Chapter Text
Kujou Sara does, regrettably, not care for him.
Well, she does care about a few things, Heizou reasons, such as his whereabouts, and whether or not he’s bringing in the desired results through his work. Either way... no, he cannot imagine himself sitting down for tea with the woman – the occasion would most likely end with her pouring boiling water into his lap.
So, blame him if he can’t help but crack a grin, can’t help but raise his brows, at the sight of her kneeled onto a cushion, pouring tea oh-so-delicately for their dearest Shogun and Guuji Yae.
A deep pink blossoms onto her cheeks, and she stands abruptly, rattling the ceramic cups upon the low table. She’s still dressed in her work gear, the Kujou clan’s symbol woven into nearly every square inch of fabric. It wouldn’t surprise him if she had originally come to the Shogun to deliver news, only for Guuji Yae to cajole her into their little tea party instead.
“The insolence,” she growls, and stomps toward him. “You dare bother Her Excellency and Lady Guuji, during what precious little time they have off, with something so— so frivolous!”
Nope, they would probably never be friends.
“Actually,” begins Heizou, a huff of laughter escaping his lips at the sight of his superior officer’s frazzled state, “this frivolous matter was meant for your ears only. I can’t help it if their ears were close by.”
By this point, Kujou Sara’s head is pink like a raspberry, her ears steaming like a whistling kettle.
“You know, I’m not sure I caught exactly what you just told us.” Guuji Yae leans forward, elbows resting upon the table and a mischievous twinkle playing in her eye. “Would you mind repeating it, dear?”
Heizou steels himself, just in case Kujou Sara flies across the table to throttle him.
“I am hereby announcing my extended leave from the Tenryou Commission.”
“Oh, so I did hear it right the first time,” chuckles Guuji Yae. She rests her head on her interlocked fingers, smile ever-present on her lips. “Sit down, Sara, dear. Allow the officer to further explain himself.”
Kujou Sara, for her part, does not sit back down. She tightens the clench of her hands and, through gritted teeth, says: “I think I’ll stand.”
“Doushin Shikanoin, is it?”
The Shogun rises from her cushion with a grace unlike any other woman in Inazuma – refined, composed, but with an underlying strength that can steal the words right from your tongue. Now, with only a low table and an array of tea cups and desserts separating the two of them, he understands how the Gods can strike fear in the hearts of mortal men.
The Shogun doesn’t seem to think of it this way, though. Then again, he likes to believe himself to be a natural at schooling his face.
“Please, enlighten us,” the Shogun continues, “what is it you hope to accomplish with this—” a beat of silence, as if her next words are uncommon to her, “—extended leave?”
“Of course, if my superior allows it,” Heizou motions toward Sara, “I would appreciate to be granted leave to travel across the sea to the mainland, to deepen my understanding of law and order in other countries, and become a better detective through my experiences.”
She seems to mull over his words for a minute, then gives a slight nod. “I see. And how many lands would you like to visit?”
“All, if possible,” Heizou answers.
Silence reigns for a beat. All he can hear is the wind weaving through the blossoms above, and the crash of waves upon the shore, far below. The Shogun’s gaze wanders, finding a sudden interest in the pavers of the secluded pavilion. Kujou Sara attempts to burn a hole through his skull with her glare alone.
“Well, I think it’s a splendid idea,” says Guuji Yae, clapping her hands together, and turns to the Archon. “You’ll bless his travels, won’t you?”
Startled out of her thoughts, the Shogun nods decisively, and from the glance shared between the two, Heizou has an inkling there is more hidden within that statement – something only they are privy to, not him.
Her Eternal Excellency, wielder of the blade that splits mountains in twain, conjuror of storms and She who retains the flower’s bloom and the tree’s growth, folds her hand before her chest – and smiles, the slightest incline of her lips’ corners.
“Naturally. I bid you safe travels, Doushin Shikanoin.”
With a bow given towards the Archon and Guuji Yae, Heizou leaves the pavilion without another word and descends the steps at a leisurely pace.
…
Three, two, one—
“Shikanoin!”
—there it is.
Kujou Sara storms after him, thundering down the staircase as if she’s never once feared the chance of slipping and falling twenty feet down. Remarkable, if somewhat frightening.
She catches up to him, her face taut with fury, scowl sour enough to curdle milk – really, he wishes he had brought a kamera with him.
“You— you—!” she seethes, inches away from snatching him by the collar and shaking him around like a rag doll. “You sought me out on purpose! You knew that conversation would’ve gone differently had it been just the two of us!”
Oh, he doesn’t just know, he can imagine it – standing in Kujou Sara’s dark, cramped office, with her barely paying attention to his plight, and slapping him upside the head with a firm ‘no’ the moment his words have completed falling on deaf ears.
“I have no idea what you mean, General,” he says, and oh, delights in the way her facial expression contorts into rage before his very eyes. She clenches her teeth, flares her nostrils, takes a laboured breath – and then, miraculously, the tenseness to her brow smooths out.
“Fine, then,” she forces out. “Fine! Just answer me this, Shikanoin: you weren’t telling the whole truth back there – I could tell. We all could.” She crosses her arms, turning up her nose at him. “Her Excellency and Lady Guuji might be okay with humouring you, but I’m not. So, the truth. Now.”
… The truth?
Really, there’s not much to say – at least, not if he desires for the esteemed general, Madam Kujou Sara, to punt him halfway across Narukami upon hearing he plans to investigate her boss, of all people – and her boss’ fellow Archons.
She has met the traveller (and Paimon, by extension) too. Did their tales not captivate her? Do they not occupy her dreams?
A land where the Archon drops dead from the sky – another, where the Archon hasn’t shown his face in centuries.
And, not to mention, an island chain shrouded in thunderstorms for half a decade, until the Archon decides, from one moment to another, to upend everything she had worked tirelessly to set in place.
It doesn’t make sense. None of it does.
And he’s not one to let a good mystery lie dormant. If others are so inclined to let the inexplicable pass them by without a second glance – fine. But he’s not like that. Far from it.
Already, he has passed on what little open cases he has left to his fellow officers – elementary cases, really. A missing cat here, a common thief there. He mostly took them on to bide his time, since crime rates dropped significantly, now that the Tenryou commission can busy themselves with keeping the peace instead of pestering and plaguing its own citizens.
Briefly, he thinks of his cousin at the top of Narukami’s tallest mountain, and how she might enjoy taking a brief break from hearing of his antics. And now that he and Sango have finally, ever so slowly, begun to mend the bridge they had burned, she no longer has to waste so much paper on writing to the police office, condemning him and all his actions.
… Really, he’s doing all of Inazuma a favour by leaving for the foreseeable future.
…
Instead of voicing all this, he instead turns to Sara, forcing his lips to curve into an easy smile.
“I’ve already said all I wanted to say, really.” He links his arms behind his head. “And here I was, thinking you’d be pleased that I’d no longer be in your hair. Aww,” he coos, “are you worried you’re going to miss little ol’ me?”
“Unlikely.”
Though a strange thing to might miss, Heizou briefly wonders if he’ll miss the general’s curtness and sour demeanour. After all, he never feels quite as driven to solve a case as when something, whether the trail of clues or a person, is pushing back against him.
“In any case, your current case files—”
“—have all been distributed among my fellow doushin, and are nothing they can’t handle.” He can’t help but roll his eyes. “Seriously, a toddler could take care of it. I promise you, I am leaving no case of import open.”
For such a stoic woman, she is remarkably easy to read. There is a pinch to her brow, and she rolls her bottom lip between her teeth, no doubt scouring her mind for anything to say that might keep him here – but finally, she relents.
“… Alright.”
“Alright,” Heizou echoes. “My boat leaves tomorrow evening. If there’s something urgent you absolutely need me for, just send a messenger.”
He waits for a beat, but she says nothing more, only stares after him as he leaves the palace grounds.
The next day, he packs little of his belongings, hoping to travel light. Only the necessities disappear into his sack, and the morning moves along at a snail’s pace. After lunch, he locks up his house and leaves a spare set of keys with his next-door neighbour. Despite her age, she’s a sprightly woman, and sends him off with a pat on the arm and a package of prawn crackers for the road to Ritou.
But from Kujou Sara, he gets nothing.
No messenger.
No last-minute case.
…
No goodbye.
~
He reaches Ritou as the sun makes its slow descent toward the horizon. Dusk may still be an hour or two away, but Heizou makes a stop at a takoyaki stand for an early supper nonetheless.
With his food in hand, he takes a seat upon a nearby ledge to enjoy the breeze, the food, and to appreciate his last minutes in Inazuma – for however long, he doesn’t know yet.
… Just as he expected, fur brushes against his shins not even seconds after sitting down. He looks to his feet to find a cluster of cats, meowing oh-so-sweetly and standing on two paws against his knees.
Ah, what the heck.
He bites delicately in every second takoyaki ball, tearing it apart with his teeth to pry out the diced octopus inside, and laughs as they tear the offered food out of his hand. To his surprise, one cat comes back just as he’s about to get up and move on. White, wispy fur, and the bluest eyes – she bumps into his hand again and again, purring as if begging him to stay.
Sadly, he cannot – so with a pat on the head and a scratch behind the ears given, he goes on his way again.
As he moves down to the docks, people of all shapes and sizes and all walks of life mill around him. He watches them from the corner of his eye as they go about their lives. For the first time today, he can appreciate the fact that he doesn’t have to wear his work clothes for the foreseeable future, with the Tenryou commission’s symbol front and centre. With his plain yukata and dendrobium-patterned haori, he blends in remarkably well.
Just another face in the crowd. It’ll help with his oncoming investigations, that’s for sure. No need to cause a nationwide panic just because he plans to dig an Archon back out of their grave, no sir.
Near the very end of the docks, Heizou catches a flash of purple and burgundy – that must be her.
Captain Beidou. Scourge of the seas and local authorities, slayer of the leviathan Haishan, a woman who can drink the saltiest sea dogs under the table – and the only captain willing to take him aboard her ship on such short notice.
She busies herself with giving direction to her crew, passing cargo crates to the adults and linen sacks to the older kids, all the while keeping up the chatter with a shorter man beside her.
With a start, he realizes that man is the heir to the Kaedehara clan. Oh, how he wishes he still had grounds to arrest the man on – a black mark on his otherwise spotless record.
Unwilling to let such revelations deter him, he marches onward with his pack slung over his shoulder, the dock creaking with every step he takes.
It’s Beidou who notices him first. She slams a hand on a barrel to her side, using the other to beckon him forward. Her sun-kissed skin glistens with a sheen of sweat, though she barely seems to notice.
“There’s our little passenger!” she calls out to him, beaming.
At that, Kaedehara turns as well to greet him. To Heizou’s surprise, there’s a cat wrapped in his scarf – white, wispy fur, and very familiar blue eyes. She’s still licking her lips from the takoyaki filling he shared with her earlier, believing her to be a street cat.
“I’m not that little,” he attempts to defend himself, but upon nearing, he finds himself to be shorter than Kaedehara, even while wearing his sandals. Damn it all.
Beidou laughs and smacks him on the back, nearly sending him toppling forward. “I’m glad you could make it in time. You’ll liven up the boat, I’m sure. Oh, how rude of me! Lemme introduce you two. This is—”
“Kaedehara Kazuha. Yes, I’m aware,” Heizou says. “My superior wanted your head on a platter for the past two years.” Before the ronin can interject, Heizou continues. “Doushin Shikanoin. But, seeing as how I’m on leave, just Heizou will do.”
Realization flashes across Kaedehara’s face. “Ah, that’s where I know you from. If that’s the case, then please, feel free to call me by my first name, too.”
The cat in Kazuha’s scarf chooses that moment to stretch itself out, yawning so wide Heizou can see all the way down its throat – and lodges a claw into Heizou’s sleeve. With a frown, he attempts to dislodge the claw from his haori, with little success.
Kazuha, on the other hand, merely gives a laugh, and helps pry the cat’s claw from the fabric. Briefly, their fingers brush against one another, and Heizou can feel the callouses on the other’s hand – not something he’d have expected from someone who spends his days thinking of poems, napping in the shade of trees, and skirting around the law. They’re warm, too. Warmer than his own.
…
Heizou decides to linger on it no longer.
“It seems you have Tama’s stamp of approval,” the ronin muses.
“Yeah,” Heizou huffs out, deliberately avoiding the man’s gaze, “sure.”
Beidou gives Tama a scratch behind the ears, then plants her hands on her waist. “Well, we’re just about ready to set sail, then.” She bends down to pick up a smaller crate by her feet, and—
—Heizou just barely manages to keep his balance as she unceremoniously drops it into his arms, and gracious Archons, he knew she was strong, but those biceps could pop his head like a grape. Remind him to never gain this lady’s ire.
“If you don’t work, you don’t eat!” She passes a linen sack to Kazuha, then picks up a crate twice the size Heizou is holding. “Hop to it, detective!”
They fall in line with Heizou bringing up the rear, and he can’t help but liken himself to a newborn fawn, the way he’s stumbling beneath the crate’s weight as it tries desperately to slip from his grasp.
Once they’re aboard, Beidou releases him from his misery and takes over the crate, carrying it towards the cargo hold as if it weighs nothing to her.
Tama, the little beggar, jumps from Kazuha’s scarf and trots off down the deck. The ronin doesn’t chase her. Instead, he raises a hand to the sky, palm facing upward and fingers spread. Though he himself is attuned to the wind also, it appears Kazuha’s connection to it surpasses his own. The ronin stands there for a moment, merely feeling the wind weave through his fingers.
Other members of the crew mill about, sparing them no mind as they go about their duties. As time moves on around them, the world falls silent in their little bubble.
“A good day for sailing,” he muses. “May this Eastern wind grace us for the entire journey home.”
But you were born in Inazuma, Heizou thinks. We both were.
Luckily, Kazuha cannot read minds. He turns to Heizou, and with an incline of his head, says: “Come. Let me show you to your hammock.”
…
The rest of the day passes remarkably well.
He livens up the boat, just like Beidou had told him he’d do – and he doesn’t even have to try. The crew members, upon their breaks, flock to him for stories of mysteries he’s solved and cases he’s closed. Their kids (teens, really – the youngest is nearly eleven years of age) are practically glued to his legs, and by dinnertime, he has most everyone hanging onto his every word as he recalls some good tales – mildly embellished, of course, if only so he can draw out those ‘ooh’s’ and ‘aah’s’ from the starry-eyed children.
Once the moon is high in the sky, lanterns have been lit, and everyone below the drinking age has gone to bed, a cask of rum is brought above deck. While the crew makes merry, Heizou stands off to the side, watching as they down tankard after tankard.
—The deck creaks to his right, and it’s Kazuha, a small bottle of sake in his hands. The ronin takes the first sip, then passes the bottle to Heizou.
The sake tingles upon his tongue, leaving a fruity aftertaste, and he savours it. His gaze glides across the deck, where some of the crew have thrown their arms across each other’s backs and have begun to sing a horribly out-of-tune shanty – but they’re laughing, all of them, and Beidou loudest of all.
He doesn’t savour the sake. Desperately, he tries to savour something else.
… The next day passes much the same. He shares tales with the crew, and by noon, Beidou asks him to climb up to the crow’s nest where Kazuha has stationed himself, to drag the ronin down to lunch.
With the wind in his back and anemo at his fingertips, Heizou scales the ropes easily. At the very top, the chatter on the deck has fallen silent. Kazuha does not lift his gaze from the horizon to greet him.
“There’s a storm brewing,” says Kazuha, barely acknowledging the other’s presence.
Heizou pulls himself up to the crow’s nest fully, feet steady upon the ropes below, and looks across the ocean ahead, where there’s barely a cloud in the sky.
“Well, Beidou will want to know, certainly.” Kazuha hums in response, yet makes no effort to go down. “Also, we’re having salt-braised skipjack for lunch.”
Within an instant, Kazuha clambers down the ropes like a madman and jumps down to the deck when he’s still twenty feet up in the sails, using a gust of anemo to cushion his fall. Much like a cat, he lands upon the wood with both feet.
Heizou follows after him, unable to stop himself from laughing and giving a shake of his head.
And, true to Kazuha’s word, it storms that night. It’s too large a cloud for them to pass by, so they must go through. Beidou rallies the crew when the first drops of rain hit the prow, and asks Heizou if he can be on standby, just in case.
What starts out as a light patter quickly escalates into a full-blown gale, though Heizou has reason to believe it’s not the worst the Alcor has ever faced. There are no waves the size of mountains, and no giant squids or hydras breaching the ocean’s surface.
Still, he hates to just sit inside and wait, so he goes out into the storm. The rain pounds against his body as if it was hail, and the wind rocks the ship back and forth relentlessly. He’s quickly taken under a senior crewmate’s wing, and they pull on ropes until his hands are rubbed raw.
Beidou has an iron grip upon the helm, and as they pass her, she shouts: “Looks like someone doesn’t want you to leave Inazuma, little guy!”
Yeah, Heizou thinks, or someone wants to keep me out of Liyue.
After what feels like aeons, the gale quiets and the rain softens until he can barely feel it hit his arms – he feels only the cold.
Kazuha appears by his side, looking just as drenched as Heizou feels. With a hand upon his arm, Kazuha leads them both inside the ship, toward the tiny room with the rough hammock Heizou got to claim for his own. Empty baskets of all shapes and sizes are pushed off to the side, making it clear that after he sets foot on Liyuan shores, the room will be returned to its original purpose of being a supply closet.
The ronin disappears for a moment before returning with towels, a roll of gauze, a small bottle with a clear fluid, and an embroidered cloth.
He takes a seat against the wall, right next to Heizou, then wordlessly takes his left hand. Kazuha folds the cloth once, twice, holds it tightly to the bottle’s neck as he turns it upside-down then right-side up, and delicately dabs at Heizou’s palm. A hiss escapes his lips at the touch – rubbing alcohol.
“Hauling cargo is one thing,” says Kazuha, barely louder than the rain outside, “but you mustn’t push yourself beyond your limits.”
It would be a lie to say Heizou didn’t want to defend himself, say that he’s faced bigger trials out in the field, just doing his job – but he left his uniform folded upon his bed, and his jitte now does little more than collect dust in the police headquarters’ storage room. To help people in need is his job no longer, but it is his duty, still.
Then again, Kazuha seems earnest, and worry pinches his brow, so he relents, and unclenches his hand.
“Ah, well, sitting still has never really been my style.”
Kazuha must know it is a jab at him, certainly, but he cracks a smile, and presses the cloth down harder in retaliation – enjoying watching him squirm, most likely. “You’d be surprised how much the world can tell you if you sit and listen. The answers will come to you, instead of you having to go to the answers.”
“Funny, I don’t see you wearing a doushin’s uniform.”
“Well,” Kazuha looks up at him, now, those ruby-red eyes striking in the moonlight – silencing him without any effort, “neither are you, now.”
A lull falls between them. It squeezes the air right out of Heizou’s throat.
“The captain had told me we would receive a stowaway on our journey to Liyue,” begins Kazuha, looking at him no longer, but busying himself with wrapping gauze around Heizou’s hand. “Those who travel for business rarely dress themselves to blend in, so… a holiday, then, I thought. You told us much the same.” He secures the gauze, then moves on to the other hand. The alcohol-soaked cloth hovers above the raw skin on his right palm—
“But you don’t seem the type to take a vacation, detective.”
—and he presses it down ruthlessly. Heizou winces, biting his bottom lip to stop the hiss behind his teeth.
“Well,” Heizou says, huffing a laugh through the alcohol’s sting, “give this man a badge and a cold case.”
Kazuha, for his part, doesn’t take the bait. Those perceptive eyes see right through him. Heizou briefly entertains the idea of jumping off the ship and swimming the rest of the way to Liyue.
But Heizou knows Kazuha means well. In the brief time they’ve spent together, he’s come to see that love shapes the ronin’s every last action: how he communes with the wind, listens to the roaming beasts, and bonds with the people – the adoration of everything.
So, perhaps that’s why Heizou doesn’t mind to share, this time.
“Fine,” he says, “alright. You win.” He takes another deep breath, and pointedly fixes his gaze upon his bandaged palm. “I plan to investigate the Archons. More specifically, I wish to uncover the truth behind Rex Lapis’ death. After that, I think I’ll move on to Mondstadt, then Sumeru, and so on.”
Kazuha says nothing for a moment. Then, he asks: “Why not start in your home country?”
Because he hopes that, through investigating the other Archons first, it might shine a light on the Raiden Shogun’s actions. By solving the puzzles her fellow Gods have left behind, he hopes to gain a better understanding of Her Eternal Excellency – well, that, and because it’s nigh impossible to find clues with Kujou Sara breathing down his neck and the ever-present threat of Guuji Yae around every corner. If he can leave, then return upon a later date without either of them aware, it’ll certainly make his investigation go smoother.
But, since that’s a mouthful, Heizou shrugs, settling on something else.
“It’s already been quite some time since the last Rite of Descension – don’t want the trail to go any colder.”
“I see.”
Kazuha finishes up his work, and Heizou stares at his freshly-bandaged hands. His first souvenir of a long journey.
“I don’t usually take on cases like this,” Heizou admits, and the mere act feels like he’s wringing out his insides like a wet rag – but still, he persists. “My field of expertise is organized crime. Murder cases. Stories that are sure to have a definite ending, whether good or bad. I guess it… unnerves me, to not know what I will find.”
Dawn breaks outside the window, and golden light spills into the little supply closet.
Gently, Kazuha takes his hand, successfully drawing Heizou’s gaze to him.
“Well... whatever the case may be,” Kazuha says, softer than he’s ever heard before, “whatever you end up discovering—”
A voice, muffled, yells from the helm – Liyue on the horizon. The end of their journey approaches, and so does the start of Heizou’s.
“—I hope it is what you’re looking for.”