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Xiao approached the table on weary legs. He was not mortal, so exhaustion did not affect him in the ways it would a human counterpart. His exhaustion was a blight against his soul, weighing on his chest and making his steps unsteady. It was heavier than an encroaching urge for slumber but still bit sharply enough for Xiao to require a moment of peace. Had he been slightly more alert, he might have noticed the residual traces of energy clinging to the air at his usual perch; might have noticed the sidelong glance Yanxiao sent his way upon arrival.
Instead he sank neatly onto one of the stools, his stool, just as he had done so many times before. It welcomed him with its familiar creak, rocking back on the leg just a smidge too short. The stool was easy to replace, for Wangshu Inn saw an abundance of carpenters during their travels, but Xiao rather liked it. Given the reason for the inn’s existence, it was no surprise why the squeaky little stool was allowed to remain. Xiao was no ordinary guest after all. Wangshu Inn was his home.
Relaxing his shoulders, he allowed himself a moment of quiet reprieve. He was met with the evening chittering of birds preparing their nests for slumber. The leaves rustled in the wan caress of summer night winds. It blended with the soft clinking of Yanxiao’s cooking implements, metal on stone, punctuated with the distant blend of conversations he need not concern himself with. They were all elements of a mortal existence, fleeting snapshots of a life he could only live alongside, never within.
Something that did not sadden him, even if some gazed upon him with pity; Xiao performed his duty because he wanted to. And he would continue to do so long after Liyue lost itself to the passage of time.
“Dinner for you,” came Yanxiao’s voice, slicing through his silent rest.
The sweet smell of Almond Tofu flooded his senses. Xiao opened his eyes in response, folding his hands against his lap. “Mm. Thank you.”
“Enjoy.” The response was short and clipped but not from a place of resentment. They were merely … on “professional” terms only. Yanxiao still had not forgiven him for his insistence of keeping Dusky Ming close at hand. His fear of ghosts was a point of contention between them but they understood each other beyond that.
Only as Yanxiao retreated did Xiao finally become aware of what rested upon the table. How he had missed it upon arrival escaped him completely. The envelope had not been carelessly thrown. Its courier had delivered it with specific instructions, placing it upon the table in the precise place his hands often occupied. White, stark against the rich pine, and sealed with wax the color of newly minted Mora. Simple but elegant, mirroring the one who penned it—the latter of which he understood as he traced the underside with a wandering finger.
The energy made itself clear; Morax.
All that remained of the Geo Archon. Earthen and bold, sun-bleached stones and damp soil and a thousand things in between, all of which Liyue was built from. Above all, strong and powerful, even in its most subtle dilution.
No longer Morax, God of Contracts, just … Zhongli, he reminded himself.
Xiao’s touch shifted up, tracing the immaculate folds within the paper. His fingertip sank gently into the wax imprint. The shape of it was uneven but symmetrical all the same, texture cool and thoroughly dried. It bore the crest of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor and he pondered briefly over the use of company wax for a personal letter. Zhongli would lack care but he could visualize the subtle annoyance of the parlor’s lively director. Xiao treated the letter with utmost care as he turned it over, bringing it into his hands gingerly. His name occupied the front, neatly centered and written so carefully, so tenderly, not a single wandering stroke in sight. Always elegant, always refined, another stark contrast—this time between the adeptus known as Morax and the mortal known as Zhongli.
Time made you softer, he mused to himself. Not a negative in the slightest.
The seal required a bit of convincing to free its hold upon the paper. Persuasion was applied via a sharp, quick wind, slicing through the wax. It was a shame to destroy the beautiful impression but Xiao, while sentimental in the strangest ways, held no such feelings for the melted aftermath of a candle; a thought that would surely earn him ire from any calligrapher worth their brushstrokes. His curiosity was placed within the contents of the letter. Not the first of its kind but still an enigma nonetheless. Xiao was not the letter sending type. He had too much to do and never enough time to wind down and stare at a blank sheet of parchment paper until his mind felt inclined to produce something worth reading. Letter writing was a mortal sentiment, something they did to deliver news, whereas Xiao could merely manifest beside those he wished to converse with.
Zhongli had referred to it as romantic in the past, and that only caused his ears to flush with heat and Xiao to change the subject.
He had thought it selfish in the beginning, to yearn for a letter when the safety of Liyue was always at risk. It was Aether who taught him to search for a little light. Something to hope for, something to anchor his sanity and keep the braying in his soul at ease. So Xiao granted himself permission to indulge a little. Always in the moments of peace between his duties, in the twilight hours where the sun and moon battled against each other.
The residual scent of incense clung to the paper. At least, Xiao hoped it was incense, for the idea of Zhongli purchasing perfume just to send tidings was a tad ridiculous. Even merely handled by the former Archon, traces of energy resonated along his fingertips. It was a signature in itself, untraceable to a mortal but a heavy indicator for himself. He unfurled the letter with the same grace and care provided upon retrieval, perhaps even more. A trick of the light, surely, but Xiao was certain even the words flickered with power. Neat, tidy strokes, with just the right edge of elegance.
Xiao consumed each word carefully. The elegant prose, the metaphors, the details, all handpicked and arranged just for him. One section in particular stood out to him above all. A haiku, certainly toiled over, written just for him and, as he read it, a realization of the letter’s sole purpose.
Distance between us, whether mountaintop or plain, our hearts beat as one.
Adepti lacked a heart to beat. It did not sing. It did not hum. And even still, reading the haiku Zhongli had gifted him with, Xiao felt the void in his chest quiver with feeling. Something he never would have dared acknowledge in the past. Something that was reserved for mortals and their own once-frivolous connections. Something not meant for someone like him .
Still, it placated the storm within. Bright and warm, tangible in some forms, and every bit as scary and exhilarating as Xiao had always imagined it to be. Once shapeless, unnamed, unfelt, unheard of—now given palpable form demanding attention.
Love.
Xiao dropped the letter and jerked back, watching the paper as it fluttered to the table. Like it stung; like it branded him.
In the past, when their relationship deviated from master and servant, he had spent months adjusting. From formality to friendship, it was enough to send his mind reeling. The transition from companionship to courtship was a far cry from smooth. Xiao resisted that too, pulling away, ignoring the gentle touching, the way Morax held his gaze, the implications between each softly murmured word. All born from denial, for how could such a divine creature find solace in a mere extension of power.
Staring at the paper, the dregs of warmth fizzling out, they were replaced with trepidation. He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t nervous. It just felt … wrong? Even that felt too drastic of a descriptor. Zhongli’s words were so beautiful, full of yearning, and again Xiao found himself unworthy of such tenderness. Contemplation hot on the tip of his tongue, he folded the letter back into its confines and dissolved into a sharp wind, leaving behind only an echo of things unsaid and an untouched plate of Almond Tofu.
///
Guili Plains werecalm in the clutches of night. The grass swished gently in the warm air, rousing the fireflies from dew-soaked blades for their evening flights. More elements of peace unfound at Wangshu Inn but appreciated all the same.
Xiao seated himself on the edge of a pool, feet hovering just above the water’s surface. His own reflection stared back at him. Stoic and unyielding as it masked the storm raging beneath. The envelope balanced between two fingers, resting upon his knee. He examined it silently, repeating the letter’s contents to himself in perfect memorization. Even through his own voice, he stumbled over the haiku, recalling all those more worthy of such softness—but even he knew such a thought was unfair to himself.
As he finished reciting the final line, the atmosphere around his body shifted.
Warmer, as if enveloped in a hug. The very stone trembled beneath his legs, anticipating the arrival of the one who had created it. His scent reached him first, stronger than it had been within the paper. Calm, like an ancient meadow of Glaze Lilies bearing years of memories. It bore the aftermath of incense, just as the letter had. All those things could not mask the distinct tones of the one arriving to offer company.
Zhongli needed no introduction other than this. He settled in at Xiao’s side, an arm's length apart at most. His power brushed along his skin, soothing and comfortable, and the strange sense of nerves in his stomach quieted.
Xiao had not called for him, but he supposed he did not need to anymore; Zhongli just knew, and he manifested all the same.
“You feel … troubled,” the former Archon murmured, voice disturbing the nearby cranes.
His hold upon the letter tightened. A crease burst its way through the pristine paper. He had never been very good at hiding his emotions from Morax, so it was no surprise that Zhongli caught wind as well.
“May I join you, Xiao?”
The question surprised him, and Xiao could not prevent the way his head tilted back, eyes raking along Zhongli’s kind expression. His eyes were soft, a feature reserved for only those he harbored fondness for. Arms tucked at his back, coat perfectly symmetrical, and patience boundless; he was the order to Xiao’s chaos.
“You need not ask to spend time with me,” he answered, each word spilling from his lips in what felt like all the wrong ways.
“Perhaps not,” Zhongli continued, situating himself upon the stone at Xiao’s right side, “but it is nice to know your presence is wanted.”
Xiao eyed him with a tad of suspicion. He did not know whether those words were for Zhongli or himself. “… Have I made you feel unwelcome?”
“Of course not,” came the response, lightly chuckled. “I meant for you, Xiao. Your doubts carry upon even the faintest of winds.”
His gaze diverted back to the letter, a touch of embarrassment running its course through him. It was only natural for his energy to burst forth into the landscape, spilling into the Ley Lines as he sought to protect Liyue from those seeking to do it harm. Xiao had just never been aware of how much or what kind of energy that was. Having it presented so bluntly made him feel a little guilty though he was unable to discern why.
Zhongli, in all his perceptive glory, understood well enough to carry on. “I am glad my letter reached you so swiftly.”
Xiao’s hold lessened and the paper righted the imprints left by his fingers. It shone beneath the moonlight, standing out against the water’s glassy surface just as it had done upon the table. “It was a lovely read.” Far more than I deserved. “Guizhong would be proud of your prose.”
“There are many things Guizhong would be proud of,” Zhongli mused softly. “She would find happiness in knowing Liyue is so well protected—in knowing that our duties are drawing to a close.”
If those words were meant to comfort, they had the opposite effect, and Xiao’s shoulders slumped. It was not so simple for him to put away his polearm and sink into inaction. “… Are your flattering words to be utilized for distraction?”
“What do you mean?”
“Am I being relieved from protection?” Xiao whispered. “Have I not done well?”
Here, Zhongli lifted a hand and softly placed it upon the yaksha’s shoulder. Xiao allowed the touch, even leaned into it despite the new turmoil running amuck. A strand of hair was pushed behind his ear and it was the sheer softness of that action, how Xiao did not ask for it and yet Zhongli provided, that soothed him.
“You have done well for an unsung number of years, Xiao. Even if those in Liyue cannot see it, your actions do not go unnoticed.” Zhongli’s hand trailed down his shoulder, passing over the length of his arm and tickling at his exposed skin. He prodded gently at his hand, permission granted with a simple turn of his wrist. Their fingers slotted together in cliché perfection. Zhongli held him the way he held his favorite teacup. Gentle, reverent, but with firmness, so that if he were to fall, his descent would be caught by a strong, comforting hold. “My words were not meant to alarm you. Merely … with the rise of the Qixing, it may be time for you to rest.”
Xiao contemplated his words for a moment, eyes focusing heavily upon their joined hands. Even between fabric, gloves separating skin and warmth, it comforted him. Just as Zhongli intended. “What if I have not earned the right?” Spoken softly, lost to a gust of playful wind.
“You do not need to earn the right to rest, my dear Xiao.” Zhongli gently pinched his chin and guided the yaksha’s face towards him, so their eyes met beneath the moon’s gentle glow and exacerbated the raw emotion flickering like a heat haze between them. “You have defended Liyue for centuries, and I am certain fate would declare your debts paid.”
Retirement was … a foreign notion. Xiao had made peace with himself years ago, resigning himself to an immortal life spent protecting the lands. He had never complained and he had never for a moment entertained the idea of placing his polearm aside in favor of the mundane. Not like Morax had done. Such a luxury did not exist for him, nor had it ever been an option. Only duty, honor, and obedience. Yet here Zhongli was, offering him a concept with a dangerous implication.
But he knew he could not accept it; not yet.
“Not yet …” Xiao sighed, nuzzling into Zhongli’s hand. “Maybe once Aether has completed his journey. Then I will consider it.”
Zhongli smiled. “You throw yourself so wholeheartedly into passions.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “It is admirable. You are better than you give yourself credit for.”
Xiao watched him silently. Open and soft, perfectly readable, and he knew Zhongli was studying him just the same. “I … do not know how to be idle.”
“You will not have to be.” Zhongli leaned in close, their lips drawing near; Xiao remained still. “Retirement does not mean inactivity. Merely, your talents will be applied elsewhere.”
“What other talents do I have?” His words were a little harsh, and he immediately regretted it.
“You have many, Xiao, but you have never pursued them. Eternity will be on our sides, and then you will be able to indulge whatever you wish.” The words were punctuated with a kiss, passionate and soft, and Zhongli wrapped an arm around his waist to keep him close. There was no need for breath or words, just an unspoken tenderness as the kiss was deepened. Xiao leaned into him gratefully, clutching the letter to his chest while his other hand clutched weakly at Zhongli’s coat.
He lost track of time when they finally parted, Zhongli’s tongue retreating from his throat and heat flushed within his cheeks. But the moon had lowered a fraction, and he knew they had been engaged for awhile. Xiao bumped his forehead against the former Archon’s shoulder and hesitated there, a million little thoughts tiptoeing through his mind. He knew what he wanted though, and maybe Zhongli sensed that too.
“You will consider it then?” Zhongli whispered, stroking his head. “Retiring at my side?”
“I would do anything for you, Zhongli.” The words felt strange to say aloud, as if he would be chased into the Abyss for ever admitting such a thing. “Our hearts beat as one.”
“Our hearts beat as one,” Zhongli repeated, and he pulled Xiao closer. “Would it be bold of me to suggest retiring to bed for the evening?”
Xiao contemplated despite knowing his answer. He smiled into the folds of soft fabric and clung tighter. “No. I would be honored to spend the rest of the evening with you.”
The exchanged I love you was small, again stolen by the wind, where it sunk into the grass and nurtured the earth far below. Where it would continue to nurture the land, where every admission of affection afterwards would do the same. Xiao may not retire tomorrow, or in a year, or in five years, but the kernel of promise had popped deep within his gut. He could spend his time with Zhongli while Liyue continued without them, always learning, always growing, a place they had defended for years at each others’ sides.
And as Zhongli pressed him into the mattress that evening, stripping him bare of clothes and position, Xiao cried—he was free in the most carnal sense of the word. Safe in Zhongli’s arms, ears closed to outside turmoil; just their souls, joyfully singing as they indulged in desires left unattended far too long.
Distance between us, whether mountaintop or plain, our hearts beat as one.
Distance between them, now separated by a fold in sheets, where as close to a heart as they had beat in unity; their own slice of paradise.