing important because, really, it’d be hard to put anything in a higher importance than the fact that she’s currently facing Beidou. “You can run along now, kids. I’ll have your jie speak to you in a bit,” Beidou gently pushes the backs of the children to have them scatter. Ningguang steps a step back from Beidou, almost as if the metre-wide distance between them is already too close. She flushes red for a reason she wouldn’t be able to pin-point and swiftly averts her gaze.
“You said you’d never be back,” Beidou shrugs, folding her arms as she boldly takes a step forward. Ningguang realises how difficult it is to breathe this way, and all she can manage is focusing on pulling each breath and stuffing in a new one in its place, funneling its way into the ache in her lungs. It doesn’t feel right anymore, watching her entire past standing in front of her this way. “If you’re worried, you can wait a couple hours until I’m done with the dinner crowd,” she ends with a sigh. Ningguang’s almost embarrassed at how much Beidou knows and remembers about her habits.
And so began the wait till nightfall, because Ningguang is yet to utter a single word in front of Beidou, or release herself from the confines of her mind. It should have been easy. She’d gotten over the guilt of leaving ages ago, persuading herself that it was messy because Beidou couldn’t be happy with her decisions, and that Beidou was the one who struggled to see her grow. In its true nature, it was a scuffle more than a break-up and it was only time that labelled it one, when neither of them tried to contact the other or grow out of the paths they’d chosen. Like Ningguang did again, either of them had taken their share of memories and turned their backs, blaming it on fate for pairing them with the wrong person. Only distance taught Ningguang that Beidou has always been the right person, and it had always been the wrong time. She clicks her tongue in annoyance as she faces out to the view of Luhua Pool, blowing the charred smell of tobacco smoke into the air.
It’s surprising that people still visit the store. The crowd sways around the vicinity, stopping by somewhere along the beeline, more coming and going away from the noodle shop.
Ningguang hears a chair screech behind her and she lowers her pipe, managing to glance backwards without peeling her gaze away at the sight of Beidou. She raises her gaze to the sky, briefly acknowledging that she’d been distracted enough to miss the sunset, and turns. “You used to stare at me while I worked back in the old days. Feels weird to see you turn your back to me the whole time and oh—you’ve grown your hair out,” Beidou reaches across the table to tuck a strand of hair behind Ningguang’s ear. Heat crawls up the Tianquan’s neck but she doesn’t pull away.
Beidou’s face hovers in a close proximity to Ningguang’s, an easy smile on her lips. She looks everything like she used to in the past, her longer hair tied into a bun and held up by chopsticks like Ningguang obstinately does her own hair these days. When she hears no word of response from the Tianquan, she pulls back and slumps against the chair loudly, sliding against the table curiously. “I can’t tell if you’re better these days. You’re silent. What brings you here after all this time?”
“You’re not the same girl you used to be when you were younger. Fresh,” Ningguang admits, her voice rough from not speaking. It’s a terrible starting statement to say to someone you haven’t seen in a decade, with the consideration that this someone holds the most importance in her heart. She doesn’t dwell on this for the sake of her sanity but Beidou lets out a chuckle, expression contorting into one of mirth. Ningguang narrows her eyes, making that judgemental expression of hers.
“I could say the same about you. Who would’ve guessed you’d become the Tianquan of Liyue in the time we’re separated? You’re real impressive,” Beidou grins widely. “Doesn’t answer my question, though. Ah—let me guess—did you come here for business? Or did you come to charge me for committing tax fraud, which by the way, I’m sorry about—”
Ningguang slams her hand against the table, sending the brass cutlery holder, clattering. Beidou cups either side of it with her hands gingerly, catching the utensils before they fly. Ningguang sighs, massaging her temples while she calms herself down. “I’m—I’m sorry,” she chokes out. “In all honesty, I’m not sure what brings me here. Ignoring the fact that you just admitted to committing tax fraud, I guess I just—it felt wrong not to apologise. Have things been smooth?”
Beidou purses her lips. “Ten years for an apology?” she raises an eyebrow. “You should’ve spared it then. We wouldn’t want to spend this evening apologising to each other for nonsense we’ve done,” she laughs, waving her hand through the air dismissively. Ningguang frowns, perturbed, clenching her hand around her pipe. She doesn’t want to leave this as a matter which will never find its solace, one that will never find its end because either of them have been foolishly circling it.
“I never checked up on you since—well, we broke up—”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter anymore. In the end, you said what had to be said and it was done. And it was so long ago that I’ve already given up trying to understand what led up to that moment. You know—there’s this one song that goes,” Beidou pauses here, thinking for a moment before snapping her fingers victoriously, “The more you care for someone, the more you can't see through them. It’s always been that way for us, don’t you think? At some point, it felt like you weren’t happy and you wanted more than what I could provide. It felt like I knew you more when I watched you from afar than when you were right in front of me. It hasn’t changed.”
“Ah. I see,” are all that Ningguang can force out of her throat. “Have you been fine living alone? You used to tell me that you’ve always been around your Crux Fleet family. You aren’t obligated to answer any of my questions—I guess, I don’t know. I’ve always been the one who preferred to live around. Not that living with you was terrible.”
The corners of Beidou’s lips curve upwards. “I do still wonder why you’ve come all the way here on a work day. Could it be that you’ve come to deliver news of your marriage?” Ningguang’s jaw falls agape at this assumption, blinking confusedly. Beidou continues, “I understand if you wanted to pretend what happened between us wasn’t serious—if you’re here for friendship, of course. I get that people like you care about reputation so much and if you think being with a woman would taint your reputation. It’s—whatever. You know? Doesn’t matter. My preferences don’t matter to me when it comes down to you.”
“People like me? Do you not see me the same way?”
Beidou’s smile fades. She ruffles her hair awkwardly. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
Ningguang drops her pipe against the table and stands, prompting Beidou to look up at her with an expression of confusion. Her chair moves so loudly and swiftly that it topples, attracting the attention of surrounding passers-by who pause to pay heed to Ningguang’s rowdiness. “I came here because I missed you. I know I should’ve said this earlier—but I—it didn’t feel right because it seemed like you’ve moved on. What? Would you have been happier if I found someone new and moved on when the reason I left was never because I never loved you enough but because I—” Ningguang inhales sharply. “Felt that I didn’t.”
“Ah,” Ningguang huffs when she snaps out of her momentary rage. This shouldn’t have happened. It’s not often that she lets herself yell like this. Clutching onto the fabric of her Qipao, she turns away immediately and scampers off, making the same mistake she’d done ten years ago. It is too easy to sway because of love.