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It's been some time since the Rite of Parting, and Liyue seems to have successfully moved on into an era of peaceful development under the Qixing and human rule. If anything, Liyue has been better than ever, and Zhongli rests easy knowing that he made the correct decision.
Life has been quite good to Zhongli; the funeral parlor has met a large order of coffins, prompting Hu Tao to give Zhongli a greater budget than usual. Yun Jin recently finished producing a new opera, a comedy about the interesting troubles adepti and humans got themselves into. To say it bluntly, Zhongli is a big fan.
If there is one thing that could go wrong, it is Xiao. His Xiao, who lives to fight Liyue’s unseen battle, never to be celebrated by the people, except the select few that have broken that shell of his.
But Xiao’s karmic debt has been easing with the Traveler’s companionship and Zhongli’s care.
Zhongli is proud to say that he can care for Xiao in much more ways than any other, given that they hold greater feelings for each other than a normal Archon - subordinate relationship. They were more like that mortal word that Xiao didn’t like— lovers— but Zhongli enjoyed thinking of them that way.
The crisp autumn weather often beckons Zhongli to visit Wangshu Inn. He likes to tell others that he loves to observe Wangshu’s leaves turning into a blaze of color at this time of year, but in reality, it’s more about finding Xiao napping in the sun on the roof, yellow and red leaves being blown around him. Zhongli is always more than happy to pick the leaves out of his Xiao’s ink-green hair.
It is always a pleasure to see Xiao’s eyelids flutter open, giving Zhongli windows to peek into his beautiful soul.
Autumn is beautiful with Xiao, Zhongli thinks.
Winter will surely be beautiful with Xiao, too. Or, every season is more beautiful with Xiao by his side. Ever since Xiao returned from the Chasm in the spring and admitted his yearnings, Zhongli has been the happiest (retired) Archon alive.
*
The wind bites at the flowing flaps of Zhongli’s coat.
“It seems like we might get our first snow today, Director Hu,” Zhongli says with a soft smile as the Wangsheng duo traverse the streets of Liyue.
“Yeah, it is suuuuuuuuper chilly!” Hu Tao exclaims. “I wonder how Chongyun is still sucking on his popsicle.”
“Young Chongyun has his reasons,” Zhongli replies mildly.
“I know!” Hu Tao shoots back cheekily, “I’m just, I don’t know, talking about it. But anyways, thanks for your help today, Mr. Zhongli!”
“Have a good evening, Director,” Zhongli says, just before his resonance with the stone tells him that something is wrong.
Xiao’s blood is seeping into the Land of Geo.
Zhongli does not wait, immediately teleporting out to find him.
*
He finds his Xiao bleeding out, his own Jade Spear buried in his abdomen, sprawled within the stalks of dead, dry grass on Guili Plains.
He knows instantly that there is nothing he can do.
He lost Guizhong here.
He will lose Xiao here.
*
Zhongli doesn’t think as he drops to his knees, a motion that he’s nearly never done thanks to his power.
Everyone kneels in front of him. As the sovereign archon of Liyue, he kneels to no one.
Except Xiao. His beloved.
He rips off his gloves and flings them away in his panic, cradling Xiao’s head and neck in his lap.
Xiao’s face is still warm, but his chin and neck are sticky with blood.
And that is when Xiao’s eyes flutter open.
They both don’t speak as seconds, moments, minutes, hours fly by, gold reflected in amber and amber reflected in gold, apologizing, anguishing, lamenting.
Through Xiao’s eyes, Zhongli learns the whole story: when Xiao had sensed that he was losing control, a more severe case than any before, he had taken such drastic preventative measures to make sure no innocents were harmed.
Of course, not that there are many people outside in this chilly weather.
There is only sorrow seeping into the ground, along with Xiao’s blood.
There is a moment when Xiao breaks the gaze and struggles for air, ribcage heaving. He says, voice cracking, "Dijun, it's.... snowing..."
Zhongli looks up, using the opportunity to blink the condensation out of his eyes. He sees the flecks of white drifting down slowly, slowly, as if they have all of the time in the world, much unlike his dear Xiao's waning life force in his arms.
"It is, my dear," Zhongli murmurs softly, eyes following a drifting snowflake, which lands precisely on Xiao's blood-red lips, melting into the scarlet.
"First snow.... not a bad day... to go," Xiao heaves, “On the first snow, a large threat to Liyue dissolves... this is an auspicious sign...[1]" before Zhongli shushes him with a press of lips to the forehead.
"Dijun..."
"Xiao." Zhongli cannot say anything else. It is too much.
The white crystals start drifting down faster, and Xiao tries again to speak.
"Zh-Zhongli," Xiao stutters, and more blood bubbles to his lips. "I learned a new line of poetry from... from the Traveler the other day."
"Oh? What is it?" Zhongli asks gently, though his voice is tight. He cannot swallow the pebble in his throat.
“If we encounter a snowstorm and come away with snow matted in our hair, we will have fulfilled our wish of having white hairs together.”
Even if a heart is protected by stone, the stone can still erode away, and the heart can shatter from the inside. However, Zhongli knows that he cannot show that just yet.
"Indeed, we have white hair together, Xiao."
Xiao's breathing grows slower and slower, so soft that Zhongli cannot hear it anymore.
And his body grows colder and colder, perhaps due to the thickening snow around them.
At long last, Zhongli stands up, Xiao's small, limp form in his arms. The place he had knelt quickly shifts from yellow to white, the dying stalks of grass welcoming the refreshing snow, promising new life in the spring.
The people of Liyue always say that Rex Lapis’s eyes glow as bright as amber, but no mortal is here to see the exception.
Zhongli's hair is matted with snow.
So is his Xiao’s.
A slight bit of frost clings to green eyebrows. With the softest touch, Zhongli uses his finger to brush away the melting crystals on his lover’s peaceful face.
Zhongli presses another kiss to Xiao's forehead.
"Good night, love."
He carries Xiao's limp form back to Jueyun Karst, a lone shadow disappearing into the gray background of the snow-covered plains of Guili, the last stubborn stalks of grass wilting and bowing left and right, as if mourning the death of the great adeptus.