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It’s almost idyllic, the quiet of the countryside. A rarity these days, where a war carves lines up and down the world with borders that change with every day and battle. The sun curls down on the dew resting on the grass, glittering as it rustles in the passing breeze. The farther Hu Tao gets from civilization, though, the more visible the effects of constant battle are. Scorch marks, dried blood, rubble from where cliffs were used as battlegrounds.
There was a rockslide once, crushing a small village. All the adepti swore that it would never happen again.
Hu Tao had spent far too long there, ferrying the spirits that lingered to the other side. Even now, she lights an incense in apology whenever she has the time. She’s busy more often than not these days. War takes its toll on everyone, even the living. As such, she treasures the quiet moments where she is able to simply walk like this and remind herself what the adepti are fighting for. The absence of her duty is her greatest pleasure.
Liyue is beautiful in the early morning. And yet, peace never lasts long these days. She looks up as she senses a butterfly returning to her.
The butterfly flutters down, coming to rest on Hu Tao’s outstretched finger. “Hello little one,” she says. “What news?”
It flaps its wings, agitated. She frowns. “Rex Lapis… again?”
More wingbeats, insistent now. “Oh, no.” Her brow furrows and the crimson wings of a butterfly sprout from her back. “We have to go.”
She soars into the sky, eyes fixed on the horizon, where a cloud of dark smoke is beginning to rise. No, not smoke. Dust . The battle is visible from here, great flashes of Geo among the smog. She flies faster, knowing someone needs to bear witness.
When she’s close enough, Hu Tao folds in her wings and plummets to the ground, landing in a plume of dust. Back on her feet, she walks slowly towards the epicentre of the calamity. The ground trembles as she approaches, Dihua’s soil already showing signs of damage. But she doesn’t carry her spear. Hu Tao doesn’t fight, at least not if it’s unnecessary. Or unwanted.
In this battle, her presence is definitely unwanted.
Instead, she watches as the goddess of dust wages a losing battle against Rex Lapis. Guizhong was never a fighter, after all.
She doesn’t go quietly into the beyond, though. Their traded blows shake the earth, threatening to knock Hu Tao off her feet, but she stands firm, enraptured by the sheer scale of the fight. She barely breathes, knowing how this will end. The battle terrifies her, but she doesn’t want it to end. A battle between gods only has one conclusion, and she dreads it.
The history books will say a great evil descended on the innocents of Guili Plains, staunchly held off until the bitter end by the gods who guarded it. What they won’t include is that the great evil wore the face of the goddess who loved her people more than anything.
After what feels like centuries, the great cloud of dust settles and she can finally see through the storm. Left behind is Rex Lapis, head bowed for the first time since Hu Tao has known him. He kneels, curled inwards. There is a god there, but a man is the one she approaches.
“My lord,” she says softly.
Rex Lapis lifts his head. Another surprise, as tears glisten on his cheeks.
“You’re crying.”
Rex Lapis lifts his hand to his cheek gingerly. “Is that what this is?” His voice doesn’t waver, but it’s quieter than usual. The authority that used to run in his voice is gone, subdued. He takes a shuddering breath. There’s blood on his face. It’s not his. “Make sure she…” a rare second of hesitation, “…is laid to rest properly. I’d like to give her at least that.”
“Of course.” Hu Tao raises her arm, calling her butterflies to join her on the battlefield. There is no body left to bury. How rarely do they get the privilege to do so. All that’s left is Guizhong’s hair clip, somehow unshattered in the conflict. A pair of butterflies lift it to her hand.
She blows once, softly. Dirt and dust alike fly off it and underneath, the golden surface remains untarnished. Guizhong’s craftsmanship was always magnificent and this is no exception. All of her gentleness and beauty is encapsulated in the work. She touches it once, curls a finger over the last remnant of a goddess who was kinder than the world deserved.
“My lord,” she says to Rex Lapis, who has since risen and stood still as stone as he stares at the horizon. “Would you like to keep this?”
He turns, almost mechanically. The emotion that flickers through his eyes is unbearable to watch. That immovable visage, always as steady as the earth beneath their feet, is gone and she can read every emotion that runs through him. Such openness— it could only be drawn out by Guizhong. A shame that this is how it happens. “Bury it,” Rex Lapis murmurs. “I didn’t spare her a body. So this… this will have to do.”
“Take care of it, my darlings.” Her butterflies whisk it away and Hu Tao sees Rex Lapis’ hand twitch as if he wanted to reach out and take it back. He turns away again.
“I will be taking leave for now. Call for me when your preparations are complete.”
“Yes, my lord.” When he disappears, Hu Tao nudges the dirt. The soil itself still reeks of the battle and the evil resentment that caused it in the first place. She shudders. No place for a burial. “Come, little ones.”
They follow her like a shimmering cape of wings. But theirs are not the only eyes on her. “Xiao,” she says. “Ganyu.”
Both of the adepti still. They had been watching from afar, it seems. Ganyu is the first to approach. “Hu Tao. Is she—“
Hu Tao snaps her fingers and the butterflies return the hairpin to her hand. “This is all that remains.”
The air grows noticeably colder as Ganyu takes a short breath. Xiao comes up beside her, spear in hand. His stance is that of a warrior mid battle, knuckles white around its staff. There’s nothing left to fight. No one left to save. Tears glitter in Ganyu’s eyes. Xiao’s are filled with turmoil.
They stare at the golden hairpin, as the sunlight glints off its surface.
She is more than aware of what Guizhong means to the adepti of Liyue. What Guizhong means to her. But Hu Tao has a job to do, and she puts the souls of the deceased ahead of herself. She has countless lifetimes to grieve, but these souls shan’t linger.
“I must go,” Hu Tao says softly, not wanting to tear this last piece of the goddess away from them.
But the adepti are used to putting themselves last, so they nod mutely. Her wings return, shimmering gently, and they lift her up into the sky as she sees Ganyu finally drop to her knees. Xiao follows her, a hand on her shoulder.
Behind her, the air drops to a bitter chill as a blizzard blooms, lifted by the winds to whip up a storm.
When gods die, it’s not peaceful and quiet. It isn’t as simple as the stilling of a chest and the closing of eyes. Gods die violently, not only because of the strength needed to fell one, but because of the calamities that come after. Power gathers around the strong, and Guizhong was beloved by many, many powerful beings. And any love they had for her is a calamity in the making.
It’s the equivalent of a scream. Ganyu’s power billows out around her. Xiao lets his lift it farther.
Dihua is coated in winter.
Hu Tao blinks away the way her eyes sting from tears. Duty before self, she thinks. Duty before self. Her wings beat harder against the storm, carrying her away from the fallout.
It’s not far from the remains of the Guili Assembly that she finally halts, where the marsh gives way to an island of sorts. It’s a waypoint, Hu Tao thinks. A waystation for travellers heading north or south. Guizhong would love to have a place like this.
The entourage of butterflies following her brush past, as she summons an urn. They drop what they could find of Guizhong’s remains, dust amid soil, in before she carefully closes it.
Hu Tao inhales. Guizhong is dead. She exhales.
“Time to get to work, little ones.”
The next time she buries a god, it comes at the cost of salt in her hair for the next few years.
As Hu Tao gingerly makes her way across the salt covered stone, she sees Rex Lapis standing over the entrance to Havria’s domain. “Rex Lapis,” she says, by greeting. The sea is quiet, waves lapping gently at the sea. Sal Terrae is among the most peaceful places in Liyue, in the heart of Havria’s territory. It was the only place that escaped the war. “She deserved better.”
He nods to her, this time more composed, but sorrowful all the same. “It is always the kind ones who suffer the most.”
“This world is not made for kindness.”
“I will shape it to be so, then. When this war ends, I will create a place where Havria and— everyone can live with kindness. No more of this,” he rubs a hand over his eyes, “no more deaths of the innocent. Of the kind.”
The earth rumbles as he turns away from the hole.
“Be swift about this. She did not resent her people, even at the end.”
“How forgiving of her,” she murmurs. “At your behest, my lord.”
Her butterflies are more excited than usual, the salt piquing their interest. It’s probably in bad manners to allow her familiars to eat the remains of a god, so she calls them back. “My lovelies. Leave the artifacts and the salt, please.”
They skitter back to her dejectedly as she walks up to the edge of the opening and hops in, trusting that they’ll catch her.
Her feet touch the ground in the underground cave with little noise. Beside her, Rex Lapis drops with a thud, all power and no grace. She sniffs, and he shoots her an exasperated look.
“Tell me about her,” she says, sending her butterflies forth to seek out Havria’s soul. They shimmer black and white, wings fluttering as they fly.
Hu Tao is unfamiliar with the goddess, generally kept away from the peaceful lands she governed. But Rex Lapis treasured her as a friend, and Hu Tao knows Havria’s history is kept close to his heart. He bears witness to the war, and she takes care of the casualties.
“She was kind. Gentle. Not powerful, though she controlled much land before the war. She never fought, never bothered. Peace was always her weapon, and it was worthless in this war.” Rex Lapis shakes his head. “And yet, she was the most deserving of all of us. She should have survived. She didn’t ask for this war.”
It goes unsaid, but Celestia’s seven seats paved the way for Havria and countless others’ deaths.
Rex Lapis hated it.
They step into the domain, the stone littered with salt, crusted deep into the crevices. Hu Tao spots a statue of salt, understanding quickly that this is the fallout of a god’s death. She reaches out, calling that terrified soul to her hand.
“Be free,” she whispers, and it vanishes, gone to the other side. A butterfly gently touches down on the statue, and incense burns in its place.
“Watching you work has never stopped being fascinating, even after all these years.”
“How many years has it been?” Hu Tao asks, reaching out to the next soul, giving this one a gentle touch before letting it go.
“Two thousand, eight hundred and fourty three,” Rex Lapis replies instantly.
She bites back a laugh. “Of course you know that.” She’s been at his side longer than most of the adepti, watched him rise and fall and rise even more. He is still older than her by centuries, but there is no one who knows him as well as she.
A tiny smile makes its way past the stone facade. “The god of history should.”
They keep walking, salt crunching unpleasantly beneath her feet.
Altars with old artifacts lay undisturbed by Havria’s death. More and more statues— bodies are visible as they walk, and eventually they find the origin from which they were running.
“Nothing remains,” Rex Lapis says. “Once again.”
“Are we surprised?”
He shakes his head. There’s a quiet moment as they both lower their heads, murmuring a prayer for her to rest in peace.
“She never resented her people, even at the very end,” Hu Tao says softly. “There isn’t a trace of her remaining.”
“As expected.”
She snaps her fingers, and a white banner pops into existence above the doorway. One more, and she holds a pair of incense, lighting them before handing one to Rex Lapis.
In unison, they kneel, and plant the incense sticks into the stone, pliable at Rex Lapis’ touch.
There’s silence, an eerie one inside the domain. Not even the wind blows inside, and they just simply watch as the incense sticks burn down. The ashes slowly fall and mix into the salt around them. Soon, it will bloom into a plum blossom, unearthly in its growth. They’re her personally cultivated version, one that creates life from death, blooming in the ashes.
They stand until there’s only the base remaining, and then a little bit longer. Grief takes time, and both of them have more than enough.
Indarias is the first to die.
When Yaksha die, they don’t disappear in the same way as gods. There’s no flash of power or dissipated body. They die like mortals, violent and desperate. For immortals who deal in death, they spend their lives avoiding it. They claw for life at every opportunity and it causes destruction in their wake.
Hu Tao hears the scream across Liyue, the voice of an immeasurably powerful being turning that power upon herself. No sooner than the sound reaches her ears are her wings carrying her into the sky and towards the source of the scream. Indarias was always a good friend of hers. All the Yaksha, really. They dealt in death and she followed after them, so over the years it became a cheerful friendship.
But Hu Tao always makes her friends knowing that one day she will bury them. She just didn’t expect it to be so soon. She follows the plume of smoke rising up, realizing that Indarias has set Liyue aflame in her suffering.
Extinguish her flame, Hu Tao thinks. End this.
She knows it will be her to do it.
She lands amidst the forest fire, searching for the other Yaksha. The smog is thick enough to obscure vision, but she can hear a faint sizzling from the left. There, Bonanus holds out her arm, calling her Hydro forth to dampen the fire that threatens Liyue’s countryside. Great waves of water come crashing down on the flames, but barely make a dent. Indarias is burning with everything she has, consuming even her own being in her madness, and the equally powerful Bonanus can’t even compare.
Bonanus hurls water into the flames, barely managing to keep it under control. She turns to Hu Tao, expression shattered, even as she tries to hold herself together. Ever the stoic Yaksha. “Indarias—“
“I’ll get her. I’ll bring her back.”
The other Yaksha come running through the forest, skidding to a halt when they see the blaze. Bosacius puts a hand on each of their shoulders, holding them back. There’s pain on all of their faces, horrified and transfixed. Hu Tao glances over her shoulder, giving them a reassuring glance.
She calls her Pyro to her side, cloaking herself in it to fend off Indarias’ flames.
Even with her own natural resistance, it burns to walk among the fire. It’s not just the heat, but the sheer sensation that an adeptus is burning. Hu Tao can feel Indarias’ presence in the flame, and her pain all the same.
It hurts, she cries. Make it stop.
Her butterflies flutter into being. Hu Tao lifts one to her lips and murmurs, “Find her.”
They disappear into the fire as quickly as they appeared and she follows, hurrying after them, eventually breaking into a run. The heat is nearly unbearable by the time she sees Indarias, her skin burning and prickling with discomfort.
The Yaksha is locked into a wordless scream, kneeling like she’s in prayer, arms open wide to the sky. Her mask lays in pieces beside her.
She’s begging.
And Hu Tao answers, the same way she answers the prayers of the damned.
Purifying fire to cleanse the world, the edge of a blade to cut them free of their struggles.
May they rest in peace.
Indarias looks at her, as the spear cleaves through her body, releasing her soul from her tormented body. It’s a brief moment of clarity granted to the Yaksha, a grateful glance in return. She falls limp. Hu Tao catches her before she can hit the ground, and bites back a hiss of pain at the molten touch.
They glow with gold and a Geo shield curls around her to hold off the fire.
It bolsters her as she lifts Indarias back through the flames back to the waiting Yaksha and Rex Lapis, all of whom stand anxiously around the wildfire as Bonanus continues to battle it. She’s made some more headway in the fire fight, likely since the source of the fire has died and burned out.
Bosacius is the first to greet her, reaching out to take Indarias from her arms. Hu Tao pulls her away, and his gaze darkens. “I respect you, Hu Tao. Don’t make me fight you.”
“You’d burn,” she says simply. “She does not wish to hurt you, even now.” They all freeze in sync. She beckons to a butterfly, which lifts a blade of grass and places it on Indarias’ forehead. It burns to ash in an instant. “See?”
Behind her, Bonanus lifts her hands to the sky and calls upon a storm to douse the forest. Hu Tao can’t help but notice the similarity in her pose and Indarias’ final one. They really were a family. Still are.
“Put her down,” Rex Lapis says, drawing her attention back in front of her. His voice is somber, looking down at the body with barely concealed pain in his eyes. He waves a hand, creating a platform of Geo for her to lay Indarias down. Hu Tao gingerly puts her down, running a hand over her to smooth her hair and close her eyes.
Indarias is peaceful now, finally at rest and free from the karma that plagues all of the Yaksha.
Bonanus is the first to approach, the storm above the forest still pouring as she takes in the sight of her fellow. The generals are strong, but even they must falter, and she drops to her knees before Indarias, hands clasped in prayer. Hu Tao summons a white candle, placing it at the bottom of the platform, creating a makeshift altar. She lights it with a flick of her hand. Her butterflies return from the forest, dropping pieces of Indarias’ mask, split into four around the altar.
Rex Lapis turns the platform into a coffin, left open at the top.
The other Yaksha crowd around and Hu Tao steps back, letting them grieve. Menogias is on his knees beside Bonanus, holding her close. Xiao looks away, to the smouldering ashes of the forest. Bosacius stands tall, but his head bowed.
She stands off to the side, Rex Lapis watching her.
“You are welcome to join them. I know you two were close.”
“My duty comes first,” Hu Tao says. “They don’t have the time to grieve, but I do. It’s better to let them take whatever time they have.”
Normally, the wake would last several days, but the Yaksha generals are not a group gifted with time. Before long, they’ll be called to another battle, in a war that seems to never end. So she stands aside with Rex Lapis, and the two of them watch as a family of four huddles around what used to be a family of five.
There’s ash in her hair, drifting down from the burnt remains of a forest. Fire burns away regret and suffering, until all that remains is peace. She prays one more time to the sky, calling her butterflies to lead Indarias to the afterlife.
When Menogias and Bonanus fall to each other’s hand, it is just as violent, terrible, and heart wrenching.
Hu Tao comes even before Xiao calls her, his voice wavering for the first time in what feels like centuries. She’d heard the battle from afar, felt it as Liyue mourned two of its bravest warriors. Her wings fold in neatly as she lands, already mid step towards him. He doesn’t react as she reaches out for his hand, only loosely clasping hers as she squeezes.
He’s trembling slightly.
Neither of them say anything. The war has taken so many from them, but the Yaksha have a different bond. The five generals were as close as family, and to have two gone so swiftly, so violently, and so soon after Indarias—
Bosacius looks down, his hands curled into tight fists, elbows and knees slightly bent, like he’s about to throw himself into the fray. “Their bodies—“
“Rest assured,” she says, letting Xiao go, “I will recover them.”
Both of the generals can’t seem to help the way their karma floats off them, dark whorls mixing with teal and violet. Bosacius quietly wraps an arm around his younger brother, the only one he has left. It’s defensive, the motion. Protective and desperate.
None of the generals can dare venture into their lost siblings’ battle ground, the remnant karma likely too much for them. So Hu Tao takes up her spear, lighting the tip as a torch, and faces the swirling darkness that accompanied the two bodies. The resentment pushes down at her, whispering its evils, but she twirls the spear in her hand, warding them off.
Of the immortals, Hu Tao alone stands firm against the karma that seeks to corrupt the mind. She never kills, only soothes lingering resentment and returns it to the natural cycle, and thus is able to disperse it with a touch.
Her fire burns away all that anger and hatred, and she uses it to carve a path to Menogias and Bonanus, crumpled atop one another even in death. Bonanus’ arm pierces through Menogias’ chest, but her other is curled around his side in a twisted, loving embrace. In turn, his arms reach out to her, as if to caress her face, but in truth, calling on Geo to crush her lower half. They lie frighteningly still, eyes still open in horror.
Hu Tao stares down at them. Duty before self.
She wonders if they were given a moment of clarity before it ended. Duty before self.
Did they see what they had done? Did they try to apologize? Duty before self.
Duty before self.
She kneels down, gently closing their eyes, and murmuring a prayer so they may pass on in peace.
She spins her staff in hand, creating a whirling vortex of Pyro to clear out the clouds of karma that surround them. She is the fire that cleanses the world, and she burns with her grief. Slowly, gradually, her power is enough to rid the dark miasma from the area. Bosacius and Xiao stare at her, barely hesitating before running towards her.
“Are they—“
Before they get too close, Hu Tao summons a pair of cloths to cover their bodies, sparing their family the carnage. Her butterflies carefully lay yellow and blue fabric down to drape over them, hiding their faces and wounds.
“They’re at peace now.”
This, at least, is true. The two had passed on, and Hu Tao would make sure of it. They’d left their suffering behind on the battlefield and she had burned it away. Now all that’s left for them is peace and an afterlife befitting the heroes they are, even if they don’t believe it.
Bosacius’ hands clutch into fists, his expression stormy. Xiao is unreadable as always, but he stares down at the bodies with an intensity saved usually for the battlefield.
Her gaze slides back to Bonanus and Menogias, locked in their final embrace, then above, where two shades glow the colour of the sky and the sun as they float upwards, towards the cerulean blue of a cloudless day and a gold sun. They pause when they feel her eyes on them, turning back.
Hu Tao sends a butterfly to nudge them upwards. Don’t turn back, she wants to say. Leave here in peace.
Liyue has enough ghosts, and the Yaksha know it all too well.
I’ll take care of them, she promises to Bonanus and Menogias, glancing back to the remaining generals. Go.
And they listen, following her butterflies’ to the beyond. Generals Bonanus and Menogias leave behind two brothers, who loved them— love them still. Their duty remains, and Hu Tao’s has just begun.
Hu Tao finds Xiao at the platform in the sky above Qingyun Peak. He sits, legs dangling off the edge into open air, and he stares at the far off ground like he wishes he could fly.
He doesn’t say anything. It’s always been hard for him to express what he feels, and now, alone as he is, the silence is suffocating.
“His soul doesn’t linger. I sent my butterflies to search for him,” she offers. “Throughout the surface of the world, he’s gone.”
“None of the Yaksha would,” he says, like it’s a simple fact. “They would all pass on.” There’s a beat. “They’ve left me behind.”
The silence stretches on, and Hu Tao watches him as his gaze turns upwards, to the clouds. “We never wanted to be mourned. But I— I can’t help feeling like…” His hands curl and unfurl, like he’s reaching for something to say, something solid to grasp onto in a churning sea of emotions. She reaches out and takes his hand.
“Don’t be silly, Xiao. You can’t control grief. You loved them and you lost them. It’s natural to feel like this.”
“And yet…” he trails off, bitterness in his voice. “It was bearable, once. The karma, the pain. Because it was shared between us. But with each death,” Xiao’s voice shakes, “it gets worse.”
The only sound is the wind whistling atop the mountains.
“I don’t want to be the last one standing anymore.”
Hu Tao sits quietly, and listens as the wind carries his words away, whisking them far enough that no one else will ever hear them.
“I died, once, you know.”
He startles when she says that, and she gives him a half smile. “I got too hasty mid fight, during the Archon War. Got skewered clean through! Hurt like nothing else. When I died, I burned. It felt like I was being released from that pain, purified and born anew. I spent months in a chrysalis on a plum blossom tree.”
“And then?”
“I was reborn, just like new, in time for the epidemic of karma that spread not long after you five got to work. It was my flame that turned the corpses to ash and purified the world.”
Xiao takes it all in, eyes all too knowing. “What’s the moral of that story?”
“Two things. First: death is a release. Your brothers and sisters are happy. They’re free from what plagues you now. Fire is what purifies them so they may rest in peace. Secondly,” she says, holding up two fingers, “you’ll never be the last one standing. I won’t die, at least not for long. So let go of that burden. I promise you that you will not have to take on this world by yourself.”
Hu Tao meets his gaze, sure and steady. “On my solemn duty, I swear to the Heavens and Earth that I will never leave you.”
Xiao lets out a shuddering breath and looks down once more. Slowly, she wraps an arm around him and pulls him towards her. He leans into her side, resting his head on her shoulder.
“Thank you. For always being there, for treating them with the respect they deserved. For helping them rest in peace.”
“I did it for them and I’ll do it for you.”
One by one, each person she cares for dies. Guizhong. Havria. Indarias. Bonanus and Menogias. And now Bosacius. Her butterflies were never able to seek him out, and she hopes that means he passed on in peace, even without her.
She clutches Xiao to her side and he curls in closer as a response, finally letting those walls down. They were built high before, but with each loss came a chipping away at them. They crumble and crack and Hu Tao picks up the rubble as best she can. She prays that the Yaksha rest in peace. She prays that he not be taken from her too soon.
Hu Tao readily volunteers to be the last adepti, the one who sees this world to its end. It’s a thankless task, one that begins and ends with suffering, and yet, it feels like little more than a drop in the bucket. She cannot heal their wounds, but only burn away blood already spilt. Even so, she does it readily, accepting and caring for her work. But it stings all the same, knowing she plans the funeral for each and every person she knows.
Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she plans her own funeral.
The Wangsheng Funeral Parlour is a bit of a running joke for herself. She’d established it years ago, as a way of watching over the mortals, and seventy seven mortal lifetimes later, she’s still here, heading the parlour with a bit more levity. Her practices have become common in Liyue now, things she established mid war becoming tradition. It pleases her, in a way, to see how she’s affected her country.
It’s quiet inside as her people are all out working, speaking to families and collecting payments. Hu Tao herself languishes behind a great wooden desk, made of dark sandbearer wood. Her legs are propped up at one end, leaning back behind her chair. She yawns, poking a ghost in the side as it tries to sneak behind her.
When her bell rings and a young man walks in, Hu Tao recognizes him instantly.
“Excuse me, I’d like to…” His voice trails off as amber eyes scan her. “You.”
“Hi~ It’s me!” She singsongs, swinging her legs down and wiggling her fingers in a little wave. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? What are you calling yourself now?”
He sighs. “My name is Zhongli.”
“Is that what I think it is?” she asks, putting the pieces of his name together. “You couldn’t be more obvious, you know?” She leans forward, propping her chin up on her hands with a grin.
“Only to you.” Zhongli tilts his head, a wry smile on his lips as he recalls their millennia together. “You’ve spent too much time around me.”
“It’s not just the mannerisms, you know. You’ve never been able to change your eyes, it’s a wonder the others haven’t found out by now. What brings you here?”
“I’m looking for a job.”
Even with her many lives of experience, nothing can prepare her for Rex Lapis, God of Contracts, printer of Mora, to come looking for a job. Hu Tao laughs. “You need money?”
Despite the hilarity of the situation, Zhongli’s face grows graver than before. “It’s… complicated. I had intended to tell no one in Liyue, but you, old friend, you already know all my secrets.”
It comes with being the undertaker for a god through a war. She’s accompanied him for longer than most of the adepti alive, a passive witness to his many accomplishments and failures. She watched him as he felled friends and enemies alike, saw his heart at its barest and at its hardest.
“Don’t call me that, I’m not that old compared to you.” She sticks out her tongue, but sobers quickly, knowing Zhongli is being serious. “But pray tell, what is so important to you that you would come here so worried?”
“I intend to die.”
Hu Tao has buried people for Rex Lapis. She buried gods in his name. Never did she think that she would bury him.
“In what manner?” She’s long since given up on questioning him. Zhongli has faced many decisions in his life and all of them have been made with a steady and sure heart. But she can’t help the way her heart clenches, to lose such a friend.
“Rex Lapis needs to die. The time of adepti has passed, if I may borrow words from a certain member of the Qixing.”
She considers it for a moment, then nods. “Come to the back with me. We need to talk with more… privacy.”
Back in one of her private, sound proof rooms, carefully built to ensure privacy and the sanctity of grief for mourning families, Hu Tao sits across from Zhongli, observing his face.
“So?”
Zhongli launches into a lengthy description, his thoughts, ideas, and turmoil all laid bare.
There have never been secrets between them. So he speaks with no holds barred, detailing every part of his plan, but hesitates when discussing his contract with the Tsaritsa.
“I know I have never kept anything from you, but…”
“I wouldn’t ask you to violate a contract, Morax, you know that.” She hums. “I do have to say, very dramatic of you. Falling from the sky during the Rite of Descension is surely going to cause a stir. I’d like to see the ever composed Tianquan in a bit of a tizzy, if I’m being honest.”
“I want you to hold my funeral rite,” Zhongli says.
“The Wangsheng Funeral Parlour would be honoured to hold your funeral.”
He raises an eyebrow. “I want you to do it, specifically.”
“Sorry, no can do.” At his surprise, Hu Tao shrugs. “I don’t intend to bury you until you’re truly dead. When you’ve departed this world, and grown old and senile like the mortals you so desire to be like.”
Zhongli laughs, fond. “You’re just the same as you always have been, aren’t you?”
“Whyever would I change? It’s so much fun to be me.”
“Forever?”
“Hm?”
There’s an air of quiet solemnity that takes over Zhongli again. “Would you stay in Liyue forever?”
“I’m not immune to erosion either, you know that. But I made a promise to Xiao, and I intend to keep it.” She stares at the ceiling of her building, feeling the weight of time on her shoulders. "Your duties may be finished, but mine continue.”
“You are commendable for that. It is a pity that you are not honoured in the writings as the other adepti are.”
“You know Liyue. Honouring death does not come easily to them. But it’s not like I’m forgotten, either. All of their traditions are things I came up with. Name’s not on it, but it’s mine all the same.” Hu Tao shrugs. “I’ve made my peace with it. Plus, it lets me frolick among the mortals like any other girl, and it’s loads of fun.”
“If you say so.”
“I say so.” She leans forward, inspecting Zhongli with a critical eye. “Now, about your funeral… how about you take charge?”
“Excuse me?”
“You wanted a job, right? I’ll hire you as a funeral consultant, and then you can work on your own funeral. You’ve known me long enough, not to mention that memory of yours, so you can be my resident expert on adeptal funeral rites!”
He stares at her. She smiles back. He stares some more.
Zhongli sighs. “You’re always so…”
“I think I’m charming. Do you accept?”
“I do.”
“Then let’s get a move on,” Hu Tao says as she stands, beginning to head out the door. Zhongli eyes her from behind the table and gets up, looking as tired as he usually is around her. There’s something comfortable about his presence, like a wizened old grandfather. She giggles as they walk, knowing how he would frown at the idea.
“By the way,” she glances over her shoulder, “your new outfit is kind of boring.”
Zhongli looks down at his clothes. “Are they? I find it to be quite nice.”
“Well, compared to your old outfit…”
“Ah, that one. I grew out of that sort of thing a while ago.” Embarrassment runs through his voice as he’s reminded of the sleeveless top, Geo markings running up and down his arms. But he recovers, firing back, “What about you?”
He’s referring to the white robes she used to wear, flowy and loose. They stained with blood easily, but could spirit it away with ease. She’s traded them in for a simple brown outfit, now that Liyue has taken her white robes as a symbol of death. Hu Tao twirls as she walks, the tassels flapping. “I think I look cool. Plus, it’s not even my fault. You built this place in the south, and it’s far too warm for that sort of getup.”
“You don’t have much heat tolerance,” he muses.
Hu Tao stops short, staring at him. “ I don’t have heat tolerance?” Memories of a wildfire flit through her mind and it clearly goes through his as well.
Zhongli coughs. “I misspoke.”
“Six thousand years, an infinite trove of knowledge, and you still manage to be an airhead.”
“I take offence to that,” he says mildly, but there’s no heat behind it. She rolls her eyes either way, bumping shoulders with him. It’s nice to be able to talk to him, after all these years. Rex Lapis had retreated from Liyue, trusting the people to handle themselves, but Hu Tao had chosen to immerse herself into society, celebrating in life as she dealt with death.
As such, it’s been… years since they’ve spoken. Suffice to say, she misses him. There are few so many in years as they are, and there’s a sort of kinship between them built on war and peace.
They can bury Rex Lapis all he wants, but Zhongli will stay with her, and she thinks that’s all she needs.
Hu Tao makes her way up to Wangshu Inn, waving to Verr Goldet as she heads up to the balcony. There’s no urgency in her step, but her heart beats wildly in her chest, some form of fear and worry burning in her. News had found her through her butterflies once more, and even with Zhongli’s reassurance, she has to confirm for herself.
Up in the open air of the balcony, she calls, “Xiao. Please.”
When he appears in a brilliant flash of teal and black, she throws herself towards him, knocking him off balance. Xiao is usually ready for most things, but he staggers, barely catching himself and staying upright. “What?”
“You know what.”
“…I’m sorry.”
“We had a promise.”
“If I recall, you’re the one who promised,” he says wryly, but he doesn’t resist as she clings to him, even bringing up an arm to rest on her head.
She shakes her head. “You can’t ply me with jokes.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
I’m not ready, Hu Tao wants to say. I’m not ready to lose someone else.
It has been thousands of years. Countless people have died, and their funerals all follow her guidance, the guidelines she set all those millennia ago. But somehow, once the war ended and Xiao survived so long, she lost sight of it. What it meant to lose someone.
Somewhere along the line, Hu Tao had lost sight of Xiao’s mortality. “You would be dead right now. I would be burying you, if not for Zhongli.”
What was her old mantra again?
Duty before self.
“I know,” Xiao repeats.
Somewhere along the line, Hu Tao had gone from a passive observer to one of the mourners, standing a constant vigil for people who still live.
“Don’t go, okay?”
“I won’t.”
Hu Tao sighs, “People worry about you,” she says crossly, shaking herself off while still clinging onto the fabric of his sleeve. “Honestly, you’d think you’d be a bit more careful. How many years does it take one guy to learn some self-preservation?”
Xiao flicks her on the nose. “I like you better when you’re not yelling at me.”
“I like you better alive. So I think I get to do a little bit of yelling.”
“I got scolded enough by the Traveller and their companions.”
She strokes her chin, dropping into a creaky voice. “Ah, yes, but I have the wizened version, courtesy of a being who is over five millennia old. You better listen to me, young man.”
Xiao cracks a smile, a tiny huff of laughter escaping his lips, and Hu Tao has achieved what she came here to do: scold him and make him smile. She’d only heard the gist of the story from Zhongli, but she knows enough about him to know that it wouldn’t leave him for the next while.
“Tell me about it,” she says when the wind begins to blow again.
Xiao looks long and hard at her, then off into the distance, at the far off clouds and the blue sky. “They dreamed of peace,” he begins.
And Hu Tao listens, because that’s what she promised herself to do. She will forever listen to Liyue, watch and guide them to wherever their lives may lead them. When the time comes, they will follow her to the other side.
May they rest in peace.