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It wasn’t hard to guess where Xiao had gone.
Zhongli’s veins still thrummed from the solidity of geo, his dormant power now blazing in his chest.
He had left the chasm collected, allowing Xiao his curt farewells to the others. He had stood watching from afar, as the adeptus confided his tentative past in the traveller. But now, he burned with a desire to see him, to assure his well-being wasn’t simply a trick of the distance between them.
Pervases’ temple was desolate, for Xiao had disappeared amidst the bright azure of anemo. Zhongli’s eyes strayed to the restored temple, feeling a stab of the guilt he’d been staving off for thousands of years.
A gentle wind sifted through his hair, almost as if Barbatos could sense his inner turmoil and wished to soothe him. Liyue’s bronzed trees swayed in the evening air and the unyielding mountains stretched to the golden horizon. The relentless love for his nation swelled in his chest as he descended from his vantage point.
He reached Wangshu Inn in record speed, climbing the steps in a manner unbefitting of his calm demeanour. By the time he stepped upon the wood of the top floor, night was already edging on the glorious sunset.
Xiao was undoubtedly perched on one of the branches above, gazing towards the horizon as he often did when the day had tested emotional constraints. But he knew Zhongli was here, for even grief did not dampen his vigilance, nor his will to protect Liyue.
The adeptus did not appear immediately, however, and Zhongli was left with the familiar sounds of guests retreating to their rooms for the night. This was usual and he knew how Xiao loathed appearing when tourists roamed the inn, some deliberately invading the top floor to catch a glimpse of the elusive Conquerer of Demons.
Dusk fell, as did a resounding silence throughout the building. Zhongli leaned against the railing, gazing out across the marsh. Soft footsteps approached him from behind, speaking of an uncertainty Xiao didn’t usually carry with him. The retired God turned, facing golden eyes much akin to his own.
“Zhongli,” Xiao greeted bluntly. The name still felt awkward to him after millennia of addressing the man as “lord”. But he had always followed the Geo Archon’s wishes, and vowed to do so even now he was retired.
“I trust you’re okay,” Zhongli replied, his voice not yet betraying his deep concern. He scanned Xiao from head to foot and he seemed unscathed beyond a heavy exhaustion. “You strained yourself immensely down there.”
“I’m fine,” Xiao returned quickly, never taking well to worries about his welfare.
“I’m impressed,” Zhongli admitted easily. “At both your power and will to save your friends.”
“They’re not friends,” Xiao retorted. His friends had perished several millennia ago. “And I still had to burden you to save me in the end.”
“Xiao, you could never be a burden,” Zhongli tried to convince him, as he had done on many previous occasions.
“You’re retired,” Xiao argued. “And I forced you to use your power to save me.”
“I was not forced to do anything,” Zhongli reminded him calmly. “I wanted to save you.”
Xiao stared at him incredulously, almost as if he believed he wasn’t worth saving. Zhongli’s chest constricted.
“You have served Liyue for many years,” Zhongli continued. “To me, you are invaluable.”
Xiao blinked at him, before quickly dropping his gaze to the floorboards.
“Did you know… what happened to Bosacius?” He asked.
“I do now,” Zhongli replied, sighing. “And it has brought me peace. Hopefully it has brought you some too.”
“Peace is not for us Yakshas,” Xiao said. “Surely you know that.”
A moment of silence passed. The branches above swayed in the breeze.
“Do you hate me for it?” Zhongli questioned softly, almost dreading the answer. “For commanding you to a never-ending war, one that would claim the lives of all your comrades?”
“No,” Xiao answered quickly. “Protecting Liyue is my purpose.”
“Do you miss them?”
“I…” Xiao trailed off, before his expression steeled. “Grief only serves to distract from the fight. I cannot afford to miss them.”
“You fought Bosacius down there,” Zhongli broached the subject he’d been staving off, for fear of upsetting Xiao. But the adeptus was only vulnerable after events like these, and Zhongli could not leave him suffering until the next time he was willing to talk.
“Yes, an illusion of him,” Xiao explained. “He perished long ago. I regret not recovering his body.”
Zhongli waited. Xiao shifted in his spot next to him, eyes straying between the man and the darkening horizon. His walls were crashing down and he wished for nothing more than to relinquish his sorrows to the only person who’d understand. But he’d banished vulnerability long ago, for Liyue could not afford for its last Yaksha to shatter.
But Zhongli stood, as calm and unwavering as the mountains sweeping the landscape. He stood a practised distance away, eyes gazing ahead, a promise to listen but not to force Xiao to speak. The golden folds of his coat swayed in the breeze. Xiao could not help but understand why Liyue adored the former archon so, and why the anguish of his faked death could still be felt throughout the land.
“It was his voice,” Xiao said suddenly. He had his back faced to Zhongli, as if pretending the man wasn’t there would somehow make the whole thing easier. “That domain- it replicated his voice- and for a minute- it’s so stupid, but I hoped that he was still alive… somehow. That I wasn’t the last one.”
And like the flood gates had been opened, it all came pouring out.
“And then I just remembered them. How they all perished and I couldn’t save them. Archons, I can’t even save myself. I can still feel the weight of their bodies when I carried them to rest.”
A sob clawed into his throat. The usual anger he would feel at his vulnerability was dampened by his grief, but he wasn’t accustomed to crying. Instead, his chest heaved with constricted cries.
Zhongli glanced at Xiao, his heart aching with the adeptus’ grief. When he saw his thin shoulders shaking, an intense sorrow shot through him and he immediately moved forward, placing a hand between his sharp shoulder blades.
Xiao had half the mind to whirl around and attack the person who had touched him, but he knew it could only be Zhongli. The heaviness of geo weighed on his back, the man exuding the very aura of understanding.
“Xiao, it never was and never can be your fault,” Zhongli promised. “Their death is not your burden to bear.”
Xiao did not reply, fearing he would only dissolve into tears if he did so. Zhongli continued rubbing his back, circling the adeptus so he stood before him. The archon pulled Xiao towards him in an embrace the younger would only allowed on the worst of his days.
The Liyuen night stirred around them, thrumming with the song of grasshoppers and the buzz of fireflies. Cool water lapped at the edge of the inn, wearing gently at the steadfast rock beneath. A soft breeze rifled through their hair.
They stood like that long into the night, when darkness had taken the land and stars had graced the sky. Xiao was the first to pull away, his eyes downcast in an unnecessary shame. He’d spent too long in his own grief, clutching to the folds of his god’s clothes. He’d neglected his duty and Liyue was sure to pay for it.
As if sensing his unease, Zhongli caught Xiao’s gaze.
“Fret not. Tonight is peaceful,” he assured.
Xiao’s protest was silenced by Zhongli’s steadfast gaze.
“If Liyue was in danger, I would know.”
His words carried such a firmness that Xiao could find no room for doubt. Retired or not, Zhongli was endlessly vigilant of his nation. He’d left his command to the Qixing, but his love was not so easily quelled.
“You can rest easy tonight, Xiao,” Zhongli continued.
“I’ll try,” was the most honest answer Xiao could give. Something within him was restless, twisting in an agonising misery. But he would never defy his lord’s orders, nor doubt his judgement.
Zhongli nodded his head in a fond dismissal and Xiao leapt upwards, disappearing into the sturdy branches above. The archon gazed after the flash of anemo as sorrow settled into his own chest, dulling the fierce worry he had felt before.
He knew on nights like these, Xiao’s karmic debt would drown him. Despite his retired status, Zhongli was still a divine being, capable of soothing the pain that was sure to clutch the adeptus soon enough.
He paid for a last-minute room that night, close enough to the roof that he could hear the leaves whispering in the breeze.
Xiao rested comfortably above, nestled in the curve of a branch. His awareness was slipping, but he felt strangely secure in the night breeze. Almost as if someone was nearby, someone who cared for him as fiercely as he cared for Liyue.