Work Text:
Liyue is so quiet when it rains.
Very few take to their wanderlust. People shelter themselves under silk umbrellas – as delicate and futile as they are under these conditions. People re-boil their soup – it’s not unusual to catch scents of the sweetness of bamboo shoots contrasting with spices and herbs, soaked in homely, earthly-brown bubbling broths. People converse softly, as if they listen out for the voice of the sky, whispering amidst tears. It’s as if one could catch whatever it is they cry about. After all, deities were one thing; forces of nature, another.
It’s the rarity of these days that makes Zhongli appreciate his imitation of mortality.
The harbour is empty, except for those who must rush about to attend to procrastinated duties, or necessary jobs. Ships cannot sail; they must lay anchor, should the rain ever disturb the sea’s own slumber.
But, considerate are they both. Considerate too, is the former god that paves his way along the cobblestone, reflections cast up to gloomy, muted red walls and golden charms. How raindrops adorn each little decoration, and cleanse them anew.
Zhongli holds a hand out. And affectionate little beads gather and rest within his palm. This time, it almost sounds as though the sky above is giggling...
Who knows? They seem awfully temperamental. Or maybe it’s just the sight of an old friend that’s gotten them like this. Who knows. This god is merely in love with days like this, maybe.
“Mister Zhongli!” A voice calls for him, a chime in its own right, as he steps into his workplace.
And he waves back, a soft smile upon his face for he knows, Director Hu’s antics will not bother him today. And he continues to greet about, making sure each co-worker’s face was known, lest he one day forget all of this.
“I’m heading in now.”
“Okay~ Oh, and just to let you know, Xiangling dropped some treats off! There’s leftovers on your desk.”
“Thank you.”
Zhongli steps into his office, flicks off his outer raincoat which has recently beaded itself with the glimmer from outside, and settles in his seat, the cushion easing with air it’s gathered from the night previous, where it was left dutifully undisturbed. And now, suitcase opened, papers spread about, he reviews each client’s information, their personal requests, the funds necessary...
‘Mother of client requested Cecilia Flowers for decorations.’
‘Lavender scented candles. Weather must be favourable to keep these up throughout the night.’
‘High ranking officer – uniform must be pressed and neatly folded next to polished and repaired weaponry.’
‘Client requests jade parcels, specifically prepared by Wanmin Restaurant be offered.’
And Zhongli smiles over each. Four clients today – four hours’ worth of discussion, at minimum. As macabre as death could be, all have been co-operative, and all have made the process as smooth as could be.
The rain seems to have blessed him. And for that, Zhongli gazes to his curtained window, and rises, if only to let that muted light in, pushing the fabric away. Perspiration fogs the vision, but that’s not a matter he worries over, as a gloved hand swipes over, and collects the thickened moisture.
The coolness melts… And revealed and revelled; a sight of the harbour, of the market square, of the shadowed figures that waddle about. Endearing…
It’s 8:58am.
Work will begin soon.
>>><<<
“And that finalises everything for today…?”
“Ah, yes… Though, could I request one more thing?”
Zhongli nods, as he taps the edges of his new documents onto the desk, neatening the pile up.
“My grandfather also had a particular liking to violetgrass; always gifted them to grandmother for their anniversaries. Would it be… too much to ask if we had a bouquet of them?”
“You’re free to request that it be used for other decorations too.”
“Ah, well… So long as it’s not too much trouble, hehe.”
Once again, the consultant nods, and quickly notes it down, before he tucks the papers away into a drawer. Completed requests… They need only be reviewed by Director Hu on a later date to then begin arrangements.
So far, so good.
“Thank you, Mr Zhongli. You’ve been a lot of help over these last few days. I’m sure grandfather would’ve loved it, if he were still here.”
“Mmh… Well, that is all I can ask for. However, I would like to ask… How have you been?”
“Oh, me?”
“Yes, how have you been? This process has not weighed heavily on you, has it?”
“Ah hah- well… I guess… I do all my grieving at home, anyways. But… the concern really is appreciated, Mr Zhongli… I suppose, the most it really comes down to is that… I miss him… But I guess that’s only par for the course, huh? Since… we all die one day…”
“It is… Very much so. Thank you for sharing. I understand if it was… difficult to speak of such things. It is not easy to come to the understanding that… life must end, after all.”
“No, not at all. But it’s good to have places like this that… celebrate it, I suppose. Makes it easier for all of us… I-I mean, celebrate a life that’s been worth living, that is… After all, I think grandfather has a lot to be proud of. And you guys helped me realise that… So, thank you, truly.”
“… It is merely my duty. But yes. I am glad that we could help. By all means, should anything else come up, do let us know. Otherwise… we will send the final finances for you to arrange soon. And, in turn, thank you, my friend. This process would have been much more difficult without your guidance.”
The usual pleasantries are exchanged. Zhongli waves off his final client for the day. But while he would immediately work to tidy up, golden hues point out, to the window.
The rain has eased. Even so, the saturated filter it paints over still overlays the scenery.
Chin upon the palm of his hand. Eyes close. Zhongli listens...
>>><<<
“Are you heading off, Mr Zhongli?”
“Yes. The rain is coming down heavier, so the sooner, the better.”
“Aiya. Alright then! Be safe! Oh, and feel free to grab an umbrella. Wouldn’t want your suit to get all soaked!”
“Thank you, Director Hu...”
He heeds her words, and makes sure to grab one. Last he recalled; these were left behind by a few clients on sparsed-out days much like this one. They never came back to retrieve their lost items, however, so it was deemed sensible enough that these umbrellas would be marked off as parlour property.
One belies a trusty handle - any grip Zhongli gets on it, the wood only ever seems to jiggle about. Another boasts a malfunctioning hinge. The last, shredded on one side presents patchwork, sewn up with cloth that was not at all suitable for the rain. He figures that it’d only weigh down the rest once soaked. The fact it was still sewn in place was quite impressive...
Zhongli decides on the latter, then.
“Remember to return it!”
“Mhm. See you tomorrow, Director Hu.”
Out he steps...
Pitter patter, pitter patter.
Crystalline surface of stone, blanketed by puddles and ripples reflects the clarity of the sky.
He steps, in order to leave each temporary growing ecosystem alone. Moss and lichen – grass that infringes in on the cobblestone from the edges of gardens... Petrichor mixes in, and aloof his sights feel. The Sun, having hidden herself away by cotton balls and fluffy hills was stirring off to sleep, and with it, the sheen of white would disappear too.
Everything takes on a rosy hue, embellished golden.
And with a sight such as that, the consultant wonders. There’s two paths here... one deeper into the harbour, the other, out into the path of dirt and earth – once his domain of clay to carve.
A walk would be nice, he supposes.
Thus, umbrella in hand, suitcase in the other, pitter patters are now accompanied by the sole isolation of composed heels tapping against pebbles and overturned soil.
>>><<<
Zhongli wonders if lightning would follow. But, alas, peace of the world remains.
He’s taken his place, upon stone. Umbrella and suitcase tucked aside, in favour of the former god’s meditation.
He will never take this for granted. That much, he was sure of. There’s only ever so much one can do, to prevent the inevitable – the time-lapse that comes and predates the fall of a god. He’s lucky enough that he foresaw his own time ending, his reign coming to a close.
Now, he is a mere man. Who sits upon stone, with a flawed umbrella, with a suitcase, full of mundanities and love, all the same.
He hums shortly, wondering whatever would he do when he got home. He has plenty of time to spare now, now that the sparks of night were taking their place amongst the scope of the sky...
Then, he spots it. A dot of purple, blossomed from a cliff perch. And he bets that if he reached far enough, he could pluck the delicate thing.
... However many did his last client request?
>>><<<
The jar is set down. Zhongli wipes his brow, allowing an exhale of air out. Feels like something a mortal would do, right, when tasked with the duties of attending to potting a bouquet?
Either way, he’s taken up the liberty of adding a few sprigs of other plants – from white lilies and roses from his own personal garden to this new pot. It could work as inspiration for his client. He’ll only have to ask, when next they met...
Either way, the dinner table is set. He returns to his stove, removing the lid to observe the slow cooking of broth – vegetables tossed in, and scent trailing about the interior of this small, humble apartment.
Sock-covered feet step out of slippers as he moves to the carpeted area of his living space.
And what a day it’d been.
The rain still hasn’t stopped.
His clothes – even when he’s stripped of his suit’s coat and tie – remain ever so slightly heavy.
But it’s alright... It’s alright.
Zhongli is content, as he lies back against the couch. As he takes in ambience, the quiet Elysium that nestled itself in between the arrival of home and the serving of dinner.
But, he lives alone. And no one need service him.
Eyes close. The former god’s chest, rises and falls. He doesn’t wish to overcook his meal. Thus, he will not sleep.
But still.
Still is the night, of one who is content in their self-imposed isolation. Still is the night, of one who rests just ever so precariously on the precipice of sleep. Still is the night, of one who can only hear the bubbling of their own cooking, the footsteps of upstair neighbours who mumble the evening away with problems of yesterdays, and solutions of tomorrow, and… the giggling of rain.