Archive of Our Own

“Okay, so this is normally where I hand you off to someone who has been working here for a while so they can show you the ropes.” Jean’s smile tightens slightly, as evidenced by the wrinkles that form in the corners of her eyes. “However, we’re currently severely understaffed so…”

Venti grins brightly. “...So let’s hope that computer training was sufficient?” 

“Exactly.” Jean exhales, shoulders relaxing the teeniest amount. “If you need anything, call me. But you did well on the training modules and the job is pretty simple.”

Venti’s wide smile doesn’t dim one bit as he steadfastly holds close to his heart the fact that he worked in this very hotel for the first six months after it opened. 

52 years ago. 

(The computers are new, of course. The fancy key card machine, too.)

“Don’t you worry about little old me! I’ll be totally fine. It’s not like this place is majorly haunted or anything.” 

Jean stands at the edge of the front desk, purse and coat thrown over her elbow, in utter, telling silence. 

“This place isn’t majorly haunted, is it?” Venti racks his brain for a recollection of a stray murder in the last few decades and can’t come up with anything. The last big tragedy in this town came over a century ago, and it was all the way on the other side of the mountain so…

“I wouldn’t say the hotel is majorly haunted.” Biting her lip, Jean shifts her weight from foot to foot. “As I’m sure you know, this side of the city presides over the resting place of many old gods. There’s a lot of residual energy here.”

Venti knows all too well. He’s lived much, much longer than his youthful face betrays. So much longer, in fact, that he still retains a powerful reserve of the elemental energy of the ancient days when gods walked among the common people—unlike the lucky few mortals who may have a teeny, tiny amount of magic left for pallid parlor tricks and not much else. 

“Which means there are some manifestations of the magic and ever burning will of the gods that show up in the form of entirely harmless poltergeists.” Jean shifts her eyes to the side. “Additionally, spirits may be attracted to the remnant power here.” 

“May be,” Venti repeats, a single brow raised in obvious disbelief .

“...Perhaps it is best you find out for yourself. They do react differently to each person. I assure you, they are all completely harmless. I’ve never in my ten years at this hotel seen any of them become vengeful or do anything more severe than knocking a cup of coffee to the ground.”

A loud, jaunty jingle plays from somewhere on Jean’s person. Venti recognizes the tune as the opening to that really popular kid’s cartoon about a family of pigs.

Her cheeks flush slightly as she fumbles with her purse to try to find her cell phone.. “I’m so sorry, that’s my niece calling me. I have to go pick her up, so I’ll be taking my leave now. But please, call me if you need anything.”

And with that, Venti is left alone at the front desk he hasn’t had the absolute joy of sitting behind in several decades. The uniforms have slightly improved at least, with nothing more than a vague instruction to not wear leggings with his obviously well-worn, branded polo Jean handed him exactly seven minutes ago. 

(He wore leggings anyway.)

Shrugging, he scrolls half-heartedly through the list of arrivals set to come in today. Jean had briefly let him poke around the system on his first day last week, so it’s medium-familiar to him at least. 

He isn’t surprised, really, that things have turned out this way. This is the oldest hotel in town that’s never been completely torn down and built back up in the name of renovation. He’s more surprised that the place is still up and running, even if it’s with bare-bones staff that turns over at an extremely alarming rate. 

Well, for the foreseeable future this is his home away from home. 

Spirits and all. 

Nevermind that he picked this particular hotel because his immortal nature tends to attract the more… ferocious of spirits, and he had been certain this was the least likely place to house anything malevolent. 

Whatever! It’ll be a new and fun and not at all frightening experience!

…Right?

👻

It isn’t until the sun sets that things start happening. 

Things.

Maybe it’s because the bartender and cook leave right as the sun slips behind the horizon, so he’s well and fully alone at that point. Maybe it’s because spirit activity is stronger at night. Maybe it’s because Venti is psyching himself up, who knows?

It starts with the elevators. 

Opening, closing with no one in them. No ding of the mechanical bell to alert him that someone is calling the lift, no arrow to indicate the elevator is moving between floors. Nope. Just. Opening and closing. 

The first night, that’s really all that happens. 

(Besides having to call animal control because some asshole decided to leave their dogs unattended in their room and the barking kept everyone on that floor awake.)

The next night, things start falling off the desk even though no one is around and Venti isn’t anywhere near the thing. It’s usually pens. 

For funsies—and because this is his life now and there’s nothing he can do about it at all—he lets them gather in a pile on the floor until the end of his shift. When 9pm hits that third night and there’s not a peep in the lobby, he bundles them all up in a rubber band and puts them in a cup to test the spirits. 

They still manage to pluck them out of the bunch, one by one, and drop them into a hefty mound of pens on the stained carpet that probably hasn’t been replaced in this century. 

The spirits are funny, at least, and harmless like Jean said. 

On the fourth night, Venti ditches the very dead front desk not long after the restaurant downstairs closes and meanders the halls. Jean did give him a very brief tour on his second day of computer training, but now with a master key in hand and not a single scheduled arrival, he can take his time to relearn every single nook and cranny of the place.

Unfortunately, the spirits seem to have grown attached to him already. 

Be it the vast well of elemental reserves in his soul or the aura of an immortal, something has obviously attracted them to Venti. He briefly entertains the idea of starting in the basement level to get the inevitably most creepy place over and done with, but the moment he steps out from behind the desk he feels a chill zip up his spine, followed by the faintest of whispers in his ear uttering something nonsensical, the syllables so strange it must be a forgotten language. 

Maybe it’s best that he keeps the spookiest stuff for last. 

Top floor it is! 

After watching the elevators traverse the entire vertical length of the building with no outside influence for the past few nights, Venti skips the mechanical death boxes altogether and heads up the stairwell. The chill he felt earlier hangs over his head, wraps around his neck, sinks into the meat of his shoulders like a weighted blanket. It only grows heavier with each step he takes up the creaky carpeted stairs. 

Cool. Cool cool cool. Totally cool. 

By the time he reaches the third floor, he feels like he has the weight of an entire school bus full of children on his back. The ambient temperature is at least five degrees colder than it was by the front desk, even though he knows enough from his few stints through high school science to know that hot air rises and the top floor should be the warmest in the building. 

Totally cool. Yupp, that’s Venti. Cool as a cucumber.

He hums a gentle tune under his breath, one he picked up from a Liyuen exorcist during his most recent visit there. It’s probably not going to do anything about the spirits, but the music soothes the rapid jackhammering of his heart a little, anyway. 

As he walks down the hallway, trailing his finger along the molding at hip height on the wall, he can’t help but to think that Jean outright lied to him when she said it wasn’t majorly haunted. 

What, exactly, would she consider majorly haunted, if this is minor?

No one is checked into the rooms on this floor—all the rooms are blocked off for maintenance in anticipation for the busy tourist season in the summer. Which means it’s eerily quiet, this little ghost town. 

Ha, get it? Because Venti has a whole slew of ghosts hanging off his back?

…Anyway. 

The third floor is kinda creepy, honestly, because it’s so quiet. Curiosity getting the better of him, Venti opens up the door at the very end of the hall furthest away from the stairwell. In the dim light that spills into the dark room from the hallway, Venti makes out the outline of something tall, about human height, covered in what is probably a plastic tarp but looks like a creepy dude wearing a blanket. 

He slams the door shut and speedwalks back down the hall. 

He certainly does not sprint.

Okay, he thinks, his own thoughts barely loud enough to be heard over the rapid thumthumthumping of his heart beating wildly against his ribs, not doing that again.

Venti beelines down the two flights of stairs and isn’t able to breathe again until he’s comfortably seated in the rickety office chair stationed behind the front desk. His shoulders feel lighter, his chest less tense, but still a sick sense of cold dread tingles at the back of his neck. 

Shaking his head as if that would shake off the feeling, Venti pulls out the book he brought to pass the time tonight. It’s a cheesy teen romance novel, one of the ones about a human falling impossibly in love with a supernatural being under the guise of the two being star-crossed lovers. It’s the kind of thing Aether constantly teases him about enjoying. But Venti has always been an unapologetic lover of all things romantic, so boo on Aether. 

Just as he cracks open the cover to the first page, Venti catches sight of movement from the corner of his eye. He jerks his head up, but there’s nothing in front of the counter. He shifts his eyes to the TV mounted to the wall, scanning the different security camera windows spread across the screen. Nothing by the door, nothing in the lobby, nothing—

Aha, by the east stairwell. 

Venti scrambles for the remote shoved into the bottom of the lousy desk drawer, digging through mayonnaise packets and half-empty plastic flatware packs left by the previous swing shift employee. He finally wraps his fingers around the flimsy plastic, swiveling in his chair to start clicking through the different camera views to try to follow whatever that thing was. 

It was definitely moving way too fast to be a human, that’s for sure. 

Several camera outputs flash across the screen for a half-second at a time until finally Venti lands on a view of the basement floor, at what looks like the east end of the building. There, at the very edge of the frame, what looks like a human-shaped smudge in front of room 003. 

It doesn’t move. But it looks out of place all the same. Like it’s not supposed to be there. 

Hm. 

Venti quickly clicks through the rest of the security cameras, just in case. He doesn’t see anything else weird, and for that he’s eternally grateful.

Just that one smudge in front of that room in the basement. 

If the sense of cold dread from the top floor exploration earlier wasn’t still hanging over his head, Venti would go investigate. But it is, so he stays rooted in his seat at the front desk, cracking open his book while he makes a mental note to ask Jean about it at his next shift. 

👻

“Did something happen in the basement?”

Jean’s fingers still over her keyboard. She doesn’t move her eyes from her dual-computer screens. “What do you mean?”

Venti shrugs, leaning into the small window between the front desk area and Jean’s office. “I’m pretty sure I saw a ghost near one of the rooms down there on the security cameras last night.”

“Oh, that.” Jean lifts a hand, digs her fingers into her temple. “There was a death in one of the basement rooms close to twenty years ago… I can’t quite remember which room. It might be that one.”

“A death?!” Venti leans further onto his elbows. He has to rise to his tip-toes to reach that far through the window. “You said this place wasn’t haunted!”

“It’s not like it was a gruesome murder, Venti. The man died of completely natural causes. He was here because he was in and out of procedures at the hospital nearby.” Jean shoots him a pointed look far too severe for her gentle features. “I highly doubt it’s his ghost.”

“I don’t believe in coincidence, dearest Jean~.” Venti singsongs. “Was there anyone else in the room, maybe? A parent or their kid or something?”

Jean lifts a finger to her chin thoughtfully. “Like I said, I wasn’t here when it happened… but I’ve heard that the man in that room had a lover who stayed with him.”

“Jean!” Venti shouts. “That’s incredibly pertinent information!”

Jean rolls her eyes. Venti feels like it’s a fond rolling of her eyes, at least. Without another word, she turns back to her email or whatever important front desk manager stuff she has to deal with. 

Alright. New plan for after sunset tonight. 

👻

It’s uncanny how different the very atmosphere feels once it’s just Venti, sitting at the front desk, all alone until the night auditor comes in at midnight. 

(Or, y’know. Whatever time the guy actually decides to show up.)

Undoubtedly it’s the spirits crawling out of their daytime hiding spots to mess with Venti. 

Well, whatever. He has a goal tonight. 

The second the front door shuts behind the prep cook, Venti pulls out the TV remote and clicks over to the east basement camera. Sure enough, there stands the vague grayish silhouette of a man standing outside of room 003. From this distance—and considering the low quality of the camera itself—it looks like the ghost takes up nearly the entire height of the door frame in the shape of a tall, lithe man. There’s a small fleck that seems to glow, right where the man’s eyes would be, were he alive. 

A shudder races up Venti’s spine. 

Call it fright and anticipation in equal parts. 

Venti rises from his seat and places the hand-made sign he wrote up last night that says Be right back! Ring bell for assistance :) onto the counter.

 It’s go time. 

He ignores the spirits that cling to the back of his sweater this time. He read in an article last night that ignoring the spirits can help with keeping their antics at bay, and honestly he’s willing to give anything a shot at this point. 

Again, he bypasses the elevators entirely. If he’s going to die by malignant spirits, it’s not going to be because he was stupid enough to get into a haunted elevator—one that, even if it’s not haunted, at least has some faulty wiring. 

He takes the stairs two at a time, his heart beating a million miles an hour. Sure, he’s had spirits messing with him since he stepped foot into this hotel a couple weeks ago, but this is an actual, honest to Celesta ghost.  

With an obvious problem, if he’s been here for a whopping twenty years. 

Venti’s always had a penchant for sticking his nose into other people’s business. This whole thing just reeks of Venti!

Unfortunately for him, as he reaches the last step, the quietly thrumming sense of foreboding tingling at the back of his neck amplifies ten—no, a hundred fold. To be fair, he did get a really creepy feeling from the basement that first day he got a tour of the building. But now? Alone, knowing that there’s a ghost harboring a decades-long attachment to the physical realm?

Super fucking creepy.

And of course, because why not, room 003 is at the end of the hall. The very end of the hall. 

Venti finds himself once again traipsing down the hall, humming that tune the Liyuen exorcist taught him, with a master keycard in his clutches. 

011… 009… oh, 005, okay 007 doesn’t exist… ah. 

003.

Venti stops in front of the door and.

Oh. 

Oh.

The blurry gray smudge on the TV does not do this man—ghost-man?—justice. 

Good gods. 

Though he’s still a bit transparent, obviously incorporeal, Venti can make out his features clearly. Long, long hair frames a sharply chiseled face; that tall, impossibly tall, lean frame is adorned in what looks like a very fancy suit Venti might find in a vintage porno or the dusty back corner of a thrift store; and those eyes.

No wonder they glowed so brightly even through the grainy pixels of the security camera. 

Yellow meets orange meets red in what someone as sappy as Venti would venture to say is reminiscent of a blazing sunset. He’s never seen anything quite like it. 

It’s weird. Venti’s staring, that’s definitely super weird. 

But what’s even weirder is that the ghost guy is staring back at him. Ghostie Guy doesn’t move a muscle (do ghosts have muscles?), doesn’t move out of the way for Venti, does not try to run away or hide or anything. HIs eyes follow Venti’s movements, gaze sharp as a hawk’s, and yet he does not move.  

Well… It wouldn’t hurt to check out the ghost-guarded room, Venti reasons. There aren’t any guests checked in to the basement floor right now, and Ghostie Guy obviously doesn’t care about what Venti does, so…

Venti reaches forward with the hand gripping the keycard. He gets it to hip-height before he pushes forward to insert the card into the slot. 

Except he’s stopped when his hand bumps into something solid. 

Instead of his hand slipping right through the apparition…

Venti’s eyes widen as he stares down at his fingers pushed up against the very, very corporeal fabric of Ghostie Guy’s formal waistcoat. 

So. Ghostie Guy is significantly less ghost-y than Venti thought. 

Turns out Venti isn’t the only one shocked in this situation, if the disbelieving stare Ghostie Guy has firmly trained on Venti is anything to go by. 

“You can see me,” Ghostie Guy says. 

In a voice that is… hard to describe. One, because it’s super deep and a little rough and has a rich timbre that’s super fucking hot. Two, because it seems to echo in Venti’s ears, unlike anything he’s ever heard before. Definitely something otherworldly.

Venti swallows thickly. He can’t move his hand. “I can,” he manages. 

“You can hear me.”

“I can, yepp.”

“...You can also touch me.”

Venti nods with way, way too much enthusiasm. The delirium must be  starting to set in, he thinks. “Aha, sure can!” To emphasize his point, Venti splays his palm flat against Ghostie Guy’s hip. 

Ghostie Guy’s ghost brows furrow. He opens his mouth to say something, but before that weirdly soothing, echoey voice can vocalize anything, the bell upstairs rings. 

Incessantly. 

Venti looks down where his hand is still pressed against the surprisingly warm body of the… ghost. The almost-ghost. Half-ghost?

“Ehe,” Venti giggles, surprisingly breathless. “Guess I better go deal with that.”

Ghostie Guy nods, brows still all scrunched up cutely. 

Venti flashes one more smile he hopes is just as brilliant and charming as his normally are because the last thing he wants is to scare away the first ghost he ever comes into contact with. 

(Like, literal contact. The half-baked spirits that follow him around don’t count.)

Hesitantly, as if the second he ceases to touch Ghostie Guy will dissipate into thin air, Venti removes his hand and backs away slowly. Only once he’s about half way down the hall and Ghostie Guy is still present does Venti turn the other direction to walk like a normal person. He climbs the stairs, barely resisting the urge to turn his head around to make sure Ghostie Guy is still there. 

When he reaches the top step, the guest at the counter—who is still ringing that stupid bell like it’s their job—catches sight of him. 

“Finally, I was beginning to think no one works here!”

Venti’s smile melts into the plasticky, fake customer service one that’s a tad too wide and shows a smidge too much teeth. “Nope, just me I’m afraid! What can I do for ya?”

“Well!” The guest places their hands on their hips. “My WiFi isn’t working.”

Venti’s grin widens half a centimeter. “Of course it’s not.”

👻

The minute he clocks in, Venti pulls out the TV remote and clicks over to the basement security camera channel. Last night he ended up stuck in an endless loop of help my WiFi isn’t working and help my shower won’t turn on, so he couldn’t go back to his less-ghostie-than-he-thought Ghostie Guy.

Tonight is a new day, though, and Venti is determined to figure out what in Celestia is happening with this guy’s soul!

All the hope he’s built up in his body evaporates when the east basement security camera footage pops up on the screen, only to show a few doors and a very, very empty hallway. 

No Ghostie Guy. 

Not even a little smudge or spec anywhere that could maybe loosely be interpreted as an incorporeal smear. 

Nothing.

Frowning, Venti quickly clicks through the rest of the security cameras just in case Ghostie Guy has decided to move around today. There’s nothing wrong with taking a leisurely walk every once in a while, anyway. 

But even after he’s gone through the entire property, nothing. 

At all. 

Venti’s frown deepens. 

“Ah, Venti,” Jean's voice calls from her back office. She slides open the small window that lets her see into the front desk area. “How are you?”

“Not bad,” Venti says lightly, eyes still glued to the TV screen as he flicks through the different channels, slower this time. Just in case. 

“Hm. You’ve been doing well, even with the less than stellar training.” It seems Jean doesn’t bother with giving Venti her undivided attention anyway, her keyboard keys clacking away. “Thanks for being so understanding about that, by the way.” 

Venti waves a hand dismissively. “No worries. Hey, have you seen that ghost from 003 today?” 

The typing stops. A hefty sigh fills the silence. “You and these ghosts.” 

Venti hums thoughtfully. “Yeah. Me and these ghosts.” 

“I can’t say I’ve seen it today,” Jean supplies after a moment of reluctance. “Say, Venti?”

“Hm?” Venti’s gaze scours the TV screen for any hint to Ghostie Guy. 

“You don’t—” Jean clears her throat. Through the little window, Venti hears her office chair squeak as she shifts her weight. “You don’t happen to be, well… older than you look, by chance?” Her words are innocuous enough, but by her tone, Venti knows. Knows that she knows. 

Or, at least, suspects.

Venti’s brows shoot into his hairline. He sets down the remote, swiveling in his own chair to finally look at Jean. He cocks his head, feigning as much innocence as he can muster. It’s easy enough with this face, chubby cheeks and wide eyes. “Whatever do you mean?” 

A flush petals across Jean’s cheeks. “A-ah, it’s just—you look quite young, but you act…”

“I have been told I look younger than I am,” Venti says slowly. “Quite a bit younger, in fact.”

Jean is quiet for a moment, lip pulled between her teeth. “Right,” she says eventually. “In any case, you’ve been doing wonderfully. I am grateful for all your hard work.” 

Well. If Jean does realize he’s immortal, she’s taking it stupendously. If she doesn’t, then, well, at least Venti won’t have to worry about weird scientists knocking on his door asking him for samples of bodily fluids. 

(Again.)

“Hey, Jean.” Venti clicks back to the main channel on the TV, the one that has the most important cameras on it. 

Jean hums affirmatively from her office. 

“Do you mind watching the desk for a second while I go check on room 003? It’s gonna kill me if I don’t go.”

“...Is this one of your, ah… old friends, perhaps?”

“Pft.” Venti shakes his head. “No. But maybe a new one.” 

That certainly doesn’t erase the confusion from Jean’s face. “Um. Well. That’s okay, I suppose. Hurry back.” 

Venti grins, throws Jean a two-finger salute, and is off to the basement. 

Unfortunately, the only supernatural thing that greets him is that bone-chilling cold sensation, like being dunked into the Snezhnayan ocean in the middle of winter. No Ghostie Guy in front of room 003. 

Ugh. 

Venti pulls out the bell key he swiped from the desk on his way out, hastily inserting it into the lock so he can get this door open finally. The key slides in, the indicator light flashes green, and just as Venti pushes down the handle, something audibly slams into the other side of the door. 

Um. 

He’s pretty sure that’s not supposed to happen. Venti swallows down his apprehension. 

Regardless, Venti pushes on the door to open it, but the thing won’t budge. 

He jimmies the handle and tries to force it open, to no avail. 

He sticks the key in again. Gets the green light. Pushes down on the handle—

This time, the handle doesn’t move more than an inch. Like someone is holding onto it from the inside. 

No.

Way.

No way!

Venti lets go of the handle in lieu of slamming his open palms against the door repeatedly. “Let me in!” He curls his hands into fists, knocking rapidly. Loudly. “I know you’re in there, let me in! I just want to talk, I promise!”

He tries to move the handle again. It doesn’t even budge the inch it had before. 

“Ugh!” Venti slams his palm against the surface one last time. “Why are you running away? You’re doing a really bad job of it, by the way! You’ve locked yourself in! You didn’t even leave!”

“I don’t know what you are,” that haunting, echoey voice says through the door. It sounds just as clear as it had last night when Ghostie Guy was right in front of him with no obstruction. “I cannot let you in here before I know it is safe to do so.”

Venti laughs ruefully. “You don’t know what I am? I’m a person who’s curious about you, that’s all.”

“While I’m unsure of your true nature, I know for certain you are no human.” 

Sighing, Venti presses his forehead against the door. 

“Not all humans are pure of heart, of course,” Ghostie Guy adds. “However, no human has ever been able to see me, let alone come into physical contact with me. You cannot be human.”

“You sound pretty sure about that.” Venti squeezes his eyes shut as he waits for a response. 

“I am.” Ghostie Guy is quiet for a moment, two, three. “I will unravel your true nature to determine if your intentions are honest. Only then will I let you pass.”

Venti opens his eyes, glares at the carpet beneath his beat-up sneakers. “You’re being exceedingly difficult.” 

“I have been told I can be a bit stubborn, that is true.”

A chuckle punches its way out of Venti’s chest. “Can I at least know your name? Since you’ll be investigating me and all.”

A pause.

And then, “Zhongli. You may call me Zhongli.”

👻

Because it’s modern times, Venti immediately looks up this Zhongli character. He doesn’t come up with any results aside from an article titled ‘Fifteen Vintage Names for your Baby Boy,’ which isn’t exactly helpful right now. 

It does remind him that this is a ghost Venti’s looking up. Someone who was alive, and presumably in his, like, 30s a few decades ago. 

So he changes a few of his search settings so he gets news articles from 50 to 15 years ago and tries again. 

Even with those adjustments, nothing of value crops up. One academic article about some archeological expedition apparently mentions someone by the name of Zhongli, but it doesn’t matter anyway because none of the old logins from Venti’s few tries at college work to get past the paywall. 

Ugh. Nothing. 

Of course Ghostie Guy is going to be impossible to figure out. 

Venti spends the rest of his shift pouting petulantly. Pouting, and researching how to draw ghosts out of their hiding places. 

👻

The next day, he walks into the hotel armed with a plan. And a tupperware container full of soup he begged Aether to make for him. 

(He would have made it himself, but the internet told him the food has to be perfect, and Aether is the only person Venti knows who can make genuinely authentic Liyuen cuisine.)

Jean gives him a strange look when she spies the jumbo size bowl full of soup but doesn’t say anything about it. She tells him the day was slow and there’s nothing of note, and then she’s gone. 

So Venti waits.

Once the sun has set and the restaurant closes, Venti is truly alone. The spirits are already clamoring over the counter and giving Venti the heebie jeebies, but whatever. He’s not going to be deterred. 

He has a plan. 

Once again he sets up the handwritten sign and the bell and traipses down the stairwell. The basement greets him with its normal chill and a phantom tug at the edge of his sweater. 

Time to get to work. 

The air gets colder and colder the further down the hall he walks. He convinces himself it’s purely because of the basement’s increase in ghost activity and has absolutely nothing to do with the pit hanging heavy in the bottom of his gut. 

He makes it to 003. Still there’s no phantom form standing watch in front of the door. Just as well. 

You see, Venti spent approximately four hours that he should’ve been sleeping trying to figure out how to get the ghost out. The internet—man’s best invention, if Venti says so himself, and he’s seen a lot of inventions through the centuries—told him that an offering is the best way to get ghosts to do your bidding. 

What’s a better offering than a warm, home cooked meal from your homeland?

Venti doesn’t bother with knocking, knowing full well that this Ghostie Guy—Zhongli, whatever that obviously fake name is supposed to mean—senses Venti’s presence. Instead, he plops down onto the carpet. He vaguely remembers Jean mentioning something about this carpet having only been replaced once in the hotel’s history and steam cleaned only once a year, but brushes it off. 

He sets the bowl in front of the door, nestles a pair of chopsticks he swiped from Aether’s drawer of takeout accoutrements onto the lid, and leans back against the wall. 

“Y’know,” Venti says lightly, grin spread across his lips even if he has that icky poltergeist feeling crawling up his ankles, “I know you gave me a fake name.”

The ground beneath his thighs trembles slightly, shaking as if the very earth under his feet is laughing. 

“What makes a name fake, exactly?” 

That ethereal voice filters through the air, like he’s talking directly into Venti’s ear. 

Super fucking creepy. 

“Names are nothing more than labels used to identify us,” Zhongli says. “Names are a construct, a social marker. What could possibly make one more fake than any other?”

Venti rolls his eyes until they feel like they’re going to be permanently stuck to the back of his skull. 

“In any case,” Zhongli continues, because of course this ghost is going to be long-winded, if only to annoy Venti even more, “Venti is not the only name you have gone by, correct? One could say you parade around with a fake name, then.”

“What, a fake name for you to type into your Ghost Google?” 

“I don’t know what a ‘google’ is.” 

“Of course you don’t,” Venti mutters. 

There’s the faintest whisper on the other side of the door, like Zhongli is moving against something solid, but he never appears on this side of the door. “My research into your true nature has been prosperous.”

Venti hums thoughtfully, rests his head against the wall. “Oh yeah? Does that mean you’ll let me in?”

“My curiosity has not been fully sated, so I am unfortunately unable to do so at this time.” 

“You’re awfully polite for someone who’s being so mean to me.”

Zhongli doesn’t grace him with a response. Except maybe a slight breeze that rustles Venti’s bangs, but that could also be the faulty air conditioning system on this floor.

The silence is weird. Super creepy. Hella spooky, actually. 

And is broken only by Venti’s stomach letting out a voracious growl. 

Ugh, right. He should probably eat because it’s been—a glance down at his phone tells him it’s been six hours since he last ate anything. 

Well, good thing there’s perfectly edible soup right there, huh! Even if it’s supposed to be a ghost offering. 

Shrugging, Venti cracks open the lid and nearly cries when the heavenly aroma of the soup hits him. Bless Aether. 

“Is that bamboo shoot soup?”

“Depends. If I say yes, will you come out?” 

A telling silence. 

“Okay, well, it is bamboo shoot soup. Hella authentic, too. Made by my best friend who lived in Liyue for a while.” 

“Define a while.” 

Venti grins. “You’re not getting information out of me that easily, old man.”

If ghosts could sigh, Zhongli would be sighing right now. “I cannot eat in his form.” 

“Cannot or will not?” Venti dips a spoon into the creamy broth, swirling noodles around with the chopsticks in his left hand. “Have you even tried to eat since you died?” 

“Who said I’m dead?” 

That has Venti completely flustered, dropping his chopsticks and spoon into the giant bowl of soup unceremoniously. He twists his neck around to stare at the still closed door of 003, eyes wide with shock. “You’re not dead? How are you a ghost if you’re not dead?!”

“Perhaps I’m not a ghost.” That preternatural voice, low and rumbly, seeps into Venti’s very bones, wraps around his neck. “You make numerous assumptions.”

Venti splutters. “W-what? How?! But you’re all spooky and smudgy and creepy!” 

“Ah. You have your secrets; I have mine.” 

“Ugh.” Venti huffs, slumping back against the door. “You’re no fun.” 

“I find myself quite entertained at the moment, actually.” 

👻

The next day, Venti brings in lotus crisps from the Liyuen bakery across the street from his apartment as his ghost—not ghost(?) apparently—offering for the night. Sure, Zhongli didn’t step out of the room. Nor did he take a bite of the soup, but he was intrigued, so it’s a step in the right direction. 

Besides, everyone loves sweets, right? They’re irresistible. 

(Venti hopes as much, anyway.)

And on top of all of that, Venti had a moment of clarity last night and finally looked up more about the death that happened in this hotel twenty years ago. Sure, he didn’t find a lot, but he did find a name. 

Oh, sorry—a social marker.  

Once again, he waits until he’s alone, and then he makes his way to the basement. At this point, the creepy spirit chills don’t even bother him; it’s like wearing a second skin as far as he’s concerned. He traipses down the hallway without a care in the world. Just him, the poltergeists clinging to the hem of his sweater, and the box of lotus crisps tucked into the crook of his elbow. 

Setting the box down in front of the door like he did with the soup last night, Venti settles into the carpet next to the doorframe, criss-cross-applesauce. 

“I bring you lotus crisps today,” Venti announces loudly. “They weren’t cheap, I’ll have you know.” 

“You continue to bring Liyuen classics.” Again, that rumbly timbre sends shockwaves through Venti’s veins. “How old do you believe me to be?”

Venti giggles. “Not that old. Unless you are…?”

“A poor effort at extracting information from me. You can do better.” 

Rolling his eyes, Venti cracks open the cardboard box. It has been a while since he’s indulged in such a treat. He grabs the pastry on top, relishing in the sweet scent that emanates from the neat stacks. “That’s fair. I don’t really care how old you are though, honestly—”

Not least of all because Venti has frankly lost count of how many centuries he himself has lived….

“—but there is something I would like to know. Specifically.”

“I cannot guarantee I will answer.”

Venti huffs. “Who is Azhdaha?” He raises the fluffy pastry to his lips, but before he can take a bite, it’s knocked from his hands. 

Zhongli towers over him, icy rage rolling off of him in tangible waves that wash over Venti, like freezing cold waves lapping at his skin. “Where did you learn that name?” he seethes, his rough voice practically visible with how harsh it is—kind of like a dragon growling out smoke-laden words.

Venti can’t look away from those eyes, now glowing with more intensity than the last time he’d seen them. 

“Speak.” It’s not a request. 

A demand. 

Venti swallows thickly but doesn’t shift his gaze. “Deaths are public record.” Who knew all it would take is a little bit of provocation to get Zhongli to come out finally?

“I do not understand.” Zhongli’s brows furrow. Venti can see the weird painting on the wall behind him through his half-transparent body. “I made sure to leave his remains with Wangsheng, where the Hu family would protect the circumstances of his… demise.”

“Right…” Venti nods, standing. He brushes nonexistent dirt from the back of his shorts and clears his throat. “Things have changed a lot since you were ali—last around. Pretty much everything is available on the internet now. Family secrets included.”

Zhongli doesn’t move away from Venti, frigid air still seeping into Venti’s clothes from the proximity. “Internet? I’m unfamiliar with this concept.” 

“It was definitely around before this whole thing, but I guess it has only gotten more common in the last, like, decade.” Venti purses his lips. “Surely you’ve seen all the computers around.”

“Hm.” Not-ghost-Zhongli raises a finger to his chin. “I have only moved from this floor a seldom few times since taking post here…”

“You were at the front desk last week,” Venti says, accusatory. 

“That is true. Though that was the first time I have moved in a long while.”

“Wow, okay, so you’re really clueless.” Venti quirks a brow. “You know nothing about technology?” 

“That depends entirely on your definition of technology. Those chopsticks you were using with poor form last night are technology in their own right.” 

Venti rolls his eyes. “Chopsticks are ancient— hey, wait, did you just insult me?!”

“Ancient technology is still technology nonetheless.” 

“Technically I guess you’re right.” 

“I was unaware there was a sliver of doubt that I was correct.” 

“You’re impossible.” 

“I find you difficult to handle as well.” 

“Argh!” Venti throws his hands up in frustrated surrender. “Will you just—just tell me who you are? What you are, since you’re apparently not a ghost? What you’re doing here, haunting up this hotel for decades?!”

“Perhaps,” Zhongli says slowly, “we could form a contract.”

Venti breathes in deeply. Slowly. Counts to three, releases the air from his lungs. “A contract.” 

“Correct. You wish to gain information from me as I wish to gain information from you. Hence, a mutually beneficial contract would alleviate troubles for both parties.” 

“To what end?” Venti crosses his arms over his chest. 

Zhongli mirrors his posture, noodly half-see-through hands slotting into the bend of his elbows. “I believe that is the matter to discuss, indeed.” 

Venti makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. Zhongli quirks a single eyebrow in response. “Just! I want to know why you’re here! Maybe help you along if you are dead!”

At that, Zhongli narrows his eyes. Their colour is still bright, but less blazing. 

“If you’re dead. I don’t know if you are because you’ve been nothing but confusing since I met you.” Venti sighs heavily. “But if you’re not dead, you’re still, like, trapped here or something, and I want to help you get un-trapped.”

“I am but a stranger to you.” Zhongli steps closer, ever closer, until the toes of his shoes are nearly touching Venti’s. “Why do you wish to rid this place of my presence?”

“Celestia, it’s not that I’m trying to kick you out. I just… want to help you find peace, or whatever.” Venti chuckles drily. “I’ve never really been one for exorcisms. I don’t really know how this whole thing works. Call it morbid curiosity.”

“It sounds to me like boredom.” 

Venti jerks his head up. 

Zhongli’s eyes are shining with something different, even moreso than his usual, ah, supernatural gaze. 

“Maybe it is.”

Zhongli considers him for a moment longer before nodding curtly. “It is settled, then. I will tell you my story; you will tell me yours. Once we know more about our respective situations, we can amend the contract to include more stipulations, should one or both of us choose to pursue further action using said information.” 

He can’t help but crack a lopsided grin. “I never thought I’d make a contract with a ghost.” 

Completely steamrolling over Venti’s arguably misplaced humor, Zhongli says, “My word is as steady as stone, if the contract is amenable to you.”

“Sure, sure, that all sounds good to me.” Venti sticks out a hand. “Shake on it?” 

Zhongli matches his motion, slotting a gloved hand into Venti’s grasp. “Whoever shall break the terms of this contract will face the Wrath of the Rock.” 

“Ooh, that sounds serious.” 

“It is quite serious, I assure you.”

👻

They decide to meet the next night to fulfill the contract, if only because the bell at the front desk beckoned Venti back to his job, much to his chagrin. 

He wanted to know more about Ghostie Guy immediately.  

(Patience has never been a virtue of his.)

This time, Venti brings a classic dish of Mondstadt potatoes. He even shaped them into little puppy paws, like an old friend showed him many moons ago. Surely he’s already won Zhongli’s favour, so he doesn’t need to butter him up with Liyuen food anymore—a decision that has absolutely nothing to do with Aether’s firm rejection to make yet another labour intensive dish for Venti. 

Like clockwork, the cook and bartender leave at 8:15pm, Venti sets up his away message and accompanying bell, and then he’s off to the basement. 

He’d be lying if he denied that his heart beats a little faster today, his blood rushing in his ears extra loudly, his fingers tapping on any solid surface more than normal. 

He’s about to learn about a ghost! Can you blame him?!

Sure, sure, he has to give up some information about himself in exchange but—c’mon, a ghost! Venti’s been around for a while and he’s never had the ability to interact with a ghost like this before. 

It’s with an extra pep in his step that he traipses down the hall and plops himself down in front of 003. Zhongli isn’t waiting for him outside the room, the meanie. He thought they were past the whole ‘hiding from Venti’s sight’ thing, but apparently they aren’t. 

After tonight, though, things’ll be different. They have to be. 

Venti fiddles with the edge of the tupperware container, restless. He hasn’t really thought about what would come after Zhongli tells him about this Azhdaha character or why he’s stuck here. Heck, he hasn’t even thought about what Zhongli could possibly want with the information he’s about to fork over on a silver platter. 

Immortals are rare these days, and in high demand from some icky people with less than stellar intentions. 

And if Zhongli isn’t actually dead…

Venti swallows thickly. Ha, Zhongli sure is taking his sweet time coming out today. 

“You are anxious.” 

Venti jumps, head smacking into the wall behind him. He looks up from the food in his lap and sees Zhongli staring down at him, arms folded over his chest. “H-hey, Zhongli. I didn’t see you there.” 

Zhongli continues to stare down at him, neutral expression painted across his face. “If you wish to withdraw from the contract, it is best done now before any information has been shared. A nullification, if you will.” 

“No!” Venti waves his hands in front of him urgently. “It’s not that. I just… haven’t told anyone about myself in—well, ever, actually.” 

“Hm.” Zhongli raises a delicate eyebrow. “I consider myself humbly honoured, then.” 

Venti chuckles listlessly. He pats the empty spot on the carpet beside him, in front of the door to room 003. “I brought one of my favourite snacks. C’mon, sit with me. Get comfortable.” 

“Aren’t you working at the moment?” Zhongli asks with clear skepticism permeating his spooky voice. He gingerly lowers himself to the ground, anyway, tucking his feet under his knees like a proper Liyuen gentleman. 

“Working, shmorking.” Venti flicks his wrist dismissively. He pushes the container of food forward. Zhongi doesn’t reach for a bite. Predictably. “Let’s get right to it! I think I’ll explode if I go one more second without knowing what you are, if you’re not dead or a ghost.”

“Your impatience will surely be your downfall.” Zhongli sighs, shaking his head in exasperation. “I suppose it is best we proceed, regardless.”

Venti leans forward slightly. He ignores the way his heart starts beating ten times faster than any mortal could withstand. 

“To put it simply, I am a physical manifestation of my soul.” 

“Aha, I knew—” Venti cuts himself off, tilting his head as the words register in his brain. “Wait, what? Is that not what a ghost is?” 

“I could see how you get the two confused; indeed, the similarity between the two concepts is perhaps why my form appears to you as a ghostly one.” Zhongli shifts on his knees, rests his hands on his thighs. “Unlike a ghost, however, I am not dead. My physical body is still alive, though it is hidden in a cave deep in the mountains of Liyue in a state of rest.” 

“Oh.” Venti feels his nose scrunch up as he thinks through the words. 

Physical body…

Mountains of Liyue…

Still alive…

Zhongli couldn’t possibly be human, could he?

He can’t, right? No human can just, what, separate their soul from their physical body.

“Oh.”

Zhongli hums thoughtfully. Venti swears he can feel it reverberating in his bones. “I wonder if I should reserve the reveal of my true nature until you tell me of yours. I have already disclosed much information to you.”

“So dramatic.” Venti tosses a braid over his shoulder. “You’ve barely given me anything to work with!”

“All in due time.” Zhongli chuckles, and gods, if the hum shook Venti’s skeleton, this sound liquifies it entirely. “Now, about yourself.”

“Not gonna let me off easy, huh?” Venti huffs. “Fine, fine. I guess you could say this isn’t my true form either! I come from the sky, originally.” 

“How cryptic,” Zhongli deadpans. 

“You didn’t tell me anything about your physical body, so I’m returning the favour.”

Zhongli sighs heavily. “I should have known you would not make this easy.”

Venti crosses his arms over his chest. “Show me yours and I’ll show you mine, as the humans say.” 

“I cannot show you mine, considering it is buried far underground in Liyue.”

“Then tell me. Paint me a word picture.”

Zhongli’s jaw visibly clenches. It could just be a trick of the light, or maybe it’s because they’re sitting really close together, but his features seem much clearer, more defined. 

Like Venti could reach up and run his fingers over them. If he. Y’know. Wanted to.

Which he doesn’t, obviously.

“I admit, I am not much of a wordsmith. For the sake of fulfilling our contract, however, I will endeavour to describe my natural form as accurately as possible.” Zhongli straightens his back impossibly further, presses his shoulders down so his long, slender neck is prominently on display. “Though I have never formally measured myself, I suppose I am about twelve meters in length. My body is covered in scales, most of them a dark brown colour, though some appear shiny and gold. I do not have hands and fingers in the mammalian sense, more claws than anything. The cor lapis horns atop my head are nestled into a long mane of amber, a similar color to the whiskers upon my cheeks.” 

Venti’s eyes widen. “Horns. And claws. And.. whiskers…” 

Wait. 

“Twelve  meters?! You’re huge!” 

Zhongli preens. “I suppose I have grown to be quite large, yes.”

“Hold up. Are you,” Venti leans in closer, voice dropping to a whisper, “a dragon?”

“Half.” Zhongli nods resolutely. “I’m not sure how familiar you are with Liyuen divine beasts, but I am also part Qilin. Perhaps I’d grow larger, were Qilin not as small a creature…”

“Woah,” Venti breathes. “Holy shit, you’re, like, a real dragon? I haven’t seen one since Celestia—” he cuts himself off as soon as he realizes how much he was about to reveal without even being annoying about it first.

Zhongli’s lips tick up slightly at the corners, his eyes shining in the terrible hallway fluorescents. “Since Celestia did what, exactly?” 

“Nuh-uh! You haven’t told me your age, I won’t tell you mine!” 

“I did tell you what I look like. In the name of our contract, I do believe you owe me the same information.” The curl of his lips turn into a full-blown smirk. 

Venti’s heart thunders in his ears. He tells himself it’s because he’s about to show someone his true form, the one that he hasn’t taken even privately in at least a century, and not because he has a hot dragon ghost thing smirking down at him. The extra pointy teeth in the corner of Zhongli’s mouth are surely his imagination…

…right?

“Fine, fine, stop looking at me like that and I’ll show you!”

Mirthful, Zhongli asks, “You can fit in this hallway?” 

Venti scowls. “Don’t make fun of me just because you’re huge and I’m—” Venti huffs, “—diminutive.”

Zhongli raises a questioning eyebrow. 

Damn it, that’s hot too. 

Venti shakes his head and stands, brushing away from his shorts the dirt that’s probably been clinging to this carpet for the last twenty years. He stretches his arms in front of him, cracking his knuckles dramatically. 

He kinda wants to give a long spiel about how size doesn’t equal power and how he’s freaking adorable so it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t have horns or claws or a tail, but he thinks there’s more flair in going ‘poof’ without a word. 

So that’s what he does. 

It may have been an entire human lifetime since he last released the glamour around his natural form, but it’s an easy transition all the same. It feels like taking off a cozy sweater, only to jump into equally cozy, fresh and warm sheets. 

He doesn’t think about where his clothes went in the transformation. Instead he flutters around Zhongli’s head, stirs up a gentle breeze that ruffles his long ponytail. 

Something warm blossoms in Venti’s chest at the way Zhongli’s eyes widen comically, that playful smirk wiped from his face entirely as he tracks Venti’s every movement with something that looks an awful lot like wonder in his gaze. 

“A wind sprite.” Zhongli hums. “That seems quite fitting.”

If Venti could scowl in this form, he would. Zhongli could mean it nicely, but he remembers how the elementals of eons past felt about wind elementals in particular. 

“This also explains quite a bit about why you are able to perceive my presence as if I were more than an apparition.” 

Venti makes a quiet whistling sound, flipping around in the air. It has been a while since he’s taken flight—maybe he should do this more often!

“You must be very powerful, indeed.”

If Venti’s existence wasn’t inherently the wind itself, he’d fall straight to the floor. In all his years, he hasn’t had anyone call him powerful, especially not after they see his tiny half-meter-high glory. Cute, sure. But powerful?

“You seem surprised.” Zhongli tilts his head and Venti has to consciously try not to tumble to the floor because it’s totally unfair that he can also be this adorable after revealing that he’s a hot dragon. “Everything I know of the Thousand Winds of Mondstadt leads me to believe you’re all incredibly strong. Capable.”

Ah. Riiiiight. 

(Venti isn’t sure what stories Zhongli has heard, but he’ll take the compliment.)

As fun as this has been, Venti once again pulls the vestiges of his glamour over his sprite form. He feels his arms elongate, his fingers flex, the soles of his feet land on the floor. 

Thank Celestia he’s still clothed. 

“Ehe.” Venti flashes Zhongli a thumbs up. “Well, that’s me! You’ll have to actually show me what you look like as soon as you can get out of here!” 

Zhongli laughs, eyes crinkling in the corners just like last time. Fuck, it’s…

Venti clears his throat, taking his seat across from Zhongli once more. “Speaking of, how did you end up here? I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure souls aren’t supposed to separate from the physical body.” 

“That…” Zhongli shifts on his knees, shoulders drooping for the first time during this very enlightening conversation. “That is quite a lengthy tale. Are you sure you have time to hear it tonight?”

Sighing, Venti reaches for his phone and taps the screen to look at the time. “Oh, shoot! I didn’t know it was so late already! Ugh, just when I was starting to get something from you!”

“Don’t worry, Venti, there will be more days.” Zhongli smiles lightly, a far cry from the smirk he cast in Venti’s direction earlier. “I will be here.” 

Venti chuckles. “I suppose you are stuck here. Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow... And then you’ll tell me how your soul got tragically ripped out of your body.” 

Zhongli’s chest rises and falls with the deep, steadying breath he takes. “Yes, I will tell you everything I know.”

👻

Venti nearly vibrates out of his sheets. He doesn’t sleep a wink that night, tossing and turning and trying his hardest to will away the urge to google anything and everything about dragons. 

He was friends with one, once. But it’s been a long, long time. 

He really should just… wait. Wait for Zhongli to tell him. 

So he does, somehow, find it within him to have an iota of patience. 

(Sure, he has to turn his phone into airplane mode to avoid the temptation of looking up dragon facts, which has Aether staring wide-eyed at him like he’s an alien that has come to replace the normally feed-obsessed Venti all through breakfast, but whatever.)

Today, it’s not Jean’s face that greets him, but Amber’s. He’s met her a couple times, but they haven’t had any conversations longer than the normal shift change of this guy was super drunk and WiFi problems again. She’s always smiling so genuinely, bright and sunny every time he sees her. 

Except today, apparently. 

Amber still smiles at him when he approaches the desk, a tupperware container full of meat pies cradled in his arms, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Her shoulders are obviously tense, wound up nearly to her ears. 

“Hey,” Venti says lightly, grinning to overcome. “Everything okay here?”

“Oh, yeah, um.” Amber clicks away at the computer, the printer spitting out the redundant paper reports they’re required to file at the end of every shift. “Nothing weird happened today. But… um.”

Venti quirks a brow as he sets down his bag and container of food. 

“Jean said you know about the ghosts and stuff, so I hope this isn’t too weird to you, but the spirits seem really restless today.” Amber shoots Venti a slightly panicked look. “The atmosphere has felt kind of off today, is all. Nothing bad has happened! But it’s been a tad uncomfortable.”

Frowning, Venti nods. “Thanks for letting me know.” 

Amber smiles, this one a bit more veritable than the last. “Good luck! Have a good night.” She tosses Venti a wave on her way out. 

And then it’s just Venti. 

Venti and the apparently disgruntled spirits. 

There’s some sort of renovation going on in the kitchen so there isn’t even a cook or a bartender or a server to keep him mortal company. He idly scrolls through the in-house list and sees a whopping five rooms checked in. 

Super. 

Pursing his lips, Venti gets his stuff settled in behind the desk. He doesn’t get very far in his task, has really only gotten the meat pies put into the fridge, when an impossibly low timber rumbles directly into his brain, “You seem tense.”

Venti jolts in his chair, head shooting up so quickly it knocks into the heater attached to the wall. There, on the other side of the counter—definitely not close enough to have sounded like that, stupid not-ghost, half-dragon powers—is the slightly translucent, almost opulent form of none other than Zhongli. 

Zhongli, who kinda looks like shit.  

Considering he’s no expert, Venti isn’t too sure about how a spirit or soul or whatever could look haggard, but Zhongli manages to anyway. Raising a meticulously plucked-and-shaped brow, Venti responds as cooly as he can, “You’re not lookin’ too hot yourself.” 

Can disembodied souls roll their eyes? Because Venti’s pretty sure Zhongli is rolling his eyes. 

“What are you doing up here, anyway?” Venti leans forward in his chair, fingers curled tightly around the arm rests. “I thought you never left 003.”

Ah, and now the spirit is frowning. Pouting, Venti might venture to say. “I have been feeling a bit… antsy, perhaps. I thought it prudent to begin our conversation early, as I have much to tell you regarding our contract.”

“Hm, well…” Venti spares a glance around the lobby. “It is a bit early for me to abandon the desk…”

“That is why I came to you, this time.” Zhongli clears his throat. “If I had the ability, I would have brought a gift, as you always do. However, given my current form, I am severely limited in what I am able to procure.”

Venti’s heart constricts weirdly in his chest, the sensation abnormal but easy enough to brush aside. He grins brightly instead and points a thumb in the direction of the back room. “I have some snacks, anyway. I need to pop them in the microwave for a sec but then we can eat and talk if you want.” 

Zhongli nods but doesn’t say anything. It gives Venti a moment to take in his form, as wound-up and visibly distraught it is. Sure, the guy is normally pretty stiff, but this is…

Odd. 

Venti grabs the container and heats it up for a minute. The longest minute of his life. 

He’s about to find out how Zhongli’s soul got separated from his body. His dragon body, because Zhongli is a dragon! Not only that, but he’s going to hear all about how his soul is tethered to a run-down, creepy hotel that’s two bad reviews from going out of business. If Venti had any remaining living ties to the publishing industry, he’d write a book about it all and walk away with a fat stack of cash that could last him until he’s due for another identity change. 

Hm. Maybe he’ll write a song about it, anyway. It’s been a while since he’s touched the guitar sitting in the corner of his bedroom. 

The beep of the microwave timer startles him, drags him forcibly back into the present. Shaking his head, he grabs the food he made last night and brings it out to the front desk. Zhongli still stands on the other side of the counter, hands clasped in front of his stomach patiently. 

Venti feels the anxious energy rolling off of him in waves, anyway. 

“Do you wanna sit down? I can grab a chair. Or we could sit on the floor like we normally do?” 

“I suppose the floor shall suffice.” Zhongli cracks a tiny half-smile. “As is tradition.”

So Venti places the tupperware container on the floor behind the counter, sinking to his rear end. He dutifully pats the space in front of him, and Zhongli obliges without so much as making one of those displeased grimaces. 

Venti pops open the top of the container. Zhongli doesn’t reach for a meat pie. So Venti does. 

They sit in silence for a few moments, until Zhongli takes a deep, steadying breath. 

(Venti isn’t sure it’s necessary. Souls don’t need to breathe, right?)

“Azhdaha is… very special to me, as I’m sure you have gathered.” 

“Special, as in… like, a boyfriend…?” Smooth, Venti. Very smooth. 

Zhongli hums thoughtfully. “That does not quite feel an adequate descriptor for our relationship.”

“Well, how would you describe it, then?” 

If Zhongli notices Venti’s obvious petulance, he doesn’t show it. He taps a single finger to the plane of his cheek. “Azhdaha and I have known each other for a very long time; you could go so far as to say we grew up together, though for elemental beings—as I’m sure you’re aware—‘growing up’ is different from what mortals experience.”

“So Azhdaha is also an immortal? Is he a dragon, too?”

“He is indeed. A pure-blooded earth dragon.” Zhongli nods resolutely, a muscle in his jaw twinging ever so slightly. “The mountains from which we were respectively hatched were close to each other. Such powerful presences in close proximity could bring one of two things: a clash of titans resulting in wide-scale of destruction, or—”

“—a mega alliance.”

Zhongli raises a brow. “That is one way to put it, I suppose.”

Venti takes a bite of the corner of a mini meat pie, chewing as he thinks. Two extremely powerful elemental beings—especially rare ones, to boot—born in the same region at the same time… 

Ever the romantic, Venti can’t help but to think about every cheesy novel he’s ever read or ballad he’s ever heard regaling the tale of star-crossed lovers and intertwined fates and destiny.

(If the thought sends a stabbing pain right through his chest for some unknown reason, Venti steadfastly ignores it.)

“Liyue was under a time of uncertainty. Constant wars swept the land, gods and elementals and powerful magic users alike in a never ending battle for power.” Zhongli’s brows furrow as if he’s in pain, his eyes stuck in a far-away gaze. “Any ally one could find at the time was invaluable. Though Azhdaha did not gain sight until nearly an eon after we began fighting together, he was the only one I could fully trust on the battlefield.”

“He couldn’t see? But he still fought with you?”

Zhongli smiles, but it is not soft or warm or any of that mushy crap—it’s sharp, yet tinged with a great sorrow beholden only to one who has outlived mountains. “Indeed. A valiant warrior who fought from below the surface of the earth, striking only when the time was right and the enemy caught unawares. It was upon a great victory over a malevolent god near the southern coast of Liyue that I was granted immense power and was able to gift Azhdaha sight.

“Only then did he live above ground. I remember the day Azhdada crawled from a crack in the bedrock and felt the sun on his face for the first time; I remember it so clearly.” The somber edge to Zhongli’s smile overwhelms his ghostly features, weighing them down until the corners of his lips fall into a deep-set frown. “I had never seen someone come alive like Azhdaha did on that summer day, as I was more accustomed to taking life away rather than giving it.”

“O-oh.” Venti’s breath stutters in his lungs.

Zhongli shakes his head, ponytail sliding over his shoulder. “I apologize, that was a bit too… sorrowful.”

“It seems your tale is one of great sorrow. I can’t say I didn’t expect it,” Venti reassures, not meeting Zhongli’s eyes. He picks at a tuft of carpet coming undone, threadbare as Venti feels watching the look of mourning spread over Zhongli’s face. 

Clearing his throat, Zhongli continues, “Regardless, after that fateful day near what is now known at Guyun Stone Forest, the other Illuminated Beasts and I began our communal rule over and protection of Liyue. There was still unrest among the more power-hungry immortals, certainly, but our day to day tasks became much more mundane in nature.

“It was only a matter of time until Azhdaha became restless. I always knew he was never one to remain in one location for too long.” Zhongli sighs, a heavy, tired thing that weighs more than the entirety of Dragonspine. “In what feels like a blink of an eye, the people of Liyue began protecting themselves, governing themselves, even advising themselves. The adepti were no longer needed, as Azhdaha had no remorse reminding me.

“He wore me down as a torrential storm weathers stone, until eventually I relented to his desire to travel the rest of Teyvat.”

“So…” Venti leans forward so his elbows are resting on his knees. “...you fought side-by-side with your childhood best friend until you bested even the gods, and then you were travel buddies galavanting across the lands holding hands, skipping through meadows?”

“There was not much hand-holding, nor was there any… skipping.” Zhongli says the word like it’s made of slime. “Regardless, your assessment is a fair, if not simple, summary of our early history.”

“I’m going to pretend that your platitudes are covering up you calling me simple.” Venti blows a puff of air from the corner of his mouth, sending his bangs flying over his forehead. “Things with Azhdaha were happy and fairytale-esque and mushy and full of rainbows, but then something happened, right?”

“Something, indeed.” Zhongli closes his eyes briefly, breathing in deeply. “Not long after we had completed about half of our journey—Fontaine, Sumeru, Natlan—Azhdaha began displaying symptoms of some sort of illness.”

Frowning, Zhongly shifts his non-existent ghost-weight from foot to foot. “It was as if the sharpness of his mind dulled with the passing years. His body, too, declined in strength. Slowly, like draining the ocean by taking a ladle of water from it each day, but apparent nonetheless.

“Azhdaha had always been known for his patience; indeed, it was perhaps his second greatest virtue, bested only by his undying loyalty. Which is why, upon a much needed visit to the remaining adepti in Jueyun Karst, his snappish behaviour toward my trusted friend Alatus took me by surprise. After that trip, it was as if he became a different person entirely.

“No longer did he craft flower crowns for the children playing in the plaza of Liyue Harbor. Gone were the relaxed days of painting by the window in amicable silence. Our friendly spars turned violent and destructive—only once his body degraded beyond the point of keeping up with me was I able to prevent Azhdaha from harming himself thoroughly during these training sessions.”

Venti thinks he knows where this is going. He’s only heard of it in passing, but…

“I had heard about the medical advancements in Mondstadt. I thought this the best possible location for Azhdaha to recover whatever illness it is that plagued him.” Zhongli crosses his arms, eyes slipping shut once more. “He underwent treatment after treatment, test after test, and yet even the best doctors mora could buy could not determine what caused his body and mind to decline. 

“Only a choice few were privy to his status as an immortal being, of course. But even those were not familiar with treating pure elementals, so their diagnoses were not accurate.”

Venti hums thoughtfully. “You seem to know what was wrong with him, the way you’re talking.” 

“Indeed. After several years of failed treatments and a worsening mental state for my dearest Azhdaha, I came to realization that he must have been poisoned while we were in Fontaine.” 

Venti’s brows shoot into his hairline. “Poisoned?”

Zhongli nods emphatically. “Poisoned.”

“Poisoning an elemental is—”

“—difficult, yes, though not impossible. Especially if the poisoner is also immortal.” Zhongli pauses, presses the pad of his thumb against his cheekbone. “There was a figure whose presence I would catch from the corner of my eye every so often as we made our way through Fontaine’s capital city. I could never pin them down, but I could feel their power, if only vaguely.”

“I see…” Venti says, half trying to convince himself that he does, in fact, see. “Wouldn’t poison show up on those fancy tests though?”

“Perhaps if the doctors knew what they were looking for specifically. However, as I mentioned earlier, none of the medical professionals I consulted had enough knowledge on elemental physiology to begin to even guess what substances could poison him, let alone know for certain what to look for.”

“That makes sense, yeah. Human doctors aren’t exactly super great at, well, fixing elementals.” Venti takes a bite of the meat pie in his hands. It’s grown cold. He chews through the tough bite thoughtfully, the flavour secondary to the approximately one million questions flying through Venti’s brain.

One thing sticks out to him, and Zhongli seems like his tale has come to a close for now. 

“So, basically your very best friend in the whole wide world died under suspicious circumstances and no one ever figured out what happened to him. And the grief this caused you made your soul shoot out of your body.”

“That is quite the… interesting imagery, though not entirely inaccurate.” Zhongli sighs, leaning his weight back on his heels, shoulders slumped. “It was not an immediate occurrence. I felt strange—not quite ill, but slightly odd—so I did what I normally do when things start feeling uncertain.”

“You went back to Liyue and hid under a mountain.”

“Yes, though I prefer the term ‘sought shelter.’ Under the mountain from which I was birthed brings me much comfort, so it is where I flock to if under duress.” Zhongli’s eyes take on that far-away look, slightly misty, glassy. “I am unsure of how much time passed while I was beneath the surface. I went to sleep one night, spread amongst my collection of furs and silks, and then awoke here.”

Ah, yeah, that tracks based on everything Venti knows about dragons. 

“I’m afraid this is where my story comes to a stand still.” Zhongli heaves another sigh, this one full-bodied. “I wish I could tell you the happy ending to the tale, but that would be dishonest.”

“Hm.” Venti bites his lip. “If all the fairytales are to be believed, all we have to do is solve the mystery of how Azhdaha died, and then your soul will be returned to your body. Boom, happy ever after.”

Zhongli’s whole body tenses. He tilts his head, the end of his ponytail pooling atop his right thigh. “You said we.”

“Uh?”

“‘All we have to do is solve the mystery.’”

“W-well, yeah, duh, of course we would work together!” Venti clears his throat, puffing out his chest. “Why else would you tell me all of that? I’m too involved now, so you’re stuck with me!”

Zhongli seems to consider this for a moment, unmoving, unblinking. His absolute stillness reminds Venti that he isn’t human.  

“Alright,” he says slowly. “Where do we begin?”

“If he was poisoned by an unknown substance, we should figure out what that is. It could lead us to whomever has access to something like that.” Venti flicks the end of his braid. “Or something.”

Zhongli nods, but his eyes are narrowed in a way that says I don’t really know what you’re talking about slash I think you’re insane but I’ll go with it because I don’t have any other options. But also Venti could be looking too deeply into it. “How do we find that out, then?”

“I know an alchemist.”

Zhongli leans forward, eyes alight with something. Curiosity, maybe. “An alchemist? I admit I am unfamiliar with modern society, but they were exceedingly rare even when I was last among the people. Does alchemy truly still persist as an art?” 

And, wow, okay, yeah, Zhongli is like. Close. Venti swallows thickly. “Weeeeeeell, not really, ehe. But I do know a guy. A powerful one.” 

Without a word, Zhongli considers Venti’s not-quite-spoken proposal. 

“He is a bit dangerous,” Venti supplies, wincing when he realizes that it’s not really helping his case. But he feels like he has to warn Zhongli anyway—the guy is a ticking time bomb, more or less, even if he’s been ticking for well over 4000 years at this point. 

Zhongli fixes Venti with a strange look. “Most powerful individuals are.”

👻

So Venti writes up a short letter to a remote research lab at the very tippy top of Dragonspine, because the last time he talked to Albedo, cell phones weren’t really a thing so he doesn’t have the guy’s phone number lying around. Zhongli seemed assuaged when Venti told him about his plan to arrange a video call with the alchemist, though only after a ridiculously lengthy explanation of what a video call is. 

He drops the letter off in the post bin with a satisfied smile. 

And then he waits. 

👻

Zhongli takes to hanging around the front desk whenever Venti is on shift. 

It should be weird, having a disembodied soul hanging around while Venti stamps keycard envelopes and watches whatever weird video essays he stumbles upon and reads the romance novels the local librarian recommends to him. 

Sometimes Venti will pull up a chair for Zhongli to sort of sit in—they find out quite quickly that Zhongli doesn’t interact with physical object on the material plane in a very consistent or logical way—because he doesn’t like when Zhongli just kinda stands awkwardly behind him and watches Venti’s laptop screen from over his shoulder. 

Other times, Venti will spread out across the horrendously outdated carpet to read, letting Zhongli sit in his own office chair behind the desk while baby sensory videos play on loop. 

And on Venti’s days off, he finds himself with earbuds shoved into his ears, constantly blaring music because his brain feels empty without Zhongli’s weird echoey supernatural mind voice. 

It’s… peaceful. Weird, sure, but Venti’s been through weirder. 

A week and a half goes by like that, and Venti can feel Zhongli growing antsy. It’s contagious, and soon Venti finds himself shaking his leg constantly and itching to google anything he can about poisoning elementals, federal intelligence agency surveillance be damned. 

Just when he’s ready to explode, he gets a text. 

[Unknown number]
Good evening, Venti.
It has been quite some time since you last used that name.

Venti slaps Zhongli’s arm repeatedly, not removing his gaze from his phone. “Hey, hey, Albedo finally responded!”

After no less than ten enthusiastic slaps from Venti, Zhongli tears his eyes away from the blueberries bouncing across the computer screen. “Albedo? Is that not a property of material which quantifies how well it reflects light?”

“Yeah, it is, but this Albedo is the alchemist I was telling you about. He’s made of chalk, so it’s like a pun.” Venti shoves his phone into Zhongli’s face without giving him a second to reply. “It’s a long story so I’m not gonna bother but he responded!”

Zhongli’s brow furrows. He mouths the word chalk, but must decide to ignore that little detail. “What did he say? Can he help us?” 

“He just said hi.” Venti begins thumbing away frantically, typing up a response. “I’m gonna try to set up that video call ASAP.”

While he waits for Albedo to respond with a good  time for their little appointment, Venti starts the process of downloading a popular app to his laptop, hunched over the desk.

“Venti.” 

“Yeah?” he responds absently.

“When we have solved this…”

“...yeah?”

“Will you teach me how to type?”

“Pft.” Venti bites down a giggle. “What brought this on?” 

“The sound is most pleasing to the ear.” Zhongli cradles his chin between his forefinger and thumb. “I would like to replicate it.” 

This time, Venti can’t hold back the peal of laughter that rings from his chest. “Yeah. Yeah, blockhead, I’ll teach you how to type. And anything else you wanna know.”

Zhongli leans forward, a strand of his long, long ethereal hair slipping over his shoulder, dripping into Venti’s lap. “Do you truly mean such a thing?” 

Amber eyes, intense though only half-corporeal they may be, stare listlessly into Venti’s. Zhongli is so, so sososo close—if disembodied spirits could give off heat, Venti would be able to feel Zhongli’s warmth seeping through his clothes. 

Venti swallows down the thought. “Y-yeah, of course! I’m very hip, you know!”

Zhongli graces him with a smile, wide and warm, and Venti’s heart threatens to fall into his stomach at the sight. 

👻

Two days later, Zhongli (mostly) situates himself on the chair next to Venti’s, so close their shoulders brush any time one of them moves a single muscle. 

“You mean to tell me that this little dot is a camera?” Zhongli pokes Venti’s stock laptop webcam, leaving a perfect fingerprint across the smooth glass. “How intriguing.” 

Venti tuts, dutifully wipes off Zhongli’s grimy fingerprint from the camera. “It is, so don’t touch it! It’ll make everything blurry.” 

Before Venti can further scold Zhongli, a harsh ringing sound blares through the tinny speakers of the laptop. 

Incoming video call from Albedo Kreideprinz

Venti smashes the Accept Call button while Zhongli stares in wonder at the screen. As soon as he does, the call connects, and he sees a face that hasn’t changed in the last—gosh, how long has it been? 50 years?

“Hello, Venti.” 

Ah, he even sounds the same!

Venti grins brightly, waves enthusiastically. “Long time no see! Ah, I should introduce you, this is Zhongli!” He gestures with his hands, flicking his wrist with a flourish like they do in all those game shows. 

“While I’m sure this Zhongli character is next to you, I cannot see him.”

Expression falling, Venti glances down at the little camera preview in the corner of the screen. Sure enough, yupp, there’s only empty space next to Venti. 

“How interesting…” Zhongli mutters, raising a hand to his chin. “An immortal who cannot see me…”

“Yeah, that’s weird. I figured you’d be able to see Zhongli since you’re, y’know.” Venti flippantly waves his hand about in a vague gesture. 

“I may be able to see and hear him in person, but this video technology was developed by humans. Therefore, it cannot capture the… preternatural.” Albedo writes something down off screen, only the rapidly moving tip of his pencil visible in the shot. “In any case, I suppose we should get started.”

Ah, leave it to Albedo to get right down to business. Not even a friendly two-minute catch up.

“In your letter, you mentioned Zhongli's friend who died under mysterious circumstances, perhaps from poisoning.” Albedo’s eyes flick to the space beside Venti, as if trying to find Zhongli in what appears as emptiness to him. “Was your friend also… of an immortal nature?”

Zhongli opens his mouth to speak, but Venti talks over him—purely because Albedo can’t hear him, of course!

“Azhdaha was an earth dragon,” he explains. 

Albedo’s eyes widen, but the slightly surprised expression disappears after only a fraction of a second. “A powerful elemental being, then. They are usually quite difficult to poison.”

“But not impossible,” Zhongli interjects. 

Venti nods. “Zhongli insists it’s possible, though.” 

“Anything is possible, in theory.” Albedo nods once, jotting something else down. “Where do you believe the poison was administered? While the substance could have been obtained and brought over borders or shipped across Teyvat, it would at least give me a place to start looking at the natural resources that could produce a poison potent enough to kill something as strong as a dragon.”

“Fontaine,” Venti responds without Zhongli having to jump in and supply a reminder. “In the capital city, most likely.” 

“How long did it take for the first symptoms to appear?”

“Were the symptoms accelerating in an exponential fashion? Was it a steady decline, perhaps?”

“What tests were run?”

“What was his official diagnosis?”

The questions go on and on like that. Most of them are asking about details Zhongli hadn’t told Venti, so it turned into an hour of Venti repeating everything Zhongli says into the mic with his corporeal voice so Albedo can scribble it down. 

At some point, Venti zones out. There’s a lot of medical jargon that Venti is wholly unfamiliar with. They talk about some elemental magic of the geo variety—not exactly Venti’s forte. 

It’s only when Albedo asks a specific question that Venti’s ears perk up, if only because he too is curious about the answer. 

“How many years did Azhdaha live?”

Maybe he only registers it because Zhongli’s hackles raise at the inquiry. Maybe it’s a weird subconscious thing because Venti has been kinda dying to know how old Zhongli is exactly. 

Zhongli does not immediately answer. Venti looks over at him in anticipation. 

“A rough estimation will suffice,” Albedo adds softly. “I understand time turns into an intangible concept after two or three millenia.” 

Still, silence stretches between the three of them for another mile. 

“Eleven thousand, I believe.” Zhongli sucks a sharp breath between his teeth. “Give or take a few centuries, mind you.”

Holy.

Shit.  

Eleven thousand?! Eleven?!

And… If what Zhongli said is true, then he and Azhdaha have been around pretty much the same amount of time, which makes… Zhongli… also eleven thousand years old. 

Yeah, Venti may have lost count of how old he is—if the legends are true, he was probably materialized about a thousand years before that big war of the gods that happened 6000 ish years ago, so he’s roughly seven thousand. 

But eleven?!

That’s completely bananas.  

Surely that thing, that darkness that eats away at the very essence of souls would have taken him before—

Wait.

Albedo seems to be thinking the same thing Venti is, with a single brow raised, a calculating glint in his eyes. “I see,” he says. “I will take that into consideration.”

Venti sees Zhongli clench his fists in his lap. 

…Zhongli has to know about it, right?

Zhongli has to know that Erosion is an inevitability for all of them.

Right?

“You’ve given me much information. Thank you for your cooperation during this process, Zhongli.” Albedo sets down the pen in his hand and looks over Venti’s shoulder once again. “I understand how hard it is to come to terms with the death of a loved one, especially when you cannot say with certainty what happened to them. Rest assured, I will do my best to find an answer for you.” 

And then without so much as a goodbye, he disconnects from the call. Venti quietly shuts down the app, closes the lid of his laptop. 

“I suppose that was not empty platitudes in his ending sentiment,” Zhongli says, voice even quieter than normal. 

“No.” Venti picks at the chipped polish on his thumb. “His mom… went missing without much of a trace. She was a high-profile alchemist; lots of people wanted to see her downfall.”

“I see.” Zhongli clears his throat. “All we can do now is wait, yes?” 

Venti hums. “He has access to way better information than we do, but we can also do some research if you want.” 

“...Perhaps we leave it to the expert. I don’t know how much I am able to do, given my current circumstances.” Zhongli makes a sweeping gesture over his body. “My confidence in your abilities is not high enough for me to delegate the task to you, either.” 

“Hey!” Venti huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m plenty capable! I put you into contact with someone who knows what they’re doing, so I’m at least a little competent!” 

“I don’t see how simply knowing someone who knows things reflects well on you—”

“It’s called capability by association, duh.”

“That’s utterly ridiculous, such a thing does not exist—”

“Oh yeah? Prove it!”

“You cannot prove the absence of something. That is not how proof works.”

“Oh yeah? Well—well! You’re not very capable right now, so boo on you!”

“Is this a ghost joke? I thought you were capable enough to understand that is not the case.” 

“It wasn’t—ugh! You’re so difficult! Stubborn old rock! Ancient blockhead!”

👻

Just like that, the baby sensory videos and YouTube rabbit holes to pass the long evening shifts at the hotel continue. Venti gets weekly updates from Albedo, but it’s mostly It is difficult to dig up this information and I hope to have more progress in the next week and not much else. 

Which is fair, Venti supposes. Albedo does have a full time job, and he’s working from the icy landscape of Dragonspine, and this is nothing more than a favour from an old old old sort-of-but-not-really friend. 

Zhongli tells him about the subtle differences in tea flavour determined by how exactly the tea plant is raised— all tea leaves come from the same species, Venti. Really, how did you not know this? He tells Venti about the wild silk flowers in Liyue and how an old friend by the name of Guizhong loved them. He tells Venti about all the novels he’s written under various pseudonyms. He tells Venti of the hundreds of forms he has taken during his time. He tells Venti of the other Illuminated Beasts of Liyue, how they used to gather for centennial card game tournaments that would last weeks. 

Not once does he mention Azhdaha. 

In return, Venti tells him about all the colourful personalities he’s met in his time in Mondstadt. Tells Zhongli about how he’s mostly stayed in Mond, even though he’s always wanted to see the glaciers in Snezhnaya—followed by the story of the cryo elemental serpent whose priceless gown he may or may not have ripped, which caused him to be permanently banned from the country. Recounts the tale of accidentally creating something of a cult following that resulted in a giant statue of his likeness being erected in the capital city centre which stayed up for over a century.

Venti even begins the arduous process of teaching him to type, while they’re waiting. 

It’s obvious from the get-go that Zhongli is a fast learner in most other things. But typing?

The man simply sucks at it. 

Venti manages to dig up an older keyboard from the storage closet tucked into the back corner of the basement, and to his surprise it still works. The clicky keys sound horrendous to Venti, but for whatever reason Zhongli seems to struggle less with that particular key style and layout. So when Venti clocks in, he pulls that keyboard out from the bottom of the desk drawer, plugs it into the desk computer, and waits for Zhongli to start his lessons. 

Some days his fingers slip clean through the keys instead of making contact with them, and those days turn into movie-watching marathons instead.

It passes the time. Mostly. 

The fourth email from Albedo is slightly more optimistic than the last few, that’s for sure, but it doesn’t help with Zhongli’s weird anxious energy that’s honestly way too infectious as far as Venti is concerned. 

…a few herbs which could in theory poison a geo elemental. It is hard to say without a test subject…

Blah blah blah blah, yeah yeah. Venti scans the email quickly, eyes shooting down to the last paragraph while Zhongli reads over his shoulder. 

…able to create geo constructs which contain similar physiology to an earth elemental. Though not a perfect replica, it may yield results.

Regardless, do not become too hopeful. 

Updates will come at their regular intervals.

Albedo Kreideprinz

Oh. 

Oh shit.  

Venti turns his head to watch Zhongli digest the email. His lips press into a thin line as his amber eyes trail across the screen, all the way to the bottom.

He’s quiet, so Venti is, too. 

Someone walks up to the front desk, holding a room key. Venti nods at Zhongli—he doesn’t know why, really, reassurance maybe—before standing to talk with the guest. 

One re-magnatized room key later, Venti makes his way back to the desk, where Zhongli stands staring at the screen still, his brows furrowed. 

“This Albedo… He is able to create living geo constructs?” 

“Pft.” Venti shakes his head as he plops into his seat. “That’s what caught your eye here?” 

“Well, he did say not to get our hopes up about the herbs, so I will refrain from making a comment on that portion of the message.” Zhongli cradles his chin between his forefinger and thumb. “It has been many years since I last heard of someone utilizing the art of khemia… You certainly keep interesting company.” 

“I’m collecting interesting friends, you see,” Venti says nonchalantly. “I can add ghost to my list, thanks to you!”

Zhongli’s brows furrow minutely for a brief moment, eyes hardening slightly, and then the expression is gone, replaced by that stony indifference Venti is so used to. “You…” Zhongli stops himself. Opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it, closes it. “You consider me a friend.”

A cold sense of dread washes over Venti, like a bucket of ice water being poured over his head. “Well… you are, aren’t you?”

“Hm.” Zhongli’s eyes flash with something. Something Venti can’t quite place. “I suppose.”

👻

Zhongli’s mood seems to be relatively high for the next few weeks. He starts typing significantly better, has been asking Venti lots of questions about the cell phone he carries around, and finally seems to appreciate the concept of streaming movies instead of sitting in a movie theater. 

The email updates from Albedo are usually something about trying more concentrated doses, different combinations of herbs, etc. He never says whether he thinks things are going well or poorly. He doesn’t even add a smiley face or emoji, which frankly Venti thinks would make them less depressing. 

On the fifth update—two entire months since they first contacted Albedo—things take a sour turn. 

…regardless of concentration…

…no signs of poisoning…

…no symptoms of illness…

I understand this update will likely cause upset, and for that I apologize. However, it would be remiss of me to withhold the truth from Zhongli. I will continue searching for more herbs which may cause a negative reaction, but frankly I am not hopeful as I’ve exhausted most of my resources already.

Regards,

Albedo Kreideprinz

Zhongli is quiet. He normally is a pretty quiet guy, Venti supposes, but this is… different. A really eerie kind of silence, perfectly befitting someone who is actually a disembodied soul. He’s quiet, and he’s still, and it reminds Venti that he’s really not human or even corporeal. 

“Zhongli…” Venti starts, his voice barely louder than a whisper. He hopes he can push all of his feelings into it—sorrow, empathy, guilt.  

Because now Zhongli has to start all over, doesn’t he? He’s still no closer to finding an answer to Azhdaha’s sudden illness, and Venti gave him this thing—this false hope that maybe he could find an answer after twenty years. 

But he didn’t.

They didn’t. 

There’s still that insistent tug at the corner of his mind, the one that was planted when Zhongli said how old Azhdaha was before he fell ill. 

Venti admittedly knows very very little about Erosion, only that it’s an inevitability. He also knows that immortals living over ten thousand years is… pretty much unheard of. Venti himself has outlived most elementals he ever knew, even demigods too. 

It’s either another heavenly being that takes an immortal’s life, or they are slowly worn down by Erosion until they become barely more than a shell of their true self. 

Almost exactly like what Zhongli described happening to Azhdaha.

“Listen, Zhongli.” Venti doesn’t turn to face Zhongli. A cowardly move, maybe. But he just can’t. “Have you considered that maybe Azhdaha… succumbed to Eros—”

“Impossible,” Zhongli growls. It rumbles Venti’s brain around inside his skull. “That’s simply not possible, so of course I have not considered it.” 

The reaction reminds Venti of the first time he mentioned Azhdaha’s name, but this kind of upset is less hot ire and more… burning stubbornness. 

Like Zhongli is trying to convince himself that it’s an impossible conclusion. 

“Azhdaha and I were born at practically the same time, in practically the same place. If he fell to—to that, I must, too, simultaneously.” Zhongli stands from the seat behind Venti, but doesn’t walk anywhere. “It was always I who was supposed to perish first. It is the natural order of things.”

Venti turns to face Zhongli, finally. He’s glad he didn’t earlier. 

Zhongli looks—haggard, really. His form has been looking more opaque in the last couple weeks, but he’s blurry around the edges again, and his ghost-skin has returned to that pallid blue colour that reminds Venti of stormy skies. His eyes are hardened, steeled, his whole body tensed. 

It would be sensible for Venti to leave it be. To let Zhongli wallow at least for a few days. Maybe do some covert research on Erosion so he can be sure. 

But Venti has never been particularly sensible. Always pushing, pushing, pushing. 

“How could you know who would die first? That’s the real impossibility here.”

“Do not mock me.” Zhongli’s eyes flash with something dangerous. “I was always the more reckless. The more swayed by emotion, the more volatile, the more heedless. I was—I was always the one who would have stumbled into something less than fortunate and perished. It was me who was going to inevitably bring him down—”

“That’s so stupid!” Venti interrupts. “Death comes for everyone, sooner or later. And if it’s anything to do with Erosion, it’s random. It’s random! Some people get it after a few hundred years, a few thousand—it doesn’t matter, Zhongli, how reckless you are if it’s Erosion.”

Zhongli opens his mouth to say something, but Venti continues before he can speak. 

“And nobody has to bring anybody down. If he did die of Erosion, then that’s that. That’s life. That’s how it works. You don’t have to stay here, haunting some hotel in the middle of nowhere Mond just because he died. He died. Azhdaha died, not you, Zhongli.”

Venti stands, cursing his choice to take this form that’s so much shorter than Zhongli. Regardless, he braces himself, shoulders tense, chin held high, and says, “If he was really your friend or lover or family or whatever you want to call it, he would have wanted you to live after he died. This,” Venti motions to Zhongli’s general appearance, “is not living.”

“You,” Zhongli seethes, “have thoroughly overstepped your bounds.”

And then

he disappears.

👻

Zhongli doesn’t show up at the front desk the next day. 

Or the next.

Or the next. 

That third day, Venti clicks over to the east wing basement security camera. Zhongli isn’t standing outside room 003, either. 

Venti resolutely does not pout through the rest of the shift. 

👻

During his two days off—consecutive, no less, because Jean is nothing if not an incredible manager—Venti goes to the library. He greets Lisa, who is arguably his favourite librarian, and makes a beeline to the Folklore section. 

Which, unfortunately, is where all the texts about immortals, deities, and magic are shelved. 

Venti brushes off the sort of kind of insult and starts scanning the shelves. He’s looking for something specific so it’s probably a wildly inefficient way to look for stuff, but he’s always worked in that ‘go until something jumps out at me’ kinda way. 

Finally, on the fifth shelf he runs his finger across, something about his topic of interest! Even if the title is a little goofy, it’s a good place to start as any.

Erosion: The Silent Killer.

👻

By the time he walks into his next evening shift at the hotel, he is armed with a notebook full of notes, a backpack stuffed with all the books from the library that Lisa would let him check out at once, and a newfound determination. 

Azhdaha absolutely, 100% died of Erosion, Venti is sure. Now all he has to do is convince Zhongli. 

Of course, he also has a giant tub of bamboo shoot soup as a bribe. 

Just like old times. 

(Pft, old times. It was, what, three months ago? What is three months to someone who has lived for several millennia?)

Like before, he waits until the maintenance guy clocks out for the night and the bar is locked up before he makes his way down to the basement. He walks the long hall, squinting his eyes in vain, hoping he’ll be able to see Zhongli’s form standing in front of the door to room 003.

He doesn’t. 

Whatever! His plan is basically fool proof, and Zhongli has to come out eventually! 

Venti plops down onto the raggedy carpet in front of 003. He sets the soup in front of his crossed legs, props his backpack up against the wall. He pulls out the books one by one, making sure all the sticky tabs he’d put into place are still there. 

He’s getting settled in to have to wait out an hours-long battle of wills, but he doesn’t have to. 

Surprisingly. 

Nearly as soon as Venti has all the materials spread out in front of him, Zhongli steps through the door and into the hallway. 

He stares down at Venti. Venti stares back up at him. 

“I hope five days was enough time for you to cool off,” Venti says lightly, praying to any gods who might still be alive that the tremor in his heart isn’t apparent in his voice. 

Zhongli’s lips press into a thin line, the muscle of his jaw flexing visibly. He still looks blue, a little shimmery, but less tense than the last time Venti saw him. “I suppose I have taken the opportunity to clear my mind in your absence.” 

My absence?! Venti wants to scream. 

“I see you have… gathered information.” Zhongli gestures half-heartedly at the books strewn about. 

“Yeah, I think I have some answers.” Venti twists a braid around his finger. A stupid nervous habit, a tell he wishes he didn’t have. “You should sit down. It’s a doozy.”

Zhongli frowns, but obliges him. He tucks his feet under his knees, mirroring Venti’s criss-cross-applesauce posture. “Before you begin, I…” Zhongli clears his throat, presses a finger to his right temple. “I want to apologize. I should not have shouted at you as I did.”

“You were going through a lot, I could tell,” Venti says. “Thank you for the apology.”

“I still should not have treated you so poorly, regardless of how high my emotions had been running.” Zhongli scans the covers of the books between them, lets out a loaded sigh. “I must also admit that I… was foolish to ignore the possibility of Erosion.”

Venti’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline, disappearing behind his messy bangs. 

“I am not entirely convinced yet that Erosion is indeed the cause of his… passing, but I would be open to considering it. Given how hard Albedo has been working to prove otherwise with no success has opened my mind.” Zhongli shakes his head. “There is a part of me that thinks the timing is too coincidental, you see.”

“Well,” Venti huffs. “Do I have some things to show you! I learned a lot about Erosion over the past couple days—did you know there are different types? Here, let’s see…” Venti flips open his notebook, pushing it into Zhongli’s lap when he finds the page he was looking for. “Slow Erosion, Quicktime Erosion, Gentle Erosion…”

“This is impressive, Venti.” Zhongli grips the sides of the notebook, eyes never leaving the colour-coded writing scrawled across its surface. “Did you sleep at all while compiling this?”

“Eh, sleep is for squares.” Venti shrugs nonchalantly. “Anyway, as I was saying, I think…”

Zhongli listens patiently as Venti runs through everything he’s learned in the last 48 hours about Erosion. He even googled some stuff, and saved the tabs to his phone as further proof if Zhongli felt like he needed to see it. Every once in a while, Zhongli will hum—either in understanding or dissent, Venti can’t tell—at something Venti says. 

Before long, Venti has gone through his whole spiel. So he waits, hands folded in his lap, for Zhongli’s response. 

It takes a long time. Like, an absurd length of time. The silence stretches between them on and on and on, no end in sight. Venti thinks he can hear the other spirits crawling along the walls like spiders. 

“I see,” Zhongli utters quietly, so, so quietly Venti almost misses it. 

“You… see?”

“It is as I have… come to fear in the last few days of my ruminating.” 

Venti lets Zhongli sit there for as long as he needs. 

“Azhdaha truly did succumb to the unstoppable force of Erosion.” 

Venti swallows, watching Zhongli’s face contort as he realizes what he just admitted aloud. 

“He did,” Zhongli says emphatically. “It was Erosion. There is nothing that could poison an elemental of the earth, much less one as powerful as a dragon of his caliber. I was… a fool to insist it had been possible.”

“You weren’t a fool.” Venti reaches out, rests a hand upon Zhongli’s knee in reassurance. “You were in love, Zhongli. It’s hard to see the truth about those you love. Sometimes things are so close to you, you can’t see them clearly anymore.”

“What flowery words.” Zhongli chuckles—a good sign, even if the sound is mostly lifeless, like the mirth has been slurped right out of it. “Your years spent as a bard are apparent in the way you speak.”

“Well thank you!” Venti grins so hard his cheeks hurt. 

Zhongli tuts, shaking his head. “Your antics aside, I am grateful. You have helped me tremendously, and I believe… I have come to terms with this. With Azhdaha… dying due to Erosion. You have given me much information today, and I truly believe that to be the catalyst. Seeing what Erosion is in its entirety… it all makes sense.”

Gently, slowly, Zhongli places a hand atop Venti’s. 

He squeezes Venti’s fingers firmly. “Thank you, Venti.” 

He smiles.

It’s small. Nothing like Venti’s own blinding grins, or the wide smiles of the children he used to watch over during his very very short stint as a daycare director. 

No, it’s tiny, but it makes Venti’s heart thunder in his chest anyway.

“Let’s go to Liyue.”

“Pardon?”

Venti leans forward, the edge of his notebook digging into his stomach. “That’s where his remains are, right? And your body?” 

“Yes…” Zhongli says slowly. “His remains are in a cave deep within the mountains of Jueyun Karst. My body is in the mountain beside it.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah, totally. A great plan!” Venti nods enthusiastically, his entire body vibrating in excitement. “We go to Liyue, return your soul to your body, and then we go say the final goodbyes to Azdhaha. Or maybe we have to visit him first so your soul can actually find peace or whatever, and then we can pick up your body.”

“Venti.” Zhongli searches Venti’s gaze for something. He doesn’t seem to find it. “Why have you gone to such great lengths for me?”

“Uh.” Venti bites his lip. “W-well, I did say we were friends! I might be a bit silly—don’t laugh at me, I know I’m a goof—but I like to think I’m at least a little nice.”

Everything is still for a moment, Zhongli’s hand still resting atop Venti’s, Venti’s fingers curled around Zhongli’s kneecap. 

Pulling his hand away, Zhongli nods once. “Alright.”

Venti can’t shake the feeling that he said something wrong.

👻

Jean seems a little bewildered when he asks for a week off, but relents anyway. 

“I will work in the evenings while you’re gone, so don’t worry about finding coverage,” she says, as if Venti had any plan to try to find coverage anyway. 

With his own route to Liyue secured, there is only the problem of Zhongli. 

“I don’t know if I can leave the hotel,” Zhongli says, eyes wide with shock, like he hadn’t even thought about it before. “I have not felt the need to leave since I arrived in this form.”

Venti frowns. “You told me you were stuck here.”

“Yes, well, I may have been feeding into the ghost preconception as a means to intimidate you.” Zhongli clears his throat, averts his gaze. He’s looking more… corporeal since their heart to heart a few days ago. “I had little reason to be completely honest with you in the beginning.”

“Ugh, why are you so difficult?” Venti shakes his head. “Whatever, that doesn’t matter now. Just—just try walking out the front door, it’s right there.” 

Zhongli leans backward in his chair to get a better look at the exit. “Would you think me foolish if I said I was a tad afraid?”

“I think you're foolish all the time,” Venti teases lightly. “I wasn’t expecting one, for you to care about my opinion of you, or two, for you to be afraid of something like a sliding door.”

“It is not the door itself I am afraid of. Rather… I have grown accustomed to this place. Leaving it to venture into the unknown is not a pleasant thought. As I’m sure you’re aware, rocks are perfectly content to stay in one place for a long time.” Zhongli pauses, thinks about something for a second, and then says, “I also care about your opinion of me quite a lot.”

Unbidden, heat rises to Venti’s cheeks. “HAHA yeah, okay, no need to be so sappy! Just—” Venti stands, places his hands on Zhongli’s back. Thankfully, today Zhongli seems to be pretty physically present, so his hands don’t embarrassingly slip through his form. Venti pushes Zhongli toward the lobby entrance. “Go, go go go!”

Zhongli could probably stop Venti if he really wanted to, even though he doesn’t have a proper body. But he doesn’t. 

So Venti is able to push him all the way to the door, just out of range of the motion sensor. 

“Go on. I’m right here in case you, like, explode into a million pieces.” 

“I was not aware that was a possibility until you mentioned it.”

“It’s a hyperbole! You won’t explode.” Venti tilts his head. “Probably.”

“Your confidence is truly astounding.”

“Just—just go, blockhead!”

Zhongli rolls his eyes, clearly exasperated, but does as he’s told. He steps forward and—unsurprisingly—the motion sensor doesn’t detect his body at all. He stops in his tracks, blinks up at the sensor. Venti makes a noise in the back of his throat, and that seems enough to spur Zhongli into moving again. 

Right through the glass doors. 

He certainly doesn’t explode.

Nothing happens, actually. 

Venti lets go of the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Maybe he was expecting Zhongli to explode or disappear or be swept away by the wind or something…

Zhongli turns around to face Venti, smiling. 

A big smile, showing his ghostly teeth and all. 

Once again, Venti’s heart beats wildly in his chest. He raises a hand to clutch at his terrible hotel-branded polo shirt in an attempt to calm it down. Or something. 

With his other hand, he sends a shaky thumbs up to Zhongli, a shakier smile stretching his lips. 

👻

If Jean seemed confused at Venti’s impromptu vacation, Aether is downright suspicious. 

“You’re going to Liyue,” Aether says, a single eyebrow raised in obvious judgement. 

“Yupp! Jueyun Karst. Gotta climb some mountains, spelunk some caves.” Venti nods as he shoves a messily folded hoodie into a backpack that will eventually end up in the pocket dimension Venti still has access to. “Y’know, normal Liyue stuff.” 

Aether clicks his tongue. “You’re going alone?”  

“Nope!” Venti pops the ‘p’ sound extra loudly, Aether’s absolute favourite thing. “I’m going with a ghost I met at the hotel. Well, technically he’s not a ghost, but he’s basically a ghost. We’re going to get his body and say bye to his dead dragon friend-slash-boyfriend.”

“I’m sorry,” Aether says, “is this supposed to make me feel better about you leaving so suddenly?” 

“Awh, Aether.” Venti places a hand over his heart overdramatically, batting his eyelashes for effect. “Are you worried about me?” 

“Not a chance.” Aether rolls his eyes. “You promised you’d watch Paimon while I’m gone to Inazuma in two weeks. I want to make sure you’re going to follow through.”

“I only have one week off from work, so I’ll definitely be back to watch your devil cat, don’t worry.” Venti flashes a wide grin. “And I won’t get eaten by this ghost, I promise.”

“I… don’t think ghosts eat people?”

👻

Venti swings his arms by his sides as he walks down the sidewalk, Zhongli walking beside him. Well, gliding, really, because today is a less-than-corporeal day for him apparently. 

“Do you plan to walk all the way to Jueyun Karst?” Zhongli’s voice is quieter than normal, almost like he’s afraid that some random passerby might hear him even though he’s basically talking into Venti’s mind directly.

“Of course not.” Venti flicks a braid over his shoulder. “We’re gonna walk into the nearby forest, where I will change back to my sprite form. Then I can fly us there in less than a few hours.”

“Hm. Can you hold on to me? Does your wind sprite form have claws of some sort?” 

“Nah, but you can hold on to me. I’m a pretty strong flier, so don’t worry about dragging me down!”

They do just that. Zhongli keeps the hem of Venti’s robe pinched between his fingers the entire flight to Liyue. There’s not much room for conversation with the wind whipping past them as the hurtle through the air at a frankly ridiculous speed. 

Venti could make a little air bubble around them that would allow them to talk, but he has a sneaking suspicion that Zhongli isn’t in the most talkative of moods right now anyway. 

So it’s a quiet journey. 

And short, mercifully. 

Carrying a soul is tiring, apparently. Venti blames it on the fact that he hasn’t flown since before electricity became commonplace. 

When they finally land on the dirt path leading into the natural, undeveloped lands of Jueyun Karst, Zhongli is the first to speak. 

“Please remain on your best behaviour traveling through this area. Several Illuminated Beasts live here, and it is best not to disturb them.” Zhongli points to a giant piece of amber on the slope of a nearby mountain. “If you disturb them, they may trap you forever.” 

In a flash of blue and green light, Venti returns to his human form. “So there are other Illuminated Beasts who live? Are they as old as you?” 

“What did I just say about manners? It is rude to ask creatures how old they are.” Zhongli begins walking along the path winding between two steep cliff faces, his ghostly coattails flapping behind him. “Most of them are descendants of the Adepti you are probably thinking about.” 

Venti trails after Zhongli, taking in the beautiful scenery with wide eyes as they walk at a leisurely pace. “Adepti have game, then.”

“I do not know what game you are referring to.” 

“Game, as in, like… Can get some.”

“Get some… what?”

“Oh my god.”

“Which god do you worship? I was under the impression most have perished, and those remaining alive are hidden—”

“It’s an expression, old man.” 

👻

It’s not long before they make it to an open, spacious area dotted with ponds and remnants of old abyss monster camps. The whole place has truly remained untouched while humans paved the rest of Teyvat…

A giant tree, adorned with leaves of orange, gold, and luminescent blue catches Venti’s attention. 

“Woah, what is that?”

Zhongli breathes in deeply, soaking in the fresh, clean air unpolluted by city smog. “This is Nantianmen. That is a tree which… Azhdaha and I planted long ago, when I gave him sight.” 

“Oh.” Right. Venti had almost been able to push that very romantic, extremely heartfelt gesture out of his mind. 

Zhongli points at a mountain to their right. “That is an unnamed mountain, where Azhdaha was born. It has shrunk significantly in size since the time of our arrival.” He points to the significantly taller mountain to his left. “That is Qingyun Peak. That is where I was hatched.”

“Wow.” Venti looks to the left, to the right, back to the tree. “So you two really were, like, neighbors in the womb of the earth.” 

“That is quite possibly the most vile way you could have described it.” Zhongli sighs. “Nevermind that. I think… I believe we should visit Azhdaha first. Seeing his remains, saying my—my final goodbyes will likely make it easier to return my soul to my body.” 

“Okay. Sounds good to me.” Venti begins marching to the mountain Zhongli had pointed out earlier, Zhongli catching up to walk side-by-side in no time. “I thought you said you gave his body to some fancy funeral parlor?” 

“Wangsheng Funeral Parlor.” Zhongli nods resolutely. “Indeed I did, while Azhdaha remained in his human form. I was able to keep him transformed long enough to have a standard funeral for the mortals he knew. After the Liyuen rites were performed, I released my magic and he reverted back to his natural form. At that point, I placed him in his cave—his first home, here in Nantianmen.” 

“I see… So you left him here, felt sick, went to take a power nap in your own hidey hole, and then woke up in that dinky hotel. And since you never came to terms with how Azhdaha died, whatever parting words you said to him when you dropped his body off weren’t, uh.” Venti scratches his head, trying to find the right words. “Parting enough to settle your soul.”

“Though I cannot confirm your words, I find it a likely explanation.” Zhongli takes another deep, steadying breath. “I am ready to properly part ways with Azhdaha now.”

“That’s a big step,” Venti says softly. He steps slightly closer to Zhongli. Their hands brush. Venti’s pinky slips through Zhongli’s palm. “How are you holding up?”

“As well as one can when they’ve just come to terms with the death of their companion of eleven thousand years, I would say.” 

Venti gasps. “Zhongli, was that a joke? A joke at a time like this?”

Zhongli shoots Venti a smile—no, a smirk. With teeth. “I assure you, I am alright, Venti. I appreciate your concern, but as I said back in Mondstadt… It is time.”

Abruptly, Zhongli stops. Venti follows suit. 

“The entrance is right there.” Zhongli waves a hand in its general direction, just up ahead. 

Venti rocks forward onto the balls of his feet, back to his heels. “Do you wanna go in alone?” 

“I…” Zhongli clears his throat. Venti swears he can see what appears to be a slight blush bloom across his not-ghost cheeks. “I would be grateful for your company.”

“I would be honoured.” Venti nods toward the open mouth of the cave, a silent lead the way.  

So Zhongli does. Each step sure, confident, Zhongli makes his way into the cave. Venti is right behind him, albeit walking with much less self assurance. The two walk for quite some time, down a winding path leading deeper and deeper into the ground. Venti feels the air grow warmer with practically each pace, muggier and muggier as they continue onward. 

Eventually, when Venti has just adjusted to the temperature, they walk into a large, open space. 

In the middle, five giant, glowing golden pillars form a pentagon around…

The biggest creature Venti has ever seen in his life.  

(And he’s seen a lot of things.)

Azhdaha looks much like the mountain he’s buried under. Bits of rock jut out of his shoulders like mountain peaks. His belly is round, making him look almost like a giant stone toad. His horns are shiny, golden, curved downward like a goat’s but upside down. What Venti finds the most intriguing though is his tail. 

His tail looks like tree branches with scattered orange leaves dotting the limbs.

Almost exactly like the tree outside. 

“Azhdaha,” Zhongli says. His voice echoes in the giant chamber, loud and deep and reverberating, bigger than Venti has ever heard it. “Azhdaha.” 

He floats further into the room until he reaches the pillar closest to the entrance. He does not cross the boundary between it and the next pillar over, but raises a hand to press his palm into what is apparently an invisible barrier. 

The force field glows gold under Zhongli’s fingertips. 

“Azhdaha… It pains me to see you again like this.” Zhongli slides his hand down the barrier, leaving a dusting of gold glittering in its wake. “But I must. I know it. My new—Venti, the one in the corner… Venti opened my eyes. I’m… I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more support to you while you eroded away before me.”

Venti swallows thickly, frozen in place at the edge of the room. 

“I realize now there is nothing I could have done to prevent the inevitable. However, I could have aided in a smoother transition to the afterlife. If only I hadn’t been so fixated on spending as much time as I could with you.” Zhongli leans forward, resting his head against the barrier. “I can only hope that the afterlife is treating you well, whatever it may look like. The time we spent together… you will continue to shine like gold, in my memories.

In my memories is where you shall stay until I join you in the afterlife.”

Zhongli is silent for a while. He might be praying. He might be telepathically communicating in some rock language. Venti doesn’t know. He’s still standing, shell-shocked, a dozen meters away. 

“Azhdaha, may you rest in peace. Erosion took hold of you, but your will carries on. I can feel it, especially in these lands.” Zhongli lifts a closed fist to his chest. “In here, too.”

Righting himself, Zhongli clears his throat. He takes two steps back, bows deeply toward Azhdaha’s resting corpse. “This is goodbye, Azhdaha. Until we meet again, friend.”

Zhongli stands straight up, falling out of his bowing position. His gaze lingers on Azhdaha for only half a second longer before he turns on his heel and strides out of the room, brushing shoulders with Venti on his way by. 

Venti scrambles to gather himself, bowing quickly toward Azhdaha—it seems like the respectful thing to do—and then trails listlessly behind Zhongli. 

They break the surface once more, and everything around is just as they left it. The moon still hangs high in the sky. The leaves of the giant tree glow in the surrounding darkness. Birds chirp distantly, crickets making their little cricket noises in a nearby bush. 

But Venti feels like something has shifted, anyway. 

“Hey…” he starts, quiet, reaching a hand out to rest on Zhongli’s shoulder. The man doesn’t flinch under his touch, remains standing rigidly near the cave entrance. “You okay?” 

Zhongli breathes in, holds for two seconds, breathes out. He turns to face Venti, his eyes alight, a small smile on his lips. “I feel… lighter. Very much so.”

Relief washes over Venti. He would console Zhongli if he had to, of course, but he’s never been good with people crying. Especially not over someone’s death—someone like him has seen too many die before him, has become almost jaded to it, so much so that empathy is hard to give out by now. 

Grinning, Venti gives Zhongli a double thumbs up. “Let’s go get your body back, then!”

Zhongli once again leads the way into the cave in the nearby mountain. This time they don’t travel as far down, seeing as this mountain hasn’t sunk like the one where Azhdaha rests. 

Entirely unlike Azhdaha’s cave-house, the giant room they stumble into is anything but empty. 

Piles of gold—various currencies used throughout the ages of Teyvat, from Venti’s quick survey—strings of pearls, a few chalices here and there, random trinkets, some jewels, fine silks from all over the world create mountains upon mountains of— of—

“Treasure.”

Zhongli chuckles. “I suppose you can call it that, yes. I do treasure each and every item here.” Without waiting for Venti’s response, Zhongli begins unceremoniously climbing over the piles of gold coins, heading toward the centre of the room. 

“Every single item?” Venti huffs as he does his best to follow Zhongli along the dunes of coins. “There has to be millions of them here!” 

“Yes, and each of those millions are special to me.” 

“Gods, dragons really are as bad as all the legends say, huh?” 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing!” Venti lifts his leg over what appears to be a finely crafted oak dining table meant for at least 16 people. He uses it as leverage to toss himself onto the relatively flat plane, wide enough for him to stand. He gathers his bearings enough to see Zhongli calmly walking over the flat field of literal solid gold toward a giant brown heap. “Is that your body?” 

“Yes,” Zhongli calls behind him. “It is.”

Venti skips over to the lump, coming to a halt next to Zhongli. 

And stares. 

Zhongli’s description was definitely accurate, if not a bit clinical for how majestic this dragon body looks. It’s nothing like Azhdaha’s hulking, rotund form. No, this is long, lean, streamlined, with a mane of what looks like gold threads. Visible scales all lined in gold, whiskers tipped in amber, much like Zhongli’s ghost hair. 

“This is the moment of truth, I suppose.” 

He doesn’t give Venti anymore warning than that. 

Zhongli places his hand onto his body’s coiled form, allows his arm to slip into his own body. Before long, he’s elbow deep. He spares a glance up at Venti, who is watching in rapt attention. With a nod and a deep breath, Zhongli steps completely into the dragon form.

Venti waits. 

And waits. 

And waits.  

All of a sudden, the dragon before him begins shifting, like an animal being awoken from a long slumber. One giant eye cracks open, then the other, both bright, shining amber, like sparkly pieces of cor lapis. They scan around the room, eventually settling on Venti. 

“I guess that worked after all,” Venti says, a little breathless. 

“You sound as if you were expecting failure.” The voice that rings in Venti’s head is all too familiar. It does that same echoey thing as before, but this time it feels… closer. But still low baritone, rumbly, enough to shake Venti to the very core. Still Zhongli.  

Venti chuckles, hoping his nervousness doesn’t seep into his fake laughter. “It was a pretty big gamble!”

“Hm.” Zhongli tilts his neck side to side, rolling his dragon shoulders. Slowly, he stands on all four legs, letting his body stretch out to its full length. Though large he may be, he hardly takes up a fraction of the size of this monstrous cave. “Perhaps a lottery ticket purchase is in order.”

“So many jokes today, Zhongli.” Venti grins. “Are you gonna stay in your dragon-y body for a while? Get some extra miles out of it since it’s been so long?” 

Zhongli tilts his head slightly. “I cannot come back with you if I am in this form.”

Venti blinks. Once. Twice. Four, six times. “Come… back. With me.”

“Well, yes.” In the blink of an eye—literally, Venti blinks again incredulously, and then Zhongli is standing before him. Like, his Zhongli, the Zhongli he’s only known. Except his skin isn’t a pale blue, the edges of his body aren’t all misty, and his body heat is indeed very, very real and very, very obvious with how close he stands. “If you would have me, that is.”

Zhongli’s human voice is the same, because of course it is, but it feels more… real. Tangible, when it’s coming from something physically standing in front of Venti and not reverberating in his own mind. 

But that’s really—honestly that’s all tangential because—

“You want to come back with me?” 

“Of course,” Zhongli says easily, without an ounce of hesitation. “I have grown… attached to you in the last few months, you see.” 

“Attached.” 

“Yes, attached.” 

They stare at each other.

In utter, loud silence. 

“Zhongli,” Venti says. “Zhongli, we spent the last few months getting you to get over your dead boyfriend—”

“He was not my boyfriend. Such a flippant term.” Zhongli waves a hand dismissively. “That is besides the point entirely.”

“I really, really don’t think it is, actually!” Venti raises his hands over his head. “Do you not—do you not remember how exactly fifteen minutes ago you were pouring your heart out to your—to Azhdaha? Because he meant so much to you that your soul literally separated from your body—”

“I don’t see what this has to do with my growing fond of you.” Zhongli does not break eye contact with Venti. His eyes search for that thing again, that same thing, in Venti’s stare. “Azhdaha will remain in my heart, of course, as I’m sure your past friends and family and lovers remain in yours. But Venti, you—”

Zhongli growls. Full-on, no joke, animalistically growls.  

“You are so infuriating. You drive me completely mad. Your silly tricks and childish pranks bring nothing but chaos into my life. However, you are kind, and you are patient. You were willing to do everything in your power, including speaking to an old colleague with whom you were clearly not on the best terms, to help me. You selflessly risked losing your job to come with me to say my final goodbyes and you—you—

There is most unfortunately something about you that draws me in like a moth to a flame.”

Venti gapes, open-mouthed, like a fish out of water. 

“I do not know exactly what that means. Or why it happened. I wish I had an answer. I cannot—I cannot describe it in words. I do know, however, that I would like to stay in your life.” Zhongli pauses. “In whatever capacity you will have me.” 

“You—” Venti shakes his head, his braids flying every which way around him. He pushes Zhongli’s chest with way more force than is necessary, but the man doesn’t so much as stumble backwards. “You can’t just say things like that!” 

A finger hooks under his chin, gently lifting his head up so that he has no choice but to stare into Zhongli’s honeyed eyes. 

“Venti,” Zhongli breathes into the scant space between them. “If you wish to part ways with me, tell me and I shall let you return to Mond alone.”

“Of course I don’t want that, you blockhead!” Venti wrestles his face out of Zhongli’s grip. “Just—! Don’t say things like that out of the blue, okay? I’m going to pass out if you do that again.” 

“Okay.” 

“A-and you can’t just grab my face like that!”

“Okay.” 

“And don’t stand so close to me, you’re like a giant space heater.” 

“Okay.” 

“Don’t just keep saying ‘okay’ over and over!”

“Okay.” 

“Hey!” Venti glares up at Zhongli, who wears an amused expression. “You sure are finding this funny for someone who should be groveling to bring them back with me.” 

“Do you wish me to get on my knees and beg?” 

“Wh—” Heat rises to Venti’s cheeks. “Don’t say stuff like that!”

“Okay.” 

“No, we’re not doing this again.” Venti huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Just—just follow me, okay? I’ll fly us back to Mondstadt.”

“You’re taking me with you?” Zhongli looks down at Venti with simmering, burning hope in his eyes. 

“Don’t be silly, of course I am.” Venti holds out a hand. “C’mon, let’s go home.”

Zhongli rests his palm in Venti’s waiting hand. 

Venti slots their fingers together.

It’s a perfect fit.