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Eyes the gentle blue of a flower’s petals, ginger hair that whispered in the wind and swayed with the musings of a faint voice. The words the voice was saying were lost to time and countless memories, yet neither could cause him to mistake the affection that lay in the eyes or that was hidden behind the mischievous smirk the figure of his memories owned.
“-ongli? Zhongli?”
Zhongli was startled at the sound of a voice calling his name. He turned to see his companion holding out a full teacup. Childe smirked, setting the cup down gently in front of Zhongli’s bowl.
“Somethin’ on your mind, Mr. Zhongli? You’ve been spacing out on me all day. Is my company that boring?” Childe asked. Zhongli shook his head, taking a sip of the green tea. His eyes widened at the taste of ginger, uncommon in the green tea from this particular restaurant.
“Is there ginger in the tea?” he asked, honestly not expecting an answer. To his surprise, Childe nodded, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled.
“Yep! Sorry if you don’t like it, but since coming to Liyue I found that I enjoy the flavor of ginger and green tea; I figured you needed something warm to give that busy mind of yours a break,” Childe explained, taking a drink of his own. Childe smiled around the rim of his cup, eyes flashing the brilliant blue of an ocean.
A blinding smile as a delicate hand lays ginger into the brewing tea, the soft voice laughing as he throws a childish fit, exclaiming that the tea was ruined. ‘No, it’s not ruined’, she says, ‘a warm drink is perfect to give a busy mind a break’. Guizhong smiles as he takes a drink, testing the flavor on his tongue. A smile of his own spreads across his face as he finds it to be exactly as she described: warm, calming, peaceful.
‘Much like the one who made it, then,’ he tells her. They both laugh as she shoves him in play.
“Mr. Zhongli! Man, you are spacing out today!” Childe tapped him on the shoulder, pulling him out of his memories once again.
“Guizhong, I’m sorry-” Zhongli faltered as he realized his error. Confusion spread across Childe’s face, and he frowned as Zhongli corrected himself.
“Childe, my apologies, it seems that my mind is rather muddled today. I won’t make that mistake again, my friend. Let’s continue our meal,” Zhongli took a bite of his food with practiced elegance, silently hopeful that Childe would forget his mistake.
“Who is Guizhong? I’ve never heard of that name since coming to Liyue. Oooh, is she a lady friend of yours? Why have I not met her yet?” Childe asked, his voice filled with a teasing note.
“She died, many years ago. Yes, she was a dear friend of mine. Yet not in the... Ahm, romantic implications you think. She helped me create Liyue into what it is today,” Zhongli explained. Childe’s smile dimmed considerably and his expression softened to one similar to sympathy, though Zhongli doubted his abyss-corrupted heart was capable of feeling an emotion of that sort; if any at all.
“So she was one of your archon friends then? What was she like? What was she the archon of?”
“She wasn’t the archon of anything, since she had no city to rule. Just a simple god of dust. Guizhong was quite similar to you, I suppose. Both of you are exceptionally intelligent, and you even look very similar to her,” Zhongli told him. Childe nodded, eyes swimming with the thoughts that lay at the edge of his busy mind. That was why Zhongli enjoyed his company, if he had to choose a reason he kept the harbinger around. They both had constantly busy minds, and their thoughts never stopped swirling in the pot of their consciousness.
“Her favorite flowers were glaze lilies. She even taught humans how to farm, so they could survive. To make the dust useful, she said,” Zhongli told him.
“She sounds, lovely. How did she die?” Childe asked, his voice calm. Zhongli turned to him, eyes wide with shock.
“Surely you don’t want to hear of her demise, do you?”
Childe shrugged, examining his gloved hand with disinterest. “I’m willing to hear of a god’s death. She means nothing to me, at the end of it. Just some god in a fairytale, isn’t that right? And I do enjoy a good story now and again.”
The flash of intelligence in deep blue eyes, a dashing and beautiful smile that dared him to misstep, to get angry and ruin a carefully crafted alliance that the other party had controlled from the start. A laugh that made his blood boil and his face flush as he realized that he was not the one who controlled this game, but they did.
Zhongli frowned deeply as he now remembered the most infuriating thing about both Guizhong and Childe: they both were notoriously crafty.
“She died in the archon war,” he told him stiffly, “I lost sight of her amid battle, and when I found her again, it was too late.”
Childe hummed thoughtfully, before glancing with piercing blue eyes at the harbor. “So it was in that war that she lost her life? The Tsaritsa has told the harbingers about it, somewhat. She claims it was foolish,” he told him.
“It was a war! We all had reasons to fight, to risk our lives! Guizhong and I were defending Liyue!” Zhongli argued.
“Are any wars foolish if someone is dumb enough to make excuses? I’ve read about it, no one gained anything and some lost everything. Seems pretty foolish to me. I’m sure Guizhong only fought because you did. She was a fool then, to place her trust in your sense of judgment,” Childe told him calmly. Zhongli’s grip on his teacup tightened, his fingers trembling.
“You are mistaken if you believe that I will let you insult my friend that has passed. You may insult me, insult the archon war, insult Liyue, but I will not allow you to insult her,” he told Childe lowly.
Childe tilted his head, a small smirk forming on his lips as he took another sip of his tea. “Is that so? Wow, Mr. Zhongli. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten you so bothered, even when I tried to destroy your precious Liyue Harbor,” Childe all but purred his words, savoring the verbal exchange the two were having. Zhongli sighed. He wouldn’t dare give the harbinger the satisfaction of getting what he wanted. Childe was always itching for a fight, physical or verbal, it didn’t matter to him. His words were as dangerous as any weapon he could hold, and he loved to use them whenever he could.
Guizhong loved to talk as well, but her topics of choice were more people or flowers, or even her day-to-day activities. Childe… he just talks to talk. As if the world will forget him if he doesn’t fill it with his chatter.
Useless chatter tired Zhongli. If he was to speak, he wanted it to lead somewhere. A meaningful conversation made for lasting memories, but whenever Childe spoke it oftentimes was meaningless.
“Guizhong never gave me headaches from her chatter,” Zhongli hissed to himself. Childe turned towards him, his face contorting to a sour expression as if the young man had tasted a tea that was too weak or a slice of meat that was passed its prime.
“Well, I’m not Guizhong, am I?”
“What do you mean?” Zhongli asked, “do you want to go do something else? We can go spar if you would like.”
“I said,” Childe hissed, eyes glowing like a stoked fire, “that I’m not Guizhong. So, stop comparing me to her. I’m not her.”
“I never said you were,” Zhongli told him calmly, “I was simply comparing your similarities.”
“Yeah, well maybe I don’t appreciate being compared to your dead girlfriend. Come find me when you can keep your head among the living ,” Childe stood up abruptly, causing both the cups of tea and Zhongli’s abandoned bowl of noodles to spill across the table.
Zhongli stared after him, a pit forming in his stomach.