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Xiao finds a guest waiting for him at the top of Wangshu Inn. He nearly turns around and leaves, rooftop surveillance be damned, but the visitor turns and looks up, and the first thing Xiao notices is the familiar sight of bright amber eyes.
Before his mind can catch up and process what he’s seen, he drops to his knees and doesn’t lift his head until he feels hands on his shoulders tugging him back upright.
“Xiao,” he hears, and the voice is so painfully familiar and yet softer than it’s ever been in his memories. He clenches his fists, ignoring the crescents of his nails digging into his palms even through his gloves, because even though he’s known that Rex Lapis—no, it’s Zhongli now, isn’t it?—that Zhongli was alive, there’s a difference between receiving divine medicine and being within arm’s reach of him.
He almost reaches out just to check, but neither he nor Rex Lapis are the tactile sort, their hands too battle-familiar to convey anything but cruelty. Sometimes Xiao still sees blood coated on his hands and splashed across Rex Lapis’s face even when they’ve been washed clean.
But Zhongli takes Xiao’s hands into his own easily. He smiles, and it reaches his eyes, and all Xiao can do is sigh and accept him back into his life because god or not, he’s still the one to whom Xiao owes everything.
He doesn’t cry, or even smile, but he squeezes the ex-archon’s hands tightly. If he lets go, Zhongli will surely fall without any of the falsehoods, and Xiao again won’t be around to save him. “Welcome back.”
Zhongli laughs.
--
Somehow, Xiao finds himself in Liyue Harbor, shifting uncomfortably as Zhongli’s voice hums above their bustling surroundings, delivering to a group of elderly men the histories of their own birds.
He hates coming to the city, hates the crawling beneath his skin that comes with the crowds that inevitably direct their attention toward him, but when he’d asked Zhongli what the point of living as a human was, all he’d received was an invitation to join the next excursion. Now, cries of amazement fill the square, as they always had whenever the great Rex Lapis was around, but this… this is new. There are no platitudes or pleas for help—only an enraptured audience hanging on to every word of the mortal Zhongli.
Xiao has never been more out of his element, trying to hide himself amongst the row of birdcages dangling in the middle of the square. For Rex—for Zhongli, he tells himself, because even if anyone else had managed to drag him out to Liyue Harbor, he would have vanished before the first bird trill pierced the air.
There’s no sign of danger around, but there has to be a reason they’re here. In a desperate bid to understand, Xiao peers into one of the cages, where a bird is perched as it preens itself. Its markings remind him of Mountain Shaper, and for a brief, terrifying moment, he wonders if Mountain Shaper would one day let Zhongli take him out on walks through the city and meet other birds.
He shudders, and Zhongli looks over at him. “Xiao?”
“It’s nothing.” Mountain Shaper would never approach Liyue Harbor voluntarily, anyway. He thinks Menogias would have, though, with his love for humans’ daily morning rituals.
The reminder lodges itself in his throat.
“I’ll be leaving now.” None of the old men around them even have the strength to lift a shovel, let alone wield a weapon.
Zhongli doesn’t stop him, but he does press a wrapped box into Xiao’s hands. “Your medicine, among other things.”
“Other things” ends up being two containers of almond tofu. Xiao stares at one, poking it with a spoon, before scooping off a corner.
It tastes the way Madame Ping makes it whenever she gets the chance to make the journey out of Liyue Harbor, but there’s a certain kind of precision to the way the tofu’s been shaped and garnished. Xiao almost considers not eating it, just so this dream can last a little longer, but it’s already beginning to lose its shape.
He eats both containers in one sitting.
--
Zhongli calls him to the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor for the third time in a week. He’s sitting in one of the parlor chairs when Xiao arrives, hands folded in his lap and one leg crossed over the other.
Xiao knows by now that these arrangements have nothing to do with the safety of Liyue, but he still joins Zhongli in his mundane pastimes, hand itching to summon his spear to deal with anyone who might interrupt. He still struggles to reconcile the man before him with Rex Lapis, sometimes, because as calm as he always was, he had rarely been at peace the way he is now.
Zhongli shows him an especially large, smooth piece of Noctilucous Jade, proffering it for him to hold. Xiao doesn’t take it, but in that moment, he wants nothing more than to run his fingers over its flat body, searching for scars and divots that he knows have been polished away, and turn it over and over in his palm until it molds to the curve in his hand.
He’s grown lax, Xiao finds when the door bursts open and he doesn’t jump into position because he’s still thinking about the damn stone.
“Long time no see, Zhongli-xiansheng.” The voice is new, but the underlying bitterness is all too familiar, common through millenia. The way the honorific is drawled leaves a bad taste in Xiao’s mouth. “You went to the trouble of making Ekaterina hunt me down the second I got off the boat, and now you can’t even bother to spare some time for a fight?”
The Fatui Harbinger responsible for the city’s near-destruction leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, glare or a smirk—it’s hard to tell—scrawled across his features. Instinctively, Xiao puts himself between him and Zhongli, reaching for his spear.
“Childe,” Zhongli admonishes, but the harbinger, Childe, isn’t paying attention anymore, his stare focused on the weapon being pointed at him.
A grin spreads across his face. His eyes are the deadest blue that Xiao’s ever seen. “Maybe this wasn’t such a waste after all,” the Harbinger says, and Xiao snarls, prepared to lunge before a steady hand rests itself on his shoulder.
“There will be no fighting here,” Zhongli says. His eyes are tight with something Xiao can’t place. Frustration? Pain? Neither makes any sense. Whatever it is, it lowers Xiao’s temper to a simmer, and he shifts his weight back, crossing his arms as he waits to hear what Zhongli has to say.
The same can’t be said for Childe, whose brows have sunken in disinterest, expression heavily guarded once more. He scoffs, turning back to the door. “Sorry, Zhongli-xiansheng, but I haven’t retired yet. Make it important next time.”
He raises a hand in mock farewell, and the two adepti watch him leave, the door swinging in a wide arc before falling back shut with a careless slam that quickly dissolves into nothingness.
Even with his quiet voice, Zhongli’s sigh shatters the silence. “My apologies, Xiao. I should have expected that I would not be forgiven so easily.”
“You don’t owe him anything,” Xiao snaps. He catches himself before he can go any further, clearing his throat to divert his ire. “He brought Liyue’s grudge upon himself.”
“Yes.” Even Zhongli can’t deny the measures Childe had taken. “And yet, he never would have been able to lay a finger on Liyue,” he says, and for a moment, Xiao sees Morax again, Rex Lapis’s golden stare lined with crimson.
He understands, of course, that Liyue had not truly been left to fend for itself before it was ready, but the memory of the grief and anger that he had enshrouded within himself, lamenting at his own failure to protect his archon, settles unevenly in his chest.
“I’m leaving,” he says, because typically all he’s ever been called to do is have tea or visit the gardens or try the dish that Zhongli has let marinate for days to soak in the flavor. (It’s not bad, but Xiao never has adapted a taste for human food.)
He returns to the inn with his medicine and a bundle of Qingxin that he has no idea where to put. He ends up tucking them in his belt, and if he ever brushes a hand over them to make sure they haven’t fallen out, that’s none of anyone’s business.
--
Childe leaves Liyue again a few days later, hopefully for good this time. When Xiao is finally satisfied that he isn’t coming back, having spent a few days keeping an eye out on the harbor, he retreats to the Wangshu Inn, busying himself with his duty towards Liyue’s safety.
Only when he’s invited back to the funeral parlor does he realize a grave oversight on his part.
“A letter,” he repeats numbly. His tea remains untouched before him, as it usually does until he prepares to leave, but Xiao thinks he might have tried it sooner today.
Zhongli looks rather pleased, even for himself, though a pensive haze remains settled over his eyes. “It arrived this morning. Childe appears to be in better spirits, if a challenge is any indication.”
Instead of responding, Xiao searches for any signs of unease in Zhongli’s countenance and posture and comes up empty. He knows, realistically, that Zhongli can more than take care of himself, that some battle-deranged Fatui Harbinger won’t try to kill him, despite what the whispers seeping through the Wangshu Inn’s wooden floorboards seem to think.
Still, the thought of Zhongli’s contentment ripped to shreds fills Xiao’s stomach like a particularly unpleasant nightmare.
“He’s going to hurt you,” he finally says, averting his gaze. He stabs his spear into the ground, pretending that it’s Childe beneath its point.
Zhongli frowns, his amber eyes narrowing. “I may no longer be an archon, but I have not always needed my gnosis to fight.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Despite his own values, Xiao would kill the harbinger himself before that happened, anyway. “He must be planning something. Is he truly not still angry with you?”
As soon as the words leave his lips, he regrets it, because that look from the other day is back. Before Zhongli can say anything, Xiao shakes his head, cursing himself for being the one to put it there this time.
Don’t let him contact you anymore, he doesn’t say. Instead, “You know that I will arrive when you call.”
It comes out a bit too fierce, the edges of his words a bit too sharp, but Zhongli laughs, warm and low, and as they have for more than two thousand years without fail, the tips of Xiao’s ears grow hot.
--
When a familiar Snezhnayan laugh echoes in the wind a few weeks later, the Millelith have to cordon off a bridge in the Guili Plains for repairs, its stone structure tattered and crumbling.
--
The next time he enters the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, Xiao spots Childe crouched in a corner, forearms braced on his knees. ( A Snezh squat , Childe unhelpfully informs him much, much later, and Xiao ignores him.)
He doesn’t waste any time pointing his spear at the Harbinger, but his sigh is more tired than anything else. “Leave.”
“Rude. I was invited, you know?” Childe straightens up, grinning down at him. Xiao narrows his eyes. “Sure, not by Zhongli-xiansheng, but you know he’s not the only one who works here.”
He knows that Xiao has been running to the funeral parlor at Zhongli’s beck and call, that this particular part of his routine is a weakness for him. Behind Childe’s closed-eyed smile, all Xiao can sense is battlelust: unhinged, rearing its head at a simple nudge, but most threateningly, well-restrained.
He has never been one to meddle in Rex Lapis’s affairs, but just this once, he says, “Stay away from Zhongli-daren.”
“Hey now,” Childe spreads his hands and laughs bitterly. It’s harsh, sharp enough to cut through rock. “We’re friends now, okay? No hard feelings. Besides, he’s still refusing to fight me, even though I told him it’d be like an art. He’s into that kind of stuff, for sure.”
Despite his usual indifference towards humans and their affairs, Xiao grits his teeth, wanting nothing more than to run him through. Not fatally, perhaps, but enough to teach him a lesson. “You’re using him.”
“I’m not,” Childe says. “Besides, he had no problem stringing me along.”
“You planned to destroy Liyue Harbor and steal his gnosis.” Xiao’s voice is flat even as anger surges within him. “You planned to kill him with the rest, archon or not. You should have been destroyed for your threat towards Liyue.”
“I had orders,” Childe’s face is blank now, one mask gone and another slotted in its place. “Loyalty to her Royal Highness. You understand, don’t you?”
And he does, has known it intimately well for more than two thousand years, ever since that hand had extended out to him, palm up, entrusting to him the safety of Liyue. Entrusting to him the name Xiao, the name of one who had endured so much suffering.
He has shed much blood under Rex Lapis’s name as well, but it’s different—it must be different because if it weren’t, then instead of protecting the people of Liyue, he would have gone on devouring all of their dreams until he too would have been released from his torment only by arrows of jade rather than an outstretched hand and a simple declaration of his freedom.
Childe points at him accusingly when he doesn’t respond. “And you were just as left in the dark, weren’t you? We’re both just pawns in their great scheme—”
“Still your tongue,” Xiao snarls. “You will never understand Rex Lapis’s trust.”
“His trust? In other people or in himself? In you?”
Xiao should refuse to answer. He should tell Childe to mind his own business, threaten him and leave to search for Zhongli out in the harbor, undoubtedly amongst a crowd of adoring storytellers hanging onto his every word. But something possesses him long enough to say, “He bears far fewer grudges than he should. That’s why we...” Both still stand here today.
There’s an odd expression on Childe’s face, and Xiao looks away. He’s said too much, once again goaded into naivety. “Forget it.”
“Sure,” Childe agrees easily, “and in return, if you could just treat me to a battle...”
Though the words differ, they are eerily reminiscent of a certain traveler’s efforts to cajole feelings out of him and harken even further back to jovial voices prodding at his attempts to curl up and go to sleep after a particularly embarrassing stumble over his response to one of Rex Lapis’s questions. He crosses his arms and scowls, wondering how the same characteristic continues to resurface across millennia of his life.
Xiao’s already-thin patience is saved when the opening door reveals Zhongli, amber eyes widening in curiosity as he takes note of the two occupants of the funeral parlor’s waiting room, undoubtedly surprised and, dare Xiao say it, pleased that a fight had not yet broken out.
“My apologies for being late, Xiao,” he says slowly. “Good to see you again, Childe. I trust you are still able to find your way through the city?”
“How could I not, when I had the most qualified tour guide?” Childe laughs, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. “We’ll catch up later, yeah?”
Zhongli nods. “Perhaps if we are willing to take a short journey…” He looks at Xiao, who averts his eyes, feeling particularly unable to bear the brunt of Zhongli’s smile, quiet and subtle as a shared joke between them. “Xiao, let us go to Yujing Terrace today. The clouds make the view of the harbor a spectacle to behold.”
“Of course, Zhongli-daren.” Xiao straightens up instinctively, prepared to follow.
“Hold on.” Childe rummages through his pockets before tossing Xiao a dense pouch of Mora. “Don’t give me that look! I know most of you adeptus types don’t need it, but it’s better for everyone involved if I fund Zhongli-xiansheng’s spending habits.”
To Xiao’s dismay, Zhongli doesn’t refute the claim.
--
The rumors of the nameless yaksha eat away at him until he can no longer bear it, tormenting himself with a hope he dared not let himself entertain. A reminder of the promise the five of them had made flares to life, and he convinces himself that agony-ridden madness is not proof of death, not for someone so strong and so vivacious.
He hides it poorly enough that Zhongli begins to ask to meet him at the Wangshu Inn instead, undoubtedly taking note of the greater number of wounds that adorn him, his inner turmoil proving to be a substantial distraction. It isn’t a novel experienced to be fussed over in this way, but each visit inspires an urgency in Xiao that he had thought was reserved for life-threatening battles—more so others’ lives than his own—because the sooner he leaves to investigate, the sooner he will stop being the cause for the furrow between Zhongli’s brows, whether he returns or not.
The day he decides to express his wish, he realizes that the sight of Rex Lapis’s back has grown unfamiliar to him.
He doesn’t have to say anything, but the archon already knows why he’s here, saving Xiao from the task of suggesting his own absence. His voice is calm and even with concern winding through his words, but not once does he suggest what Xiao would be leaving behind.
Xiao truly believes he has very little to lose. Very little is not nothing, but he trades one selfish wish for another, allows himself to reach for the one actually attainable for him. Rex Lapis must know this, because he offers no argument, no resistance that they both fully know Xiao would never push back against.
For a moment, Xiao thinks about grabbing his hand, if only to assure him that he intends to return, as if intent were a true promise.
Instead, he bows his head and takes the easy way out.
In the end, perhaps it’s better that he didn’t behave so rashly, or perhaps he should have, because any memory of Rex Lapis is a sweet one, regardless of whether it’s tinted by regret. Through his exhaustion, he can hear Indarias scolding him for his inaction, but the Traveler and the others were now safely out of the jaws of the Chasm, so he had done something, hadn’t he?
As if in response, a familiar power embraces him, the phantom of a warm hand caressing his cheek. You did well. Return to me.
History, he realizes, has a tendency to repeat itself. Once more, he lets himself be saved.
--
Although Zhongli isn’t expecting him today, he crosses his arms and leans back against a pillar as he waits.
He doesn’t even know when he begins to nod off, not even stirring when his head drops forwards. He dozes for a few seconds, or maybe minutes—and hopefully not hours—before a gentle touch on his shoulder startles him into alertness. He spins to face the new arrival, ready to grab his spear, defense and denial at the tip of his tongue, but it’s only Zhongli.
Xiao sags back against the pillar. “Forgive me.”
Zhongli shakes his head. “You should rest. The consulting room will be quiet today.”
Maybe it’s a testament to his weariness, or maybe a nostalgic reflection of comfort, that he lets the steady hand between his shoulder blades guide him to an elegantly carved couch in a darkened room, lets himself sag into the padded seat, something soft properly beneath his head.
Before he slips into the first dreamless slumber he’s had in years, the ghost of a whisper brushes his hair away from his eyes.
He wakes in the dark, with only a muted golden glow to cast shadows about the room. How many hours have passed? While he has yet to hear screams for help, demons rarely care about the nighttime routines of humans.
More distressing is the quiet grunt that Zhongli lets out when Xiao attempts to sit up and instead elbows him in the stomach.
Heat rushing to his face, Xiao freezes, eyes wide. “I apologize, Zhongli-daren, I didn’t realize—” Didn’t realize he had been sleeping in Zhongli’s lap, of all things, even if the scent of tea and earthy blooms should have made it obvious.
“It’s alright, Xiao,” Zhongli says. His own luminescent gaze is soft as he helps Xiao sit upright on the seat beside him. “It seems you slept well.”
Xiao averts his eyes. “Thank you.” He frowns. That’s nowhere near enough, but it has always been difficult to grasp the right words. “I troubled you once again."
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“The Traveler said you denied being at the Chasm, but...” He crosses his arms. “I recognize Rex Lapis’s power just as I recognize my own name. You have saved me time and time again, and I can never do enough to repay my debt of gratitude.”
A hand reaches out to rest on his shoulder. “You have done more than enough. Even when you should rest, you continue to fight alone. Surely you did not aid me in battle so that you could vanquish grudges for all of eternity.”
Xiao swallows hard. “I can’t comprehend it,” he confesses. Frustration wells up within him, that the other four yakshas had desired peaceful lives so easily while he had been unable to picture a life beyond the war, that he was the only one left with a chance to experience it, and he just—couldn’t.
Even in the dark, the only source of light being the warm light from the tip of his ponytail, Zhongli’s expression grows visibly somber as he pulls back.
“Sometimes I wonder,” he murmurs, “if I had asked Moon Carver to take you under his guidance instead, could you have known peace then? If I had not allowed myself to be selfish—”
“No!” Xiao’s outburst startles even himself as he shoots to his feet. “Please, don’t say that, my lord. I wanted to fight alongside you.”
Zhongli coughs, looking uncharacteristically embarrassed, and something possesses Xiao to grab one of his hands and clasp it between his own as he drops down on his knees.
“If you will forgive me,” he says, voice low, as if he were trying to keep a secret from the walls, “I admired you greatly. There was nothing I wouldn’t have done for you, and even in the midst of the war, I... I think we were happy.”
The expression on Zhongli’s face is nigh undecipherable. “Even after millennia, you truly have grown, Xiao.”
“Yes,” Xiao admits. “There are some things I’ve come to understand.”
But all the understanding in the world can’t prepare him for the kiss Zhongli presses to his cheek.
--
To the adeptus who stopped following me around,
Even in his letters to me, Zhongli-xiansheng won’t stop talking about you, so I trust that you’ve said your part. I’ve made my peace with him as well, and he told me that he’d be keeping an eye on me, so I don’t know where you got the idea that he’d be all-forgiving. Maybe we’re seeing a classic case of favoritism at play?
But when you mentioned forgiveness the other day, you sounded ashamed of yourself. I don’t know what you did, and I won’t ask, but from what I’ve heard, from the Traveler too, it sounds like you paid your dues a long time ago. Surely you must know when the locals gush over you.
Sometimes I take a step back and look at myself the way my family does. Even if you adepti never like to say it, maybe you’ll like what you see.
Yours truly,
Childe
--
When Zhongli suggests that they climb to the top of Mt. Aocang, a twinkle in his eye, Xiao looks up at the peaks towering above them. The two of them stand at the base of the mountains, below even the wooden bridges where several mortals have made their camps.
“Zhongli-daren,” he tries, “it will take far too long.”
“Oh?” Zhongli’s hands are clasped behind his back, a model of poise and not at all of someone who intends to scale a cliffside, presumably without any adeptal techniques. “I’ve heard you are a fairly proficient climber.”
With a sigh, Xiao drops to one knee. As Zhongli steps in, Xiao hooks one arm behind his knees, using the other to catch him as he falls back with a gasp in a rare show of surprise.
“I hope you will forgive me for not wanting to watch you plummet to the ground,” Xiao says, before he launches up in a series of slow bounds so that Zhongli might at least enjoy the ride he’s been forced to take. They land at the top, where the water in Cloud Retainer’s abode first begins its gentle descent over the rocks.
When he looks down at Zhongli, the other laughs. “Perhaps this is more similar to a mortal’s experience than any climb could be.”
“I would have dropped a mortal in the water now,” Xiao says dryly. “And they tend to have more difficulty getting down than coming up.”
He turns toward the stone table at the center, intending to set Zhongli down at his usual seat, but Zhongli shakes his head.
“Not today,” he says. “We haven’t come to reminisce.”
Not willing to let him go quite yet, Xiao carries him to the northern side of the peak before settling beneath the shade of a golden-leaved tree and folding Zhongli in between his crossed legs.
He lets go, but Zhongli seems content to stay where he is, and Xiao can’t stop himself from nestling his head in the crook of Zhongli’s neck.
Inevitably, Cloud Retainer will grow tired of watching and will leave her abode to greet them, but not before she spreads the word to the other adepti of Jueyun Karst, or to Madame Ping, who he’s sure already knows, or to Ganyu, who he’s sure wants to know.
But with gentle fingers running through his perpetually wind-tangled hair, listening to a story they both know he has already heard, he can’t bring himself to care.